As the lion was dragging
him over the bank, Whitehead fired again,
but without effect, and the brute quickly disappeared
into the darkness with his prey.
It was
of course, this unfortunate man whom I had heard
the lions devouring during the night. Whitehead
himself had a marvellous escape; his wounds
were happily not very deep, and caused him little
or no inconvenience afterwards.
On the same day, December 3, the forces
arrayed against the lions were further
strengthened. Mr. Farquhar, the Superintendent of
Police, arrived from the coast with a score of
sepoys to assist in hunting down the man-eaters,
whose fame had by this time spread far and
wide, and the most elaborate precautions were
taken, his men being posted on the most
convenient trees near every camp. Several other
officials had also come up on leave to join in
the chase, and each of these guarded a likely
spot in the same way, Mr. Whitehead sharing
my post inside the crib on the girder. Further,
in spite of some chaff, my lion trap was put in
thorough working order, and two of the sepoys
were installed as bait.
Our preparations were quite complete by nightfall,
and we all took up our appointed positions.
Nothing happened until about nine o'clock, when
to my great satisfaction the intense stillness
was suddenly broken by the noise of the door
of the trap clattering down. "At last," I thought,
"one at least of the brutes is done for." But the
sequel was an ignominious one.
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