“WHAT do you mean by that remark, Mr. Lewis?” asked Bob wonderingly. “Why won’t the lion eat all he wants?”

“Simply that he won’t live long enough,” was the answer.

“What? You mean we’re going to shoot him?” persisted Bob.

“Exactly,” Joe’s father said. “We’ll build a boma—that’s a thorn enclosure—and hide behind it. Then when the lion comes to devour this carcass we’ll pot him off. Howard and I would like especially to have a good lion skin, and this seems to be a wonderful opportunity. Of course, the museum wants several, but whether they get that many we’ll have to wait and see.”

Under the naturalists’ directions they set about constructing the thorn enclosure. They built this but a short distance from the kill, so as to get a good view of the lion when and if the latter should return. The task was completed just before dusk.

A cold supper was served, so as to prevent the possibility of a fire frightening the lion if it should be in that vicinity. Then, rising from the meal, the explorers made their way to the boma.

“You know,” began Mr. Holton uneasily, “I feel a little ashamed to hunt that animal this way. This sort of thing is generally considered unsportsmanlike.”

“True,” Joe’s father said at once. “But still, chances like this don’t come often. And when at very infrequent intervals they do come, I’m in favor of taking advantage of them.”

As the darkness closed in on them, Bob held his rifle tighter, Joe focused the movie camera. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton, too, waited breathlessly.

Soon a majestic moon rose over the vast wilderness, making it almost as light as day. The rustling of the wind gave way to a chorus of wild animal screams.

Suddenly Bob and Joe heard something that struck terror to their hearts. It was the most hideous sound they had ever listened to.

“Wh-what was that?” demanded Joe breathlessly.

“Only a hyena,” returned his father. “That’s what they call the laughing of the hyena. It isn’t often that one can hear it.”

Mr. Lewis pointed to something not five feet away.

There, making its way slowly toward the carcass, was a large jackal, which was soon joined by three others. They were moving stealthily, as though undecided whether to sample the dead wildebeest.

“Look,” whispered Bob. “There are two hyenas. They’re going to risk eating, I guess.”

The jackals and hyenas formed a circle about the carcass and began to tear away at the flesh. Near as they were to the boma, they could easily have been shot by the hunters.

“If the lion doesn’t hurry there won’t be anything left for him,” whispered Bob.

“Maybe he’s forgotten all about coming,” suggested Joe, who was filming the scene.

Mr. Holton shook his head.

“He’ll be here,” the naturalist said. “Just taking his time, that’s all.”

As the minutes wore on, the waiting hunters were becoming more impatient. They twisted about uneasily, hoping that before long something would happen. Then it did.

“Listen!” hissed Mr. Holton. “Something’s coming this way. Hear it?”

“What is it?” inquired Joe.

Before anyone could attempt to answer, there came a terrible growl, and the next moment a huge lion broke through the foliage of the near-by jungle. It rushed angrily at the circle of jackals and hyenas.

The latter saw it coming and at once took flight, all escaping but one big hyena.

With a tremendous blow of one of its huge claws, the lion broke the hyena’s back and sent it rolling over the ground. With a convulsive twitch it straightened out, dead.

The breathless hunters had watched the tragedy with a terrible fascination, keeping on the alert for any emergency. All knew there was a possibility that the lion might catch their scent, even though there was little or no wind. It was this that made the naturalists and Bob tighten their grips on their rifles.

With a deep, vibrating roar that seemed to roll along the ground, the lion looked around defiantly. Then, apparently satisfied that nothing was near to disturb him, he bent his efforts toward eating the carcass.

“Get ready,” said Mr. Holton in a very low whisper, throwing his gun to his shoulder. “When I give the word, fire.”

Bob aimed carefully at the beast’s heart; Joe cranked away at the movie camera.

“Fire!” said Mr. Holton in a loud voice.

Three rifle shots rent the air. The lion turned on the instant, then collapsed in a heap.

“Hurrah!” yelled Joe, jumping to his feet. “Killed him dead as a door nail. Good——”

“Look out!” shouted Mr. Lewis suddenly. “There’s another. A lioness!”

Bob worked furiously to push the bolt on his rifle. But before he had done so, the guns of his father and Mr. Lewis spoke.

The bullets stopped the brute for only a second. Then, with a horrible roar, it plunged toward the boma. Before the two naturalists could again aim and fire, it would be upon them!

Then, when things hung in the balance, Bob pulled the trigger.

There was a convulsive leap as the lioness groaned out her last breath. She fell to the ground with a dull thud and lay still.

“Good work,” commented Joe. “That bullet of yours came in just at the right time.”

“It certainly did,” put in Mr. Lewis. “Of course, Howard and I might have gotten her, but then again, we might not.”

As an added precaution, the naturalists put another bullet into each of the lions. After waiting a few moments for any more of the big beasts to appear, they went out to examine the ones they had killed.

“Whoppers, all right,” remarked Joe. “This big one here must be at least nine feet long from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.”

“Both are unusually fine specimens,” declared Mr. Lewis, as he removed his long hunting knife.

The Americans were soon joined by Noko and several of the bearers, who were attracted to the scene by the rifle shots.

Noko uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of the beasts.

“Um big simba,” he said, his eyes on the dead lions. “Dey bad simba. Um very bad.”

“Bad’s the right word for it,” said Joe gravely. “They wouldn’t have left a grease spot of us if given the chance. But they’ll not cause any trouble now.”

It required a long while for the scientists to complete the task of skinning the lions, but at last they finished and moved back to camp.

The whites received much praise from the bearers, who recognized at once that the brutes had been unusually dangerous. The blacks’ respect for the hunters appeared to be increased greatly. For anyone who could bring down such vicious adversaries as these must be fearless and daring.

The youths and their fathers did not remain up much longer. After the strenuous day they were more than ready for a good rest.

“Sleep well,” was the last Mr. Lewis said as he repaired to the tent.

But somehow Bob did not sleep well. Try as he did he could not divert his thoughts from the exciting lion hunt. True, he was sleepy and somewhat tired, but notwithstanding this he could not keep his eyelids closed.

He thought of going out to join the askari, or native guard, who was keeping watch some thirty feet away. But he changed his mind and decided to make another attempt to fall asleep.

Suddenly he sat up with a start, straining his eyes to make out the jungle more easily. What was that he had heard? It sounded like stealthily