There was nothing to do but sit tight and wait.  The lioness was headed exactly to cross our front; nor, except at one point, was she at all likely to deviate.  A shallow tributary ravine ran into our own about two hundred yards away.  She might possibly sneak down the bed of this.  It seemed unlikely.  The going was bad, and in addition she had no idea as yet that she had been sighted.  Indeed, the chances were that she would come to a definite stop before making the crossing, in which case we would get a shot.

“And if she does go down the donga,” whispered Hill, “the dogs will locate her.”

Sitting still while things approach is always exciting.  This is true of ducks; but when you multiply ducks by lions it is still more true.  We all crouched very low in the grass.  She leapt without hesitation into the ravine—­and did not emerge.

This was a disappointment.  We concluded she must have entered the stream bottom, and were just about to move when Memba Sasa snapped his fingers.  His sharp eyes had discovered her sneaking along, belly to the ground, like the cat she was.  The explanation of this change in her gait was simple.  Our companions had rounded the corner of the hill and were galloping in plain view a half-mile away.  The lioness had caught sight of them.

She was gliding by, dimly visible, through thick brush seventy yards distant.  Now I could make out a tawny patch that faded while I looked; now I could merely guess at a melting shadow.

“Stir her up,” whispered Hill.  “Never mind whether you hit.  She’ll sneak away.”

At the shot she leaped fully out into the open with a snarl.  Promptly I planted a Springfield bullet in her ribs.  She answered slightly to the hit, but did not shift position.  Her head up, her tail thrashing from side to side, her ears laid back, she stood there looking the landscape over carefully point by point.  She was searching for us, but as yet could not locate us.  It was really magnificent.

I attempted to throw in another cartridge, but because of my desire to work the bolt quietly, in order not to attract the lioness’s attention, I did not pull it back far enough, and the cartridge jammed in the magazine.  As evidence of Memba Sasa’s coolness and efficiency, it is to be written that he became aware of this as soon as I did.  He thrust the.405 across my right side, at the same time withdrawing the Springfield on the left.  The motion was slight, but the lioness caught it.  Immediately she dropped her head and charged.

For the next few moments, naturally, I was pretty intent on lions.  Nevertheless a corner of my mind was aware of Memba Sasa methodically picking away at the jammed rifle, and paying no attention whatever to the beast.  Also I heard Hill making picturesque remarks about his gunbearer, who had bolted with his second gun.