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"What is it?" asked I.
"It is those damned lions, sir," answered Job, in a tone which was
an odd mixture of a sense of personal injury, habitual respect, and
acknowledged fear, "and they are swimming here to _heat_ us," he added,
nervously picking up an "h" in his agitation.
I looked again: there was no doubt about it; I could catch the glare of
their ferocious eyes. Attracted either by the smell of the newly killed
waterbuck meat or of ourselves, the hungry beasts were actually storming
our position.
Leo already had his rifle in his hand. I called to him to wait till they
were nearer, and meanwhile grabbed my own. Some fifteen feet from us
the water shallowed on a bank to the depth of about fifteen inches, and
presently the first of them--it was the lioness--got on to it, shook
herself, and roared. At that moment Leo fired, the bullet went right
down her open mouth and out at the back of her neck, and down she
dropped, with a splash, dead. The other lion--a full-grown male--was
some two paces behind her.


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