the early morning light we crossed the deep river-bed of the Umchingwe River, and, in doing so, we noticed the fresh spoor of a lion in the sand.  We went on, and had a good look at the enemy’s stronghold; and on our way back, as we approached this river-bed, we agreed to go quietly, in case the lion should be moving about in it.  On looking down over the bank, my heart jumped into my mouth when I saw a grand old brute just walking in behind a bush.  Jackson could not see him, but was off his horse as quick as I was, and ready with his gun; too ready, indeed, for the moment that the lion appeared, walking majestically out from behind the bush that had hidden him, Jackson fired hurriedly, striking the ground under his foot, and, as we afterwards discovered, knocking off one of his claws.  The lion tossed up his shaggy head and looked at us in dignified surprise.  Then I fired and hit him in the ribs with a leaden bullet from my Lee-Metford.  He reeled, sprang round, and staggered a few paces, when Jackson, who was firing a Martini-Henry, let him have one in the shoulder; this knocked him over sideways, and he turned about, growling savagely.  I could scarcely believe that we had actually got a lion at last, but resolved to make sure of it; so, telling Jackson not to fire unless it was necessary (for fear of spoiling the skin with the larger bullet of the Martini), I got down closer to the beast, and fired a shot at the back of his neck as he turned his head away from me.  This went through his spine, and came out through the lower jaw, killing him dead.”

It was during the Matabele campaign that Baden-Powell came across a fine wild boar, which, he remarks, caused quite a flutter in his breast. “‘If I only had you in the open, my friend,’ thought I.  ’If only you had a horse that was fit enough to come anywhere near me,’ grinned he.  And so we parted.”  A graphic incident.

It is in hunting the wild boar that Baden-Powell has a universal reputation as a sportsman.  He is good, very good, at all sports, but it is as a pig-sticker that he excels, and stands out clear-cut from the rest.  And pig-sticking is the sport of all sports which entail the killing of animals in which we could wish him to excel.  Hear Major Moray Brown on the subject of fox versus pig:  “You cannot compare the two sports together.  To begin with, in fox-hunting you are dependent on ‘scent.’  Granted the excitement of a fast burst over a grass country, and that you are well carried by your horse, the end—­what is it?  A poor little fox worried by at least forty times its number of hounds.  Has he a chance, bar his cunning, of baffling his pursuers?  No.  Now, how different is the chase of the boar of India!  There you must depend on yourself in every way, and at the end your quarry meets you on nearly fair and equal terms.”  Let it be remembered that the boar is an animal of great reputation among beasts.  It is a well-ascertained fact, says Baden-Powell,