“Mary will get him. But keep this in mind. I don’t think he’s too brave, mind you. He’s too smart. But when he’s hit he’ll be brave enough when the time comes. Don’t you let the time come.”
“I’m shooting all right now.”
Pop ignored that. He was thinking. Then he said, “Better than all right, actually. Don’t get overconfident but stay as confident as you are. He’ll make a mistake and you’ll get him. If only some lioness would come into heat. Then he’d be money from home. But they’re about ready to pup now.”
“What sort of a mistake will he make?”
“Oh, he’ll make one. You’ll know. I wish I didn’t have to go before Mary gets him. Take really good care of her. See she gets some sleep. She’s been at this now for a long time. Rest her and rest the damn lion. Don’t hunt him too hard. Let him get some confidence.”
“Anything else?”
“Keep her shooting the meat and get her confident if you can.”
“I thought of having her stalk until fifty yards and then maybe to twenty.”
“Might work,” said Pop. “We’ve tried everything else.”
“I think it will work. Then she can take them longer.”
“She makes the damnedest shots,” Pop said. “Then for two days who knows where it’s going?”
“I think I have it figured out.”
“So did I. But don’t take her to any twenty yards on lion.”
It was more than twenty years before that Pop and I had first sat together by a fire or the ashes of a fire and talked about the theory and practice of shooting dangerous game. He disliked and distrusted the target range or woodchuck hunter type.
“Hit a golf ball off the caddy’s head at a mile,” he said. “Wooden or steel caddy of course. Not a live caddy. Never miss until they have to shoot a really great kudu at twenty yards. Then couldn’t hit the mountainside. Bloody gun waving around the great shooter shaking until I was shaking myself.” He drew on his pipe. “Never trust any man until you’ve seen him shoot at something dangerous or that he wants really badly at fifty yards or under. Never buy him until you’ve seen him shoot at twenty. The short distance uncovers what’s inside of them. The worthless ones will always miss or gut shoot at the range we get to so we can’t miss.”
I was thinking about this and happily about the old days and how fine this whole trip had been and how awful it would be if Pop and I would never be out together again when Arap Meina came up to the fire and saluted. He always saluted very solemnly but his smile started to come out as his hand came down.
“Good morning, Meina,” I said.
“Jambo, Bwana. The big lion killed as they said at the Manyatta. He dragged the cow a long way into thick brush. He did not return to the kill after he had eaten but went in the direction of the swamp for water.”
“The lion with the scarred paw?”
“Yes, Bwana. He should come down now.”
“Good. Is there other news?”
“They say that the Mau Mau who were imprisoned at Machakos have broken out of jail and are coming this way.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Who says?”
“A Masai I met on the road. He had ridden in the lorry of a Hindu trader. He did not know which duka.”
“Get something to eat. I will need to speak to you later.”
“Ndio, Bwana,” he said and saluted. His rifle shone in the morning sunlight. He had changed to a fresh uniform at the Shamba and he looked very smart and he looked very pleased. He had two happy pieces of news. He was a hunter and now we would have hunting.
I thought I better go over to the tent and see if Miss Mary was awake. If she was still sleeping, all the better.
Miss Mary was awake but not all the way awake. If she had left a definite call to be wakened at a half past four or five she woke fast and efficiently and impatient with all delay. But this morning she woke slowly.
“What’s the matter,” she asked sleepily. “Why didn’t anybody call me? The sun’s up. What’s the matter?”
“It wasn’t the big lion, honey. So I let you sleep.”
“How do you know it wasn’t the big lion?”
“Ngui checked.”
“What about the big lion?”
“He isn’t down yet.”
“How do you know that?”
“Arap Meina came in.”
“Are you going out to check on the buff?”
“No. I’m going to leave everything alone. We’ve got a little trouble of some sort.”
“Can I help you?”
“No, honey. You sleep some more.”
“I think I will for a little while if you don’t need me. I’ve been having the most wonderful dreams.”
“See if you can get back into them. You call for chakula when you’re ready.”
“I’ll sleep just a little more,” she said. “They’re really wonderful dreams.”