A large and commodious platform was built in the forks of a great tree in a district where the questing grunt of lions could be heard each night.
The platform was comfortable; it only needed hot and cold running water to be a delightful place to spend a tropic night.
I shot a hartebeest and had it dragged beneath the tree.

Then my two native gunbearers and I made a satisfactory ascent to the platform.

We had a thermos bottle filled with hot tea, and some odds and ends in the way of solid refreshments.

We then stretched out in positions that commanded a view of the hartebeest and waited patiently for an obliging lion to come and be shot.
Night came on and soon the landscape became shadowy and indistinct.
Trees and bushes fused into vague black masses and the carcass of the bait could be located only because it seemed a shade more opaque than the opaque gloom around it.

The more you looked at it the more elusive and shifting it seemed.