Turning round to relieve myself of the weight, as he had one paw on the back of my head, I saw his eyes directed to Mebalwe, who was trying to shoot him at a distance of ten or fifteen yards.

His gun, a flint one, missed fire in both barrels; the lion immediately left me, and, attacking Mebalwe, bit his thigh.

Another man, whose life I had saved before, after he had been tossed by a buffalo, attempted to spear the lion while he was biting Mebalwe.

He left Mebalwe and caught this man by the shoulder, but at that moment the bullets he had received took effect, and he fell down dead.

The whole was the work of a few moments, and must have been his paroxysms of dying rage.