At an early hour we loaded our bedding, food, tents, and camp outfit on
a two-wheeled wagon drawn by four of the humpbacked native oxen, and
sent it away across the plains, with instructions to make camp on a
certain kopje. Clifford Hill and myself, accompanied by our gunbearers
and syces, then rode leisurely down the length of a shallow brushy cañon
for a mile or so. There we dismounted and sat down to await the arrival
of the others. These--including Harold Hill, Captain D., five or six
Wakamba spearmen, our own carriers, and the dogs--came along more
slowly, beating the bottoms on the off chance of game.

The sun was just warming, and the bees and insects were filling the air
with their sleepy droning sounds. The hillside opposite showed many
little outcrops of rocks so like the hills of our own Western States
that it was somewhat difficult to realize that we were in Africa. For
some reason the delay was long. Then suddenly all four of us
simultaneously saw the same thing. A quarter-mile away and on the
hillside opposite a magnificent lioness came loping easily along through
the grass. She looked very small at that distance, like a toy, and quite
unhurried. Indeed, every few moments she paused to look back in an
annoyed fashion over her shoulder in the direction of the row behind
her.

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