supported only by four rickety poles, he was
himself stalked by one of the dread beasts.
Fortunately he did not lose his nerve, and succeeded
in shooting the lion, just when it was on
the point of springing upon him. But had this
lion approached him from behind, I think it
would probably have added Col. Patterson to its
long list of victims, for in my own experience I
have known of three instances of men having
been pulled from trees or huts built on platforms
at a greater height from the ground than the
crazy structure on which Col. Patterson was
watching on that night of terrors.

From the time of Herodotus until to-day,
lion stories innumerable have been told and
written. I have put some on record myself.
But no lion story I have ever heard or read
equals in its long-sustained and dramatic interest
the story of the Tsavo man-eaters as told by
Col. Patterson. A lion story is usually a tale
of adventures, often very terrible and pathetic,
which occupied but a few hours of one night;
but the tale of the Tsavo man-eaters is an epic
of terrible tragedies spread out over several
months, and only at last brought to an end by
the resource and determination of one man.

It was some years after I read the first
account published of the Tsavo man-eaters that I