It was away at the extreme end where the main body of the curious-looking, half-dog, half-human creatures were gathered, all in motion, and evidently much exercised by something below them on the side farthest from where we approached.
“They’re playing some game, Mr Moray,” said the Sergeant, speaking quite respectfully to me, and, as I thought, slightly emphasising the “Mister,” which sounded strange. “Tell you what it is: one of the young ones has tumbled into a gully and broken his pretty little self.”
“Give the order to unsling rifles, Sergeant,” I said quietly, “and approach with caution.”
“Eh? What! You don’t think there’s an ambuscade—do you?”
“No,” I said as I watched the actions of the apes keenly; “but I do think there’s a lion lying up somewhere.”
“A lion!”
“Yes; one of the brutes that were feeding on the dead horses in the night. He has made for the shelter yonder, and is in hiding.”
“And the monkeys have found him, and are mobbing the beggar now he’s sleeping off his supper?”
“That’s it, I think,” I replied.
“Then let’s get his skin if we can. Steady, all, and don’t fire till you get a good chance.”