The thought of losing the finest lion we had seen on the whole trip was maddening, yet it seemed impossible to hit him.
Then he disappeared and probably rejoined his companions in a retreat that led down into the ravine where it wound far away from us.

There were patches of reeds in the ravine and it was there that I thought they would hide.
Sending the carriage in a wide detour, we climbed across a spur of the ravine and tried to pick up the trail.

Once I fell upon the rocks that lined the steep sides of the gully and cut my hand so deeply that the scar will always remain as a reminder of that eventful day.

Stephenson kept to the top of the ridge, believing that the lions would continue across the ravine; I went into the ravine, thinking they would take cover in the reeds and might be scared out with a shot or two.
But nothing could be seen of them, and after half an hour we rejoined on the top of the hill, where a wide view of the whole country was revealed.
We sat down in despair.

The greatest chance of the whole trip was gone.
"That's the last we'll see of them," said I oracularly as I sat upon a stone.