As for the reverend gentleman, he climbed back into the waggon, sat down with a grunt of contentment, and puffed vigorously at his pipe.
"I'm so glad we've met you," continued the woman. "We've been followed for days by some lions. Last night they took my riding donkey."
"They'll have you next," interjected her gallant spouse with a grin. "They like donkey-meat."
The fellow was a brute. His wife was scared, and even if he couldn't encourage her he needn't have tried to frighten her more. But there he sat, grinning down from his perch in the waggon, and showing his big, yellow teeth. Yes, certainly, I disliked the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. I did my best to reassure the lady, advised the man to put out lighted lanterns at night to keep off the lions, and said good-bye.
I did a short trek that evening, and outspanned early. I couldn't help thinking of the callous man and the frightened woman. I knew that if the lions came round Bumpus was no man to cope with them, or, for that matter, to take sensible precautions. For myself, I had some poles out, tied lighted lanterns to them, and set them up some distance ahead, behind, and on either side of my waggon. In addition, I had a good fire lit beyond the leading oxen and an extra large one in front of my patrol tent by the side of the waggon.
I had been sitting by the fire for a little while after dinner, smoking, when I was startled by a rifle shot, and then another. I judged by the direction that they must have been fired by the Rev. Bumpus or his driver, and, by the sound, that we were not camped very far apart. I took a couple of boys, my rifle, and a lantern, and hurried along the road to see what had happened. The missionary's waggon was further away than I expected. When I got there the Rev. Bumpus was on the roof of the waggon, on the top of the tent, in his nightshirt. I hadn't seen a nightshirt on a man for years. His wife was inside the waggon. The driver—it was he who had fired the shots—was, with his leader, crouching under the waggon. The oxen were very restless.
It was quite dark, and there would be no moon all night. The missionary's fire had died down, and I couldn't see a yard beyond the ring of light shed by the lantern in my hand. My first concern, therefore, was to shake the unburnt logs together and get the fire going again. Then, with my lantern in one hand and my rifle in the other, I walked along the line of oxen, talking to them as I went, with the object of settling them down. I counted the cattle as I passed and found the span intact.
Then, under my direction, my boys collected as much wood as we could find handy, and lighted another fire, ahead of the oxen. Then I went back to the waggon to question the missionary.
Had he seen a lion?
"Yes, a large one."