290 
[Aug. 19, 1911. 
As the sun was almost set and darkness fol¬ 
lows in thirty minutes in those parts, and as 
the loud roars of lions were sounding from sev¬ 
eral different points, we decided to make a quick 
job of the slaughter and merely cut the koodoo 
in quarters, leaving the hide on the flesh. There 
was a good deal to be done before dark, as we 
had to carry the forequarters up to where the 
jacks were off-saddled, make a corral, and col¬ 
lect fire wood, which last seemed- a puzzle, as 
on our side of the river -there were very few 
trees, and those all green ones. 
We started the corral close to two large trees, 
•but soon found that we could not complete it, 
so tied a couple of pack ropes together and 
stretched them between the two trees, to which 
we tied the jacks, the uncompleted corral form¬ 
ing a partial protection for them. We were not 
able to keep up the fires on account of the scar¬ 
city of wood, and depended on the dogs to give 
us warning of the approach of any lions, but 
the dogs seemed to know the danger instinctively 
and came whining and crawling close up to our 
blankets. 
As long as the lions were roaring we had no 
immediate fear and had got settled under the 
blankets, when our blood almost stood still at 
the sound of an unearthly yell from down the 
river, evidently the death yell of my poor grey¬ 
hound, which had remained on the rock on to 
which I had helped it and had been overlooked 
by us all. There is no doubt that the dog was 
taken by a crocodile, for on examining the place 
next morning we saw the marks of a large croco¬ 
dile which had crawled up on the beach and 
taken the offal and head of the koodoo, dragging 
all into the river. On the rock we saw enough 
of the dog’s hair to prove that he had been 
dragged, resisting, into the water. 
What with the race after the koodoo, the 
plunge -into the. cold river, and) that horrible 
long-drawn yell from the dog, I did not sleep 
well, and had only dozed, when I heard the 
short gallop of a jack and then a thud. Evi¬ 
dently one of the jacks had got loose and had 
wandered away and the lion had jumped at it 
and missed. I sprang up, called the boys, and 
tried to catch the jack, but it was obstinate and 
avoided me, so as it had returned quite close 
to the picket rope, I looked to my rifle and lay 
down. The natives had not heard my call, as 
they slept too soundly to be awakened by any¬ 
thing less than a cannon, and I lay quiet, after 
I had been slanged by my partner for disturb¬ 
ing the camp. In about twenty-five minutes I 
heard the loose jack again sneak away, nibbling 
at the grass as it went. I knew the lions were 
close to camp, as the roars had ceased, and the 
dogs were excited and trembling. 
Again I heard the jack gallop, and with a 
loud groan and snort it fell heavily. Seizing 
my rifle I ran forward to a point between the 
tied jacks and where the lion had caught the 
loose jack, and dropped on one knee, hoping to 
give the animals confidence by my presence, at 
the same time trying to get a chance shot at 
the lion by listening for the groans of the jack. 
One of the dogs, a mere pup about eighteen 
months old. seeing me run in the direction of 
the scuffling and moaning, decided, dog-like, that 
it would be there first. It was, and I heard a 
spitting noise from the lion, and then a “Ky-yi! 
Kv-yi!" and saw the clog making a bee-line for 
the blankets with the great tawny mass coming 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
in leaps behind it, each impact with the ground 
emphasized by a loud growl. When the beast 
got opposite me I could almost touch it with 
my rifle barrel and fired into its ribs, the flash 
of the rifle showing me a full sized lioness. In¬ 
stantly stopping her forward lunge with stiffened 
fore legs, she bounded off at an angle down the 
river, sending a shower of granite pebbles over 
the mixed up bunch of unbelievers who were 
doing a lively roll-over on the blankets. Our 
four natives made a clean bolt for it into the 
veldt, thinking the camp was attacked by a 
marauding slaving party. 
The fire was almost out, so I climbed a tree 
and found several dry branches, which I flung 
down, and told the boys to get a fire going. As 
soon as the fire blazed up, the four natives re¬ 
turned and as all except three of the jacks had 
broken loose, we had a good hour’s search be¬ 
fore we found them, and strange to say all 
thirteen were there and I got laughed at, but 
on examining each animal by the light of the 
fire we at last saw the unfortunate one. It had 
sixteen tooth holes in its neck, and its body 
looked as if a razor brigade had been busy on 
it. Some claw scratches were through the hide 
and from three to five inches long. The escape 
of the jack seemed wonderful to me, as I have 
known a lion to break an ox’s neck in five 
seconds. 
