Two
wart-hogs jumped up, and Mr. Roosevelt shot the biggest of them.
By this time it was getting late in the afternoon; time for lions
to be about. At last they saw one; a big lioness. She ran along
the bed of a stream, crouching so as not to be seen in the failing
light. The two hunters rode past and would have missed her if one
of the native followers had not sighted her a second time. Then
Roosevelt and the other hunter left their horses, and came in
close on foot. This is perhaps as dangerous as any hunting in
Africa. A man must be cool and a good shot to go after lions;
sooner or later almost every lion hunter either gets badly hurt or
gets killed.
This time all went well; Roosevelt hit her with his first shot;
ran in close and finished her. She weighed over three hundred
pounds. The porters--much excited, as they always are at the
death of a lion--wished to carry the whole body without skinning
it, back to camp. While they were lashing it to a pole another
lion began to growl hungrily. The night was dark, without a moon,
and the work of getting back was hard for the porters, as well as
rather terrifying to them. Lions were grunting all about; twice
one of them kept alongside the men as they walked,--much to their
discomfort. Then a rhinoceros, nearby, let off a series of snorts,
like a locomotive. This did not cheer up the porters to any great
degree.
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