This time Roger did not bother with disinfectant. The cub’s scratches were harmless; he was not yet a meat-eater so there would be no rotting flesh under his claws.
Back to the balloon. Hal and Roger climbed the swaying rope ladder.
The wind had come up and the basket was rolling like a ship in a rough sea. But not quite. At the end of each roll a ship’s rail goes down. This basket was more like a hammock. At the end of each swing a hammock goes up. They were being rocked in the cradle of the sky.
But they had been bounced too often in small planes to be bothered by the motion. Equipped with two pairs of binoculars, they began to scan the landscape.
The balloon was at about the middle point of the three-mile stretch of track on which the men were working. The binoculars easily enabled the boys to see a mile and a half in each direction. The country was open savannah, covered with tall tawny grass and punctuated here and there by bushes and termite bills a few feet high.
‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Hal ‘Now we’re high enough to see behind all those things. If anything stirs in that grass without our spotting it, there’s no excuse for us.’
For an hour their binoculars combed the three miles of track and the fairly open country on each side between track and forest. Then Roger nudged his brother. He pointed.
‘Look - there. Just coming out of the woods. Four, five, six lions.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Hal. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he was over the side and sliding down the trail line. Roger followed. In less than twenty seconds they were in the car and speeding down the road that hugged the track. A minute later they tumbled out at the point nearest to the approaching group of lions.
The railway men looked up in surprise. They had been too intent on their work to notice the danger. Hal and Roger snatched two rifles from the car, crossed the track, and walked through the grass towards the lions.
None of the railway men could help them since they were forbidden to carry arms. They went back to their work, glancing anxiously now and then at the boys who were their only protection against six possible man-eaters. The lions came on slowly.
‘Perhaps they don’t mean any harm,’ Roger said.
‘How can we tell?’
Hal stripped off his shirt. He went a hundred feet forward and threw down the shirt, then returned to join Roger. .
The lions came up to the shirt, sniffed at it curiously, pawed it a little, then went off a short distance and lay down.
There’s your answer,’ Hal said. ‘There’s plenty of man-smell in that shirt. If they had been man-eaters they probably would have ripped it to bits.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said a voice behind them. They turned to see the white hunter who until now had avoided them.
‘I believe your name is Dugan,’ said Hal, extending his hand. Dugan shook it, but without enthusiasm. He was a lemon-faced fellow with bitter eyes and a sour twist to the corners of his mouth.
‘Just thought you might need a little help,’ Dugan said. ‘Six lions could be a bit too much for two inexperienced boys.’
Hal smiled. He would not trouble to explain his own long experience with animals. He was not going to let Dugan get his goat.
‘You could be wrong about the shirt,’ Dugan went on. ‘Lions are pretty sly. Perhaps they’re just pretending they don’t care about man-smell. Perhaps they just want to put you off your guard. Then they’ll pounce on you or on one of the men.’
‘I know that,’ Hal said. ‘But we have orders not to kill harmless lions. Since we can’t be absolutely sure whether they are harmless or not, let’s scare them back into the woods. Let’s shoot over their heads. Be very careful,’ he said to Roger, ‘not to hit one of them. If you do you’ll have King Ku and Tanga and the warden and everybody else down on us.’
‘Excellent idea,’ Dugan said with a mean smile and raised his gun. The three fired at the same instant.
The lions leaped to their feet and made off towards the woods. One lagged behind, and then fell. Hal looked at bis brother accusingly.
‘You shot him!’
‘I did not. I aimed six feet above their heads.’
‘Well, if you didn’t, who did?’ Hal wheeled around to face Dugan.
But Dugan was no longer there. He was running down the tracks towards the station.
The boys remained at their post for a time to be sure that the lions did not return. Then they cautiously approached the one that had fallen. It did not stir. The great golden-haired body was curled up as if in sleep. Blood welled from a bullet hole behind the left ear. It would be a long sleep.
