But if there, the question was how to get
them out; for it was clearly impossible to think of going in after
them unless one was quite determined to commit suicide. Now there was a
strong wind blowing from the direction of the waggon, across the reedy
pan toward the bush-clad kloof or donga, and this first gave me the
idea of firing the reeds, which, as I think I told you, were pretty dry.
Accordingly Tom took some matches and began starting little fires to the
left, and I did the same to the right. But the reeds were still green
at the bottom, and we should never have got them well alight had it not
been for the wind, which grew stronger and stronger as the sun climbed
higher, and forced the fire into them. At last, after half an hour's
trouble, the flames got a hold, and began to spread out like a fan,
whereupon I went round to the farther side of the pan to wait for the
lions, standing well out in the open, as we stood at the copse to-day
where you shot the woodcock. It was a rather risky thing to do, but I
used to be so sure of my shooting in those days that I did not so much
mind the risk.
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