Would she hear me? I wondered. A husky voice from behind the curtain answered my hope:
“Lads, pass one in to me.”
Chapter V
Love and Lions
Chapter V
The afternoon, it appeared, was to be given over to a lion hunt in spite of the objections of Effendi-Bazam, the Karawan-bashi or leader of the Wimpole party which, by the way, was as ill-organized and amateur an outfit as I have ever seen. We were now not far from the southern edge of the Ahaggar Plateau which thrusts its spurs into the desert like the stony fingers of a giant hand clutching at the sands. The ravines between the fingers were an ideal lurking place for desert lions, mangy, ill-favored beasts but far more sporty than their South African brothers.
Effendi-Bazam was an undersized ottoman, hardly higher than a foot-stool. He was thoroughly desert-broken but as timorous as a hare.
“Great danger!” he cried, pointing northward when the hunting expedition was proposed. “Great danger.”
“Danger from what ... the lions?” I asked.
A DESERT DIANA
“The afternoon, it appeared, was to be given over to lion-hunting.”