The herd then split and
broke to right and left. By shooting very carefully and steadily I
managed to kill three more before they were out of range. The last shot
was at 325 paces. In all I fired seven shots, and hit six times. This
was the best shooting I did in Africa--or anywhere else--and is a
first-rate argument for the Springfield and the high velocity,
sharp-pointed bullet.
Overjoyed at our luck in collecting these animals so promptly, so near
camp, and at a time so very propitious for handling the trophies, we set
to the job of skinning and cutting up. The able-bodied men all came out
from camp to carry in the meat. They appeared, grinning broadly, for
they had had no meat since leaving the Narossara. C. and I saw matters
well under way, and then went on to where I had seen a cheetah the day
before. Hardly were we out of sight when two lions sauntered over the
hill and proceeded to appropriate the meat! The two men in charge
promptly withdrew. A moment later a dozen porters on their way out from
camp topped the hill and began to yell at the lions. The latter then
slowly and reluctantly retreated.
We were very sorry we had not stayed. The valley seemed populated with
lions, but in general they were, for some reason, strictly nocturnal.
By day they inhabited the fastnesses of the mountain ranges. We never
succeeded in tracing them in that large and labyrinthine country; nor at
any time could we induce them to come to kills.
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