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The Land of Footprints-Part30_Stewart Edward White(1873-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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evening Billy decided to have a grand celebration, so she passed

out a tin marked "rhubarb" and some cornstarch, together with



suitable instructions for a fruit pudding. In a little while the

cook returned.



"Nataka m'tund-I want fruit," said he.

Billy pointed out, severely, that he already had fruit. He went



away shaking his head. Evening and the pudding came. It looked

good, and we congratulated Billy on her culinary enterprise.



Being hungry, we took big mouthfuls. There followed splutterings

and investigations. The rhubarb can proved to be an old one



containing heavy gun grease!

When finally we parted with our faithful cook we bought him a



really wonderful many bladed knife as a present. On seeing it he

slumped to the ground-six feet of lofty dignity-and began to



weep violently, rocking back and forth in an excess of grief.

"Why, what is it?" we inquired, alarmed.



"Oh, Memsahib!" he wailed, the tears coursing down his cheeks, "I

wanted a watch!"



One morning about nine o'clock we were riding along at the edge of

a grass-grown savannah, with a low hill to our right and another



about four hundred yards ahead. Suddenly two rhinoceroses came to

their feet some fifty yards to our left out in the high grass,



and stood looking uncertainly in our direction.

"Look out! Rhinos!" I warned instantly.



"Why-why!" gasped Billy in an astonished tone of voice, "they

have manes!"



In some concern for her sanity I glanced in her direction. She

was staring, not to her left, but straight ahead. I followed the



direction of her gaze, to see three lions moving across the face

of the hill.



Instantly we dropped off our horses. We wanted a shot at those

lions very much indeed, but were hampered in our efforts by the



two rhinoceroses, now stamping, snorting, and moving slowly in

our direction. The language we muttered was racy, but we dropped



to a kneeling position and opened fire on the disappearing lions.

It was most distinctly a case of divided attention, one eye on



those menacing rhinos, and one trying to attend to the always

delicate operation of aligning sights and signalling from a



rather distracted brain just when to pull the trigger. Our

faithful gunbearers crouched by us, the heavy guns ready.



One rhino seemed either peaceable or stupid. He showed no

inclination either to attack or to depart, but was willing to



back whatever play his friend might decide on. The friend charged

toward us until we began to think he meant battle, stopped,



thought a moment, and then, followed by his companion, trotted

slowly across our bows about eighty yards away, while we



continued our long range practice at the lions over their backs.

In this we were not winning many cigars. F. had a 280-calibre



rifle shooting the Ross cartridge through the much advertised

grooveless oval bore. It was little accurate beyond a hundred



yards. Memba Sasa had thrust the 405 into my hand, knowing it for

the "lion gun," and kept just out of reach with the long-range



Springfield. I had no time to argue the matter with him. The 405

has a trajectory like a rainbow at that distance, and I was



guessing at it, and not making very good guesses either. B. had

his Springfield and made closer practice, finally hitting a leg



of one of the beasts. We saw him lift his paw and shake it, but

he did not move lamely afterward, so the damage was probably



confined to a simple scrape. It was a good shot anyway. Then they

disappeared over the top of the hill.



We walked forward, regretting rhinos. Thirty yards ahead of me

came a thunderous and roaring growl, and a magnificent old lion



reared his head from a low bush. He evidently intended mischief,

for I could see his tail switching. However, B. had killed only



one lion and I wanted very much to give him the shot. Therefore,

I held the front sight on the middle of his chest, and uttered a



fervent wish to myself that B. would hurry up. In about ten

seconds the muzzle of his rifle poked over my shoulder, so I



resigned the job.

At B.'s shot the lion fell over, but was immediately up and



trying to get at us. Then we saw that his hind quarters were




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