“You think there was more than one?”
“I should say it was a family party of an old lioness and two or three half-grown cubs.”
“Then we may lie down and sleep again?”
“Yes; we must trust to our luck, Noll; there’s a good deal of chance in these affairs.”
West hesitated for a few minutes, and then followed his companion’s example, lying awake for some time thinking of what a strange change this was from his quiet life in the offices of the company; and then, as he began to ponder over what might be to come, the subject grew too difficult for him and he fell fast asleep.
But he was the first to awaken in the grey dawn, to find that the horses were close at hand, browsing away contentedly enough, and ready to neigh softly and submit to his caress when he walked up to them; while, as soon as he had satisfied himself that they had not suffered in any way, he walked in the direction in which he had fired during the night, to find footprints in several directions, and in one place the dust among some stones torn up and scattered, as if one of the brutes had fallen on its side and scratched up the earth. Plainer still in the way of proof of what had happened, there were spots and smudges of blood, giving thorough evidence that one of the lions had been wounded by the chance shot, and had fallen, and struggled fiercely to regain its feet.
He had just arrived at this conclusion when Ingleborough found him.
“Hallo!” cried his companion; “that was a good blind shot, Noll. Well done, lad! A full-grown lion too! Look at its pads. It must have had a nasty flesh-wound to have bled like this.”
“Do you think it’ll be lying anywhere near, half-dead, or quite?”
“No! A cat has nine lives, they say; and really this kind of beast is very, hard to kill. Look, there are the pugs, along with those of three more, all half-grown, going right away yonder into the open veldt. We might hunt ’em down, but we don’t want to, eh?”