My hand was covered with blood, but alas! it was mine and not the lion's.
The carriage appeared and we held a prolonged consolation meeting.
Suddenly our general utility boy, Happy Bill, uttered a low cry of warning.

We turned, and there, in the valley ahead of us, the three lions were again seen.

They had evidently passed through the reeds without stopping and had continued across only a few yards from where we were now standing.
Fate seemed determined to give us plenty of chances to get these lions.
Again we opened fire on them at about four or five hundred yards.

My big-gun ammunition was gone, so I fired with my .256.
No result! The distance was too great and our bombardment was fruitless.
The black-maned lion was in a bad humor and repeatedly turned as if intent to stop and defend his outraged dignity.

In a few moments the three lions disappeared in the tall grass that fringed a big reed bed many acres in extent.
For an hour we raked the reed bed with shot, hoping to drive them from cover.