“I don’t know, father; but I should like to shoot him,” replied Dick quietly.
“Well, my boys, I hope we shall shoot the animal; and as we are now a couple of miles at least behind the waggon, if he is following it he should be before us now, so come along.”
Rifles were cocked, and every eye carefully scrutinised the dry drabby-yellow grass through which the lion would be stealing its way, and so much like the withered stems in colour that, unless moving, it was quite possible to miss seeing such a creature as they rode along.
The plan arranged was, that no sooner was the lion sighted than they were all to dismount, and fire as opportunity occurred, loading again as rapidly as possible for a second shot.
But though they followed steadily on in the waggon track, riding all three abreast, and scanning every clump and bush, they had approached the bend of the valley without seeing anything but a few bok, which offered tempting marks now that they did not want to shoot.
The waggon had evidently passed through the opening, for it was quite out of sight, and the sinking sun was casting long shadows. So at last Mr Rogers grew impatient and spoke out,—
“We had better ride on, my boys, and catch the waggon. I want to halt early and form a good stout fence for our protection. We shall see no—”
“Lion!” said Dick sharply. “Dismount.”
He threw himself from his horse on the instant, and stood ready to fire, his father and brother imitating his example.
“Where?” said Mr Rogers quietly. “I see nothing, Dick.”