“Wot are you drivin’ at?” blustered Wimpole. “Wouldn’t we of seen ’em if they’d been there?”
This was just what I wanted.
“Not necessarily,” then, as if the thought had just occurred to me. “By jove; this is an ideal place for netting lions!”
Both Lord and Lady Wimpole were instantly intrigued.
“What ho?” they cried simultaneously.
“Here is the idea,” I explained. “Over there is typical lion country, nothing there but sand and lions. But you can’t see them; nature takes care of that, you know, protective coloration. Tawny, yellowish beasts—they’re invisible at ten feet. But they can be caught. How many camels have you?”
“Twenty-two” supplied Effendi.
“Good. Take all the nets that go over their loads and fasten them together. Quick.”
“Do as the Sheik says,” said Lord Wimpole.
An hour later we were ready, the camel nets in a huge ball being rolled easily over the desert. About three miles distant I had noted a rocky flume which narrowed at its lower end. It was ideal for my purpose. Spreading the nets below I ran a strong camels-hair rope through the outer edges making a gathering string which was then carried up and over the projecting rock. At my direction a score or more of doolahs began prodding the high bank of sand that rose between the rock-walls of the gorge. First in a slow trickle, then in a steady stream the sand slid down into the nets. Occasionally a large mass would fall in which I thought I detected a flurried motion but, from our distance, I could not be sure. When the sand had piled itself to a height of about twelve feet, the base of the symmetrical cone reaching to the edge of the nets I gave a word of command, “Now!” and the doolah-boys began pulling hastily at the gathering-rope. The edge of the nets rose neatly, closing-in around the top of the cone. Phase one of my operation was complete.