ch. hi] CLIFFORD AND HAROLD HILL 67 
to look for the man. Crippled though he was, the 
hunter managed to climb a small tree; and though 
the lion might have got him out of it, the dog inter¬ 
fered. Whenever the lion came toward the tree the 
dog worried him, and kept him off until, at the shouts 
and torches of the approaching Kaffir boys, he sullenly 
retired, and the hunter was rescued. 
Percival had a narrow escape from a lion, which 
nearly got him, though probably under a misunder¬ 
standing. He was riding through a wet spot of ground, 
where the grass was four feet high, when his horse 
suddenly burst into a run, and the next moment a lion 
had galloped almost alongside of him. Probably the 
lion thought it was a zebra, for when Percival, leaning 
over, yelled in his face, the lion stopped short. But he 
at once came on again, and nearly caught the horse. 
However, they were now out of the tall grass, and the 
lion gradually pulled up when they reached the open 
country. 
The two Hills, Clifford and Harold, were running an 
ostrich farm. The lions sometimes killed their ostriches 
and stock, and the Hills in return had killed several 
lions. The Hills were fine fellows—Africanders, as 
their forefathers for three generations had been, and 
frontiersmen of the best kind. From the first moment 
they and I became fast friends, for we instinctively 
understood one another, and found that we felt alike on 
all the big questions, and looked at life, and especially 
the life of effort led by the pioneer settler, from the 
same standpoint. They reminded me at every moment 
of those Western ranchmen and home-makers with 
whom I have always felt a special sense of companion¬ 
ship, and with whose ideals and aspirations I have always 
felt a special sympathy. A couple of months before 
