ement had set
in. Behind us marched the three gunbearers, all abreast, very military
and proud. Then came the porters in single file, the one carrying the
folded lion skin leading the way; those bearing the waterbuck trophy
and meat bringing up the rear. They kept up an undertone of humming in
a minor key; occasionally breaking into a short musical phrase in full
voice.

We rode an hour. The camp looked very cool and inviting under its wide
high trees, with the river slipping by around the islands of papyrus. A
number of black heads bobbed about in the shallows. The small fires sent
up little wisps of smoke. Around them our boys sprawled, playing simple
games, mending, talking, roasting meat. Their tiny white tents gleamed
pleasantly among the cool shadows.

I had thought of riding nonchalantly up to our own tents, of dismounting
with a careless word of greeting--

"Oh, yes," I would say, "we did have a good enough day. Pretty hot. Roy
got a fine waterbuck. Yes, I got a lion." (Tableau on part of Billy.)

But Memba Sasa used up all the nonchalance there was. As we entered camp
he remarked casually to the nearest man.

"Bwana na piga simba-the master has killed a lion."

The man leaped to his feet.

"Simba! simba! simba!" he yelled. "Na piga simba!"

Every one in camp also leaped to his feet, taking up the cry. From the
water it was echoed as the bathers scrambled ashore. The camp broke into
pandemonium. We were surrounded by a dense struggling mass of men. They
reached up scores of black hands to grasp my own; they seized from me
everything portable and bore it in triumph before me-my water bottle,
my rifle, my camera, my whip, my field glasses, even my hat, everything
that was detachable. Those on the outside danced and lifted up their
voices in song, improvised for the most part, and in honor of the day's
work. In a vast swirling, laughing, shouting, triumphant mob we swept
through the camp to where Billy-by now not very much surprised-was
waiting to get the official news. By the measure of this extravagant joy
could we gauge what the killing of a lion means to these people who have
always lived under the dread of his rule.

X. LIONS

A very large lion I killed stood three feet and nine inches at the
withers, and of course carried his head higher than that. The top of
the table at which I sit is only two feet three inches from the floor.
Coming through the door at my back that lion's head would sta