For the rest of that night we had the natives 
sit up, two at a time, and keep up the fire with 
twigs, grass and anything else they found to 
burn. The following morning we examined the 
place where I knelt near the jacks and the last 
jump tracks of the lion, and found that she was 
only five feet from me when I fired. The bul¬ 
let had passed through her and had flattened it¬ 
self against a granite boulder. The blood tracks 
were badly mixed with ours where we had car¬ 
ried the bleeding koodoo flesh through the deep 
sand on the river bank. 
Being in such need of meat I told the boys 
that I would attend to the biltong-making if they 
wished to go after the lioness. The dogs had 
recovered their spirits and willingly took up the 
trail, two of the boys and two natives going with 
them. They followed the track down the river 
some two miles, then it went into a patch of 
cattail reeds, and they could hear the gentle 
groans of the dying lioness. A foolish idea of 
driving her out occurred to the party and they 
set the reeds on fire, with the result that the 
lioness’ hide was entirely spoilt and several of 
the claws were split and useless. 
That morning we got our packs over the river 
by letting the natives carry them on their heads, 
and we swam the jacks through. On this side 
there was plenty of wood, also large shady trees, 
so we delayed for two days until the biltong or 
jerked meat was partia’ly dry, then moved 
on, always in quest of the glittering yellow dust, 
which only a small percentage ever find, and no 
one ever yet had enough of. 
A Fishing Trip to the Dead Waters 
of Nova Scotia 
Text and Pictures by LOUIS HESS 
T HE winter's work, which had been exhaust¬ 
ing, was well-nigh completed, and with the 
relaxation of effort came the realization 
of spent faculties and loose nerve ends which 
required prompt recuperation to prevent an at¬ 
tack of nervous prostration. 
A trip down the St. Lawrence was selected as 
being feasible, accessible and within the antici¬ 
pated limit of disbursement. 
At about this juncture my old friend, Ira, for¬ 
merly district attorney of our county, wandered 
into the office, and upon the conclusion of our 
business conference remained to reminisce. 
The upshot of it all was that my intended St. 
Lawrence trip was cancelled. Ira set aside his 
proposed Bermuda voyage, and sealing a mutual 
promise with a warm handclasp, we settled on 
a trout fishing expedition to the (to us) hitherto 
unknown wilds of Nova Scotia. 
Then followed days of that wonderful antici¬ 
pation known only to the elect, spent largely in 
purchasing new flies, rods and leaders, with 
many a conference as to modes of travel and 
camp requirements. Maps, steamer plans, rail¬ 
way tours, and hotel advertisements were all 
thoroughly scrutinized and according as they met 
with favor were joyfully approved or unhesitat¬ 
ingly cast aside. Throughout we intended to 
limit ourselves to a reasonable outlay, for as 
Ira, the oracle of the party, sagely said: “En¬ 
joyment should not be clouded by after thoughts 
of pleasures purchased at too great a cost.” 
Circumstances made it necessary that we should 
begin our pilgrimage from Boston, and about the 
end of June we set sail on the steamer Prince 
Arthur for Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. 
As this is to be a veracious account for the 
benefit of others who would enjoy similar pleas¬ 
ures, but are deterred by the belief that the cost 
is prohibitive, our disbursements will be set out 
in sufficient detail to show within what reason¬ 
able limits a trip to this virgin country may be 
made. The expense of the round trip from Bos¬ 
ton to Digby, Nova Scotia, including stateroom 
and meals, amounted to $18.50. 
At Yarmouth, after a cursory inspection of our 
trunks by the custom officials, we entered the 
“Flying Blue-Nose Express” for Digby, where 
we made our headquarters. 
Lip to this time we had no clear or well-defined 
idea as to our ultimate destination, nor had we 
the slightest notion of where the best waters 
were to be found. Chance, which so frequently 
intervenes when Providence determines to watch 
over the destinies of children and the innocent, 
stepped into the breach when, at Digby, we en¬ 
tered the store of James Keen and his son Stan¬ 
ley. 
Here we found two well-seasoned sportsmen 
who looked forward to their own trips into the 
