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Updated: June 26, 2025
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.
Stephenson shot at the big black-mane and I at the male that was retreating. Both shots missed. The black-mane resumed his retreat and we got in a couple more ineffectual shots before the three lions disappeared over the brow of the ravine. Once more in the carriage and another wild gallop as far as the vehicle would go.
Upon a later occasion Christmas night, it was I watched from a boma near an elephant we had killed, but except for the distant grunting of lions, there was nothing important to chronicle. Lion hunting goes by luck. One man may sit in a boma night after night without getting a shot, while another may go out once and bring back a black-mane.
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