"Why-why!" gasped Billy in an astonished tone of voice, "they
have manes!"
In some concern for her sanity I glanced in her direction. She
was staring, not to her left, but straight ahead. I followed the
direction of her gaze, to see three lions moving across the face
of the hill.
Instantly we dropped off our horses. We wanted a shot at those
lions very much indeed, but were hampered in our efforts by the
two rhinoceroses, now stamping, snorting, and moving slowly in
our direction. The language we muttered was racy, but we dropped
to a kneeling position and opened fire on the disappearing lions.
It was most distinctly a case of divided attention, one eye on
those menacing rhinos, and one trying to attend to the always
delicate operation of aligning sights and signalling from a
rather distracted brain just when to pull the trigger. Our
faithful gunbearers crouched by us, the heavy guns ready.
One rhino seemed either peaceable or stupid. He showed no
inclination either to attack or to depart, but was willing to
back whatever play his friend might decide on. The friend charged
toward us until we began to think he meant battle, stopped,
thought a moment, and then, followed by his companion, trotted
slowly across our bows about eighty yards away, while we
continued our long range practice at the lions over their backs.
In this we were not winning many cigars. F. had a 280-calibre
rifle shooting the Ross cartridge through the much advertised
grooveless oval bore. It was little accurate beyond a hundred
yards. Memba Sasa had thrust the 405 into my hand, knowing it for
the "lion gun," and kept just out of reach with the long-range
Springfield. I had no time to argue the matter with him. The 405
has a trajectory like a rainbow at that distance, and I was
guessing at it, and not making very good guesses either. B. had
his Springfield and made closer practice, finally hitting a leg
of one of the beasts. We saw him lift his paw and shake it, but
he did not move lamely afterward, so the damage was probably
confined to a simple scrape. It was a good shot anyway. Then they
disappeared over the top of the hill.
We walked forward, regretting rhinos. Thirty yards ahead of me
came a thunderous and roaring growl, and a magnificent old lion
reared his head from a low bush. He evidently intended mischief,
for I could see his tail switching. However, B. had killed only
one lion and I wanted very much to give him the shot. Therefore,
I held the front sight on the middle of his chest, and uttered a
fervent wish to myself that B. would hurry up. In about ten
seconds the muzzle of his rifle poked over my shoulder, so I
resigned the job.
At B.'s shot the lion fell over, but was immediately up and
trying to get at us.
