These walked suspiciously forward on
the spoor, and next minute began to spring about, barking angrily,
with all their hair bristling on their backs: a crash upon the dry
reeds immediately followed--it was the lion bounding away.
Several of the dogs were extremely afraid of him, and kept rushing
continually backwards springing aloft to obtain a view. I now pressed
forward and urged them on; old Argyll and Bles took up his spoor in
gallant style and led on the other dogs. Then commenced a short but
lively and glorious chase, whose conclusion was the only small
satisfaction that I could obtain to answer for the horrors of the
preceding evening. The lion held up the river's bank for a short
distance and took away through some wait-a-bit thorn cover, the best
he could find, but nevertheless open. Here, in two minutes, the dogs
were up with him, and he turned and stood at bay. As I approached, he
stood, his horrid head right to me, with open jaws growling fiercely,
his tail waving from side to side.
On beholding him my blood boiled with rage. I wished that I could take
him alive and torture him, and setting my teeth, I dashed my steed
forward within thirty yards of him and shouted, "Your time is up, old
fellow." I halted my horse, and, placing my rifle to my shoulder, I
waited for a broadside. This, the next moment, he exposed, when I sent
a bullet through his shoulder and dropped him on the spot.
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