75 
ch. hi] ON THE POTHA STREAM 
said Sir Alfred. It was late before we got the lions 
skinned. Then we set off toward the ranch, two porters 
carrying each lion-skin, strapped to a pole, and two 
others carrying the cub-skins. Night fell long before 
we were near the ranch ; but the brilliant tropical moon 
lighted the trail. The stalwart savages who carried the 
bloody lion-skins swung along at a faster walk as the 
sun went down and the moon rose higher; and they 
began to chant in unison, one uttering a single word 
or sentence, and the others joining in a deep-toned, 
musical chorus. The men on a safari, and, indeed, 
African natives generally, are always excited over the 
death of a lion, and the hunting tribes then chant 
their rough hunting songs, or victory songs, until the 
monotonous, rhythmical repetitions make them almost 
frenzied. The ride home through the moonlight, the 
vast barren landscape shining like silver on either hand, 
was one to be remembered, and, above all, the sight of 
our trophies and of their wild bearers. 
Three days later we had another successful lion hunt. 
Our camp was pitched at a water-hole in a little stream 
called Potha, by a hill of the same name. Pease, Med- 
licott, and both the Hills were with us, and Heller came 
too, for he liked, when possible, to be with the hunters, 
so that he could at once care for any beast that was 
shot. As the safari was stationary, we took fifty or 
sixty porters as beaters. It was thirteen hours before 
we got into camp that evening. The Hills had with 
them as beaters and water-carriers half a dozen of the 
Wakamba who were working on their farm. It was 
interesting to watch these naked savages, with their 
filed teeth, their heads shaved in curious patterns, and 
carrying for arms little bows and arrows. 
Before lunch we beat a long, low hill. Harold Hill 