Hal retrieved his shirt. Wearily, they went back to the station to report to Tanga. Hal began to explain, but Tanga cut him short.
‘Dugan has already told me about it,’ said the station master. ‘How could you possibly make such a mistake? Haven’t you ever had a gun in your hands before?’
Hal stared. ‘You mean - Dugan pinned it on us?’
‘Now look here,’ Tanga said irritably. ‘I don’t think too much of Dugan - but at least he knows how to fire a gun. After all, he’s a professional hunter. I should have kept him on the job. I was a fool to take on a couple of boys to do a man’s work.’
‘But listen,’ Hal said patiently. ‘You are perfectly right about one thing - Dugan knows how to fire a gun.
Doesn’t it occur to you that he may have killed that lion on purpose?’
‘Why should he do that?’ m
‘To make you think we did it. And apparently he succeeded. You yourself warned us that he would try to do for us. And now when he is doing just that you allow him to get away with it. We let him put one over on us. You are quite right - we are just boys and not very smart. But you, Tanga, you are a man - I never would have thought he could make a fool of you.’
The words went home. Tanga writhed in his chair.
‘I don’t know - I just don’t know,’ he said confusedly. ‘Anyhow I’ll have to tell King Ku.’
‘Go ahead and tell him,’ Hal said. ‘There’s one good thing about Ku. He’s enough of a devil to understand the devil in Dugan.’
Chapter 10
The tourists and the lion
Once again in their basket, the watchmen in the sky had the thrill of being able to see the world and yet not be a part of it.
They were on a planet of their own. Or they were men from Mars in a flying saucer investigating the Earth.
Every detail below stood out sharply - the campground, the roof of the station, the men at work on the tracks, the grassy plain and the woods beyond; to the west, Kilimanjaro raising its snowy head far above the clouds; to the north, the village of Gula on its hilltop; and not far west of it, Mombo village, so plainly visible that you could count the dogs.
In some ways, the balloon had it all over the plane. In a balloon you simply stood still in the sky and had a chance to look. In a plane you shot along at a speed of anywhere from a hundred miles an hour up to heaven knows what and if you saw anything that interested you it was gone before you could get your eyes fixed on it.
In the Jules Verne they were only a hundred feet up with a close view of everything. In a small plane they would be riding a mile high, or seven miles high in a |et
Much of the time there would be a carpet of clouds beneath you hiding the earth. Even if the air were clear
the far-away features of the land below would be little more than a blur.
And you would be peering out of a tight little window filmed over with dust or mist, or smudged with grease where the heads of passengers had rested against it. In a few minutes you would give up trying to see anything and would bury yourself in a magazine.
Standing free in an open basket, not cooped in by walls and windows, with a sweeping view on all sides, the idea of reading a magazine was the last thing that would cross your mind.
The train from Mombasa rolled in. Two women stepped out of the train and stood uncertainly on the station platform. Their voi
ces which could not have been heard a hundred feet away on the ground rose easily a hundred feet to the perch in the sky.
Bless my soul,’ said one. ‘What a godforsaken place.’
‘Wonder how we get a taxi,’ said the other.
They approached an African dozing on a bench.
‘Pardon me, how do we get to Kitani Safari Lodge?’
The man opened sleepy eyes and waved his hand as if brushing away flies.
‘He doesn’t understand us. Dear me, what can we do?’
Hal leaned over the edge of the basket. ‘I beg your pardon - can I help you?’
The women stared at each other.
‘Who said that? Did you hear it?’
‘Someone speaking English.’
They looked at the African on the bench. He was asleep. They looked all around.
‘I could swear—’
‘Don’t swear, lady,’ Hal said. ‘Look up.’
They looked up and gave vent to their astonishment in a little scream.
‘Patricia, do you see what I see? A balloon. Of all things!’
‘It can’t be real.’
‘What are you doing up there, young man?’
Hal laughed. ‘Just waiting to serve you. What’s your trouble?’
‘We want to go to Kitani Safari Lodge.’
‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck for a while. The Lodge car will come to meet the Nairobi train.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Two hours from now.’
‘Two hours! Young man, we’re American tourists. We’re not used to that kind of service. Two hours indeed! What are we going to do in the meantime?’
‘You could sit in the station.’
‘We didn’t come to Africa to sit in stations. Isn’t there anything to see around here?’
‘Would you be interested in an African village?’
‘Of course.’
“There are two near by. Mombo is just up that path a few minutes’ walk.’
‘Will you guide us?’
‘Sorry, madam, we have a job to do up here. You’ll be all right.’
The ladies sputtered a bit over this, looked at their watches, then took the path to Mombo.
The boys watched them as they crossed the open ground, disappeared into a patch of woodland, and appeared again on the other side climbing the small hill to the village.
It was at this moment that Roger saw the lion. It emerged from the woods and followed the two women up the trail. They went on, quite unaware of its presence.
Down the trail rope, like firemen down the pole, slid the two lion-hunters. They snatched rifles from the car and raced across the grassland and through the woods towards the village. Coming out from among the frees they looked anxiously up the path to the hilltop. There was no sign of either ladies or lion.
‘Perhaps he’s got them already,’ Roger gasped.
They puffed their way up the hill and entered the village. They ran between the straw-roofed mud huts and came out into the public dance-ground.
Here there seemed to be great excitement. A chattering mob of villagers was packed tightly around something that must be of great interest to them.
The boys pushed through the crowd to the open space in the centre. There they found both the ladies and the lion.
They leaped in front of the female tourists, prepared to defend them to the death. They levelled their rifles at the possible man-eater. If he made a move towards either the visitors or the villagers, he would pay for it with his life.
The boys rather expected that they would be greeted with cheers and rejoicing because they had arrived just in time to kill a dangerous wild beast. But what they heard was a great swell of angry voices. Then a big black stepped between them and slapped down their guns.
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘You no shoot. If you kill this lion we kill you.’
Hal was puzzled. ‘What’s so special about this lion?’
The big black fellow, who appeared to be the headman of the village, replied, ‘He good lion. He belong here. Just like dog, only better. He take care of us. If bad buffalo break in, he kill buffalo. Many forest pigs come, destroy our garden, he kill pigs.’
The boys looked at each other, shamefaced. They felt pretty silly. They had come barging in like heroes to rescue these poor people, only to find that the people didn’t want to be rescued. Even the ladies didn’t appreciate their services.
‘You don’t seem to understand lions very well,’ said the lady named Patricia.
‘I suppose you know a good deal about them,’ said Hal politely.
‘Yes, we do. We’ve just been to Kruger - there we drove around among the lions and they didn’t do a thing. Our guide drove the car up to within fifteen feet of them and we just sat there and looked at them and they paid no attention to us. They yawned, and they rolled around on their backs with their paws in the air just like kittens, and some of them even went to sleep. They’re just dear, adorable pussycats, that’s all.’
‘Did you step out of the car?’
‘No, that isn’t allowed. But I don’t see why not. They were the gentlest, sweetest things - they wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘I’m afraid you are too trusting,’ Hal suggested.
‘Don’t fry to tell me about animals, young man,’ said Patricia tartly. ‘I have pussies at home | and these are just like them. You can see what a darling this one is.’
The ‘darling’ yawned, displaying fangs three inches long and as sharp as spears and two rows of ferocious
cutting teeth and grinding molars. Patricia’s head would fit very easily in that great terrible mouth.
The village headman apologized to Hal. ‘I am sorry if we were rude,’ he said. ‘It was kind of you to come. You could not know - this is a very unusual lion. Without him to protect us we would have no crops. You have seen our gardens? Come, I will show you.’
They walked to the edge of the village to see the plantings of yams and beans and maize and coffee and fruit. Hal did not need to be told what damage these would suffer if the gardens were invaded by packs of wild pigs, warthogs, rhinos, or baboons. The village was lucky indeed to have such a strong protector.
The people, proud of their crops, had followed to make sure that the boys would see what fine things had been done in the gardens with the help of the tame lion. But the ladies remained behind. They were more interested in the lion itself. The great puss had gone to sleep.
‘Now I ask you, Gladys,’ said Patricia, ‘did you ever see anything more peaceful? Who could be afraid of that?’
‘He’s sweet,’ agreed Gladys. ‘I wish we could take away something to remember him by. A teensy-weensy tuft of his mane perhaps.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Patricia enthusiastically. ‘Those toenails - aren’t they the loveliest things? So shiny, just like jewels. If we could get one for you and one for me we could take them to a jeweller and have them set in rings. He wouldn’t miss just two toenails -anyhow, they’d grow again. I have a pair of scissors in my bag. Shall we try?’
‘Why not?’ said Gladys.
Fired with this brilliant idea, and armed with the scissors, they crept up to the sleeping pussycat. They lost a little of their nerve as they came close, for the great bushy head made them feel small by comparison. Should they change their minds? Patricia looked at Gladys and Gladys looked at Patricia. It didn’t seem like quite such a good idea now.
But wouldn’t it be wonderful to show the folks back home a ring on your finger with a huge glossy jewel and have them ask, ‘What is it?’ And you reply, ‘A lion’s toenail. I cut it off his claw myself.’ And they would say, ‘A dead lion?’ And you would say, ‘No, a live one.’ And they would say, ‘Ooooo, how brave you are!’ And you would say, ‘It was nothing. They are just big pussycats, you know.’
Patricia, trying to keep her hand steady, brought the scissors close to a lovely nail. The great beast’s breath was hot on her face. She got the claw between
the scissor blades. She tried to cut, but the nail was tough. She exerted a little more pressure.
Hal and Roger, returning, saw this strange spectacle -two women on their knees trying to cut off the claws of the King of Beasts, Hal dared not shout for fear of waking the lion. He waved his arms in warning but they were not looking his way.
The lion, slightly disturbed, opened one sleepy eye. He didn’t quite like what he saw and with one swing of his giant paw he swept both ladies head over heels across the stony ground to end up in a heap against a mud wall.
The lion closed his eye and went back to sleep.
Hal and his brother helped the ladies to their feet. Thief faces were scratched by the stony ground, their dresses were soiled and torn. Their nerves were badly shaken. They sat down weakly on the edge of the hollowed log that served the village as a signal drum. They looked reproachfully at the sleeping lion.
‘Now how could he do a thing like that!’ complained Patricia.
Hal sat down beside them. He didn’t like to lecture but if somebody didn’t set these ladies straight they were very apt to be killed.
‘I’m sorry for what happened,’ he said. ‘But it really wasn’t the lion’s fault. Suppose you woke to find someone attacking you with a pair of scissors. Wouldn’t you do something about it?’
‘But the lions we’ve seen have been so gentle.’
‘They’re gentle so long as you leave them alone. But remember, the lion is the most dangerous animal in Africa.’
‘Oh now, aren’t you exaggerating?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m just telling you what the great hunters and naturalists say. Records show more fatal accidents from lions than from any other animal. The famous hunter, Selous, thought the lion the most dangerous of all African big game. The two white hunters, Tarlton and Cunningham, put the lion at the top of the list. Game Warden Temple-Perkins, after thirty years of experience, graded the dangerous animals by points. Most of them ranked less than a hundred. The buffalo and elephant each got five hundred and fifty points’ He gave the lion seven hundred and twenty-five points as the most dangerous of all.’
“That’s not the way I heard it,’ objected Gladys. ‘I’ve read articles by tourists - they didn’t have the least trouble with lions. They debunked them - said they were much over-rated.’
09 Lion Adventure Page 6