t showed that the enemy were there; that they were awake and alert (I
say 'they,' because one nigger would not be up there by himself in the
dark); and that they were aware of our force being at Possett's (as,
otherwise, they would not be occupying that hill). However, they could
not see anything of us, as it was then quite dark; and we went farther
on among the mountains. In the early morning light we crossed the deep
river-bed of the Umchingwe River, and, in doing so, we noticed the
fresh spoor of a lion in the sand. We went on, and had a good look at
the enemy's stronghold; and on our way back, as we approached this
river-bed, we agreed to go quietly, in case the lion should be moving
about in it. On looking down over the bank, my heart jumped into my
mouth when I saw a grand old brute just walking in behind a bush.
Jackson could not see him, but was off his horse as quick as I was,
and ready with his gun; too ready, indeed, for the moment that the
lion appeared, walking majestically out from behind the bush that had
hidden him, Jackson fired hurriedly, striking the ground under his
foot, and, as we afterwards discovered, knocking off one of his claws.
The lion tossed up his shaggy head and looked at us in dignified
surprise. Then I fired and hit him in the ribs with a leaden bullet
from my Lee-Metford. He reeled, sprang round, and staggered a few
paces, when Jackson, who was firing a Martini-Henry, let him have one
in the shoulder; this knocked him over sideways, and he turned about,
growling savagely. I could scarcely believe that we had actually got a
lion at last, but resolved to make sure of it; so, telling Jackson not
to fire unless it was necessary (for fear of spoiling the skin with
the larger bullet of the Martini), I got down closer to the beast, and
fired a shot at the back of his neck as he turned his head away from
me. This went through his spine, and came out through the lower jaw,
killing him dead."

It was during the Matabele campaign that Baden-Powell came across a
fine wild boar, which, he remarks, caused quite a flutter in his
breast. "'If I only had you in the open, my friend,' thought I. 'If
only you had a horse that was fit enough to come anywhere near me,'
grinned he. And so we parted." A graphic incident.

It is in hunting the wild boar that Baden-Powell has a universal
reputation as a sportsman. He is good, very good, at all sports, but
it is as a pig-sticker that he excels, and stands out c