A Tale Of Three Lions (5 page)

“Harry said nothing, but whether it was from the natural impetuosity of
youth, or because he was thrown off his balance by excitement, or from sheer
recklessness and devilment, I am sure I cannot tell you, never having been
able to get a satisfactory explanation from him; but at any rate the fact
remains, he, without word or warning, entirely disregarding my exhortations,
lifted up his Westley Richards and fired at the black-maned lion, and, what
is more, hit it slightly on the flank.

“Next second there was a most awful roar from the injured lion. He glared
around him and roared with pain, for he was badly stung; and then, before I
could make up my mind what to do, the great black-maned brute, clearly
ignorant of the cause of his hurt, sprang right at the throat of his
companion, to whom he evidently attributed his misfortune. It was a curious
sight to see the astonishment of the other lion at this most unprovoked
assault. Over he rolled with an angry snarl, and on to him sprang the
black-maned demon, and began to worry him. This finally awoke the
yellow-maned lion to a sense of the situation, and I am bound to say that he
rose to it in a most effective manner. Somehow or other he got to his feet,
and, roaring and snarling frightfully, closed with his mighty foe.

“Then ensued a most tremendous scene. You know what a shocking thing it is
to see two large dogs fighting with abandonment. Well, a whole hundred of
dogs could not have looked half so terrible as those two great brutes as they
rolled and roared and rent in their horrid rage. They gripped each other,
they tore at each other’s throat, till their manes came out in handfuls, and
the red blood streamed down their yellow hides. It was an awful and a
wonderful thing to see the great cats tearing at each other with all the
fierce energy of their savage strength, and making the night hideous with
their heart-shaking noise. And the fight was a grand one too. For some
minutes it was impossible to say which was getting the best of it, but at
last I saw that the black-maned lion, though he was slightly bigger, was
failing. I am inclined to think that the wound in his flank crippled him.
Anyway, he began to get the worst of it, which served him right, as he was
the aggressor. Still I could not help feeling sorry for him, for he had
fought a gallant fight, when his antagonist finally got him by the throat,
and, struggle and strike out as he would, began to shake the life out of him.
Over and over they rolled together, a hideous and awe- inspiring spectacle,
but the yellow one would not loose his hold, and at length poor black-mane
grew faint, his breath came in great snorts and seemed to rattle in his
nostrils, then he opened his huge mouth, gave the ghost of a roar, quivered,
and was dead.

“When he was quite sure that the victory was his own, the yellow-maned
lion loosed his grip and sniffed at the fallen foe. Then he licked the dead
lion’s eye, and next, with his fore-feet resting on the carcass, sent up his
own chant of victory, that went rolling and pealing down the dark paths of
the night. And at this point I interfered. Taking a careful sight at the
centre of his body, in order to give the largest possible margin for error, I
fired, and sent a .570 express bullet right through him, and down he dropped
dead upon the carcass of his mighty foe.

“After that, fairly satisfied with our performances, we slept peaceably
till dawn, leaving Pharaoh to keep watch in case any more lions should take
it into their heads to come our way.

“When the sun was well up we arose, and went very cautiously—at
least Pharaoh and I did, for I would not allow Harry to come—to see
if we could find any trace of the wounded lioness. She had ceased roaring
immediately upon the arrival of the two lions, and had not made a sound
since, from which we concluded that she was probably dead. I was armed with
my express, while Pharaoh, in whose hands a rifle was indeed a dangerous
weapon, to his companions, had an axe. On our way we stopped to look at the
two dead lions. They were magnificent animals, both of them, but their pelts
were entirely spoiled by the terrible mauling they had given to each other,
which was a sad pity.

“In another minute we were following the blood spoor of the wounded
lioness into the bush, where she had taken refuge. This, I need hardly say,
we did with the utmost caution; indeed, I for one did not at all like the
job, and was only consoled by the reflection that it was necessary, and that
the bush was not thick. Well, we stood there, keeping as far from the trees
as possible, searching and looking about, but no lioness could we see, though
we saw plenty of blood.

“‘She must have gone somewhere to die, Pharaoh,’ I said in Zulu.

“‘Yes, Inkoos,’ he answered, ‘she has certainly gone away.’

“Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when I heard a roar, and starting
round saw the lioness emerge from the very centre of a bush, in which she had
been curled up, just behind Pharaoh. Up she went on to her hind-legs, and as
she did so I noticed that one of her fore-paws was broken near the shoulder,
for it hung limply down. Up she went, towering right over Pharaoh’s head, as
she did so lifting her uninjured paw to strike him to the earth. And then,
before I could get my rifle round or do anything to avert the oncoming
catastrophe, the Zulu did a very brave and clever thing. Realizing his own
imminent danger, he bounded to one side, and swinging the heavy axe round his
head, brought it down right on to the back of the lioness, severing the
vertebræ and killing her instantaneously. It was wonderful to see her
collapse all in a heap like an empty sack.

“‘My word, Pharaoh!’ I said, ‘that was well done, and none too soon.’

“‘Yes,’ he answered, with a little laugh, ‘it was a good stroke, Inkoos.
Jim-Jim will sleep better now.’

“Then, calling Harry to us, we examined the lioness. She was old, if one
might judge from her worn teeth, and not very large, but thickly made, and
must have possessed extraordinary vitality to have lived so long, shot as she
was; for, in addition to her broken shoulder, my express bullet had blown a
great hole in her middle that one might have put a fist into.

“Well, that is the story of the death of poor Jim-Jim and how we avenged
it. It is rather interesting in its way, because of the fight between the two
lions, of which I never saw the like in all my experience, and I know
something of lions and their manners.”

“And how did you get back to Pilgrim’s Rest?” I asked Hunter Quatermain
when he had finished his yarn.

“Ah, we had a nice job with that,” he answered. “The second sick ox died,
and so did another, and we had to get on as best we could with three
harnessed unicorn fashion, while we pushed behind. We did about four miles a
day, and it took us nearly a month, during the last week of which we pretty
well starved.”

“I notice,” I said, “that most of your trips ended in disaster of some
sort or another, and yet you went on making them, which strikes one as a
little strange.”

“Yes, I dare say: but then, remember I got my living for many years out of
hunting. Besides, half the charm of the thing lay in the dangers and
disasters, though they were terrible enough at the time. Another thing is, my
trips were not all disastrous. Some time, if you like, I will tell you a
story of one which was very much the reverse, for I made several thousand
pounds out of it, and saw one of the most extraordinary sights a hunter ever
came across. It was on this trip that I met the bravest native woman I ever
knew; her name was Maiwa. But it is too late now, and besides, I am tired of
talking about myself. Pass the water, will you!”