“Look out!” shouted Mr. Lewis suddenly. “There’s another. A lioness!”
Bob worked furiously to push the bolt on his rifle. But before he had done so, the guns of his father and Mr. Lewis spoke.
The bullets stopped the brute for only a second. Then, with a horrible roar, it plunged toward the boma. Before the two naturalists could again aim and fire, it would be upon them!
Then, when things hung in the balance, Bob pulled the trigger.
There was a convulsive leap as the lioness groaned out her last breath. She fell to the ground with a dull thud and lay still.
“Good work,” commented Joe. “That bullet of yours came in just at the right time.”
“It certainly did,” put in Mr. Lewis. “Of course, Howard and I might have gotten her, but then again, we might not.”
As an added precaution, the naturalists put another bullet into each of the lions. After waiting a few moments for any more of the big beasts to appear, they went out to examine the ones they had killed.
“Whoppers, all right,” remarked Joe. “This big one here must be at least nine feet long from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.”
“Both are unusually fine specimens,” declared Mr. Lewis, as he removed his long hunting knife.