They were not
really brambles, of course, but their tripping, tangling, spiky
qualities were the same. We had to force our way through these, or step
from boulder to boulder. Only very rarely did we get a little rubbly
clear space to walk in, and then for only ten or twenty feet. We tried
in spaced intervals to cover the whole hillside. It was very hard work.
The boys, with the horses, kept pace with us on the sky-line atop, and
two or three hundred yards away.
We had proceeded in this fashion for about a mile, when suddenly, and
most unexpectedly, the biggest lion I ever saw leapt straight up from a
bush twenty-five yards in front of me, and with a tremendous roar
vanished behind another bush. I had just time to throw up the.405
shotgun-fashion and let drive a snapshot. Clifford Hill, who was ten
yards to my right, saw the fur fly, and we all heard the snarl as the
bullet hit. Naturally we expected an instant charge, but, as things
turned out, it was evident the lion had not seen us at all. He had leapt
at the sight of our men and horses on the sky-line, and when the bullet
hit he must have ascribed it to them. At any rate, he began to circle
through the tangled vines in their direction.
From their elevation they could follow his movements. At once they set
up howls of terror and appeals for help. Some began frantically to run
back and forth. None of them tried to run away; there was nowhere to go!
The only thing that saved them was the thick and spiky character of the
cover.
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