While we were busy the Rev. Bumpus had crept down from his place of vantage and had gone to bed. His wife, the better man of the two, made us some strong coffee. The missionary's driver and leader joined in the scramble for wood.
The lion had evidently drawn off, so we had some coffee and stood warming ourselves by the fire.
"There he is, baas!"
I grabbed my rifle. "Where?"
"There, I can hear him now."
"Listen! Silence, all of you!"
Shush, shush; shush, shush.
From over there! No, from there! Where the devil is he?
And this sort of thing went on the whole night through. Quiet for a while. Fires die down. Shush, shush; shush, shush. Hurried collection of wood. Fires blaze up. Silence. The shush, shush just beyond the limit of light. "There, he is, baas!" "Where?" "There!" and so on.