"The partridges are there," whispered Sir John; "let us each take one."
"No," answered Mokoum softly, "the brood is not all here, and the report of a gun would frighten the rest. Bochjesman, are you sure of your arrow at this distance?"
"Yes, Mokoum," said the native.
"Then aim at the male's left flank, and pierce his heart."
The Bochjesman bent his bow, and the arrow whistled through the brushwood. With a loud roar, the lion made a bound and fell. He lay motionless, and his sharp teeth stood out in strong relief against his blood-stained lips.
"Well done, Bochjesman!" said Mokoum.
At this moment the lionesses, leaving the thicket, flung themselves on the lion's body. Attracted by their roar, two other lions and a third lioness appeared round the corner of the defile. Bristling with anger, they looked twice their ordinary size, and bounded forward with terrific roars.
"Now for the rifles," cried the bushman, "we must shoot them on the wing, since they will not perch."
