Shush, shush; I heard it quite plainly. Good heavens! where is that
lion? Broad daylight now. Is the thing a ghost?
No. There it is--a scrubby, little, scaly anteater! Still grubbing in
the fallen leaves. Shush, shush; shush, shush.
We stood looking at it, tired-eyed and weary.
"Why don't you kill the wretched rat?"
It was the Rev. Mr. Bumpus who spoke.
Talking of rats, I could have killed that man there and then.
* * * * *
When I got back to my own waggon I found lion spoor on the sandy road.
It was not difficult to read from their tracks--there were three
lions--that they had followed the missionary's waggon until they came to
a turn in the road and saw my lanterns. From that point the spoor led
down to the river bed, across it, and into the thick bush on the other
side. They hadn't come near the waggons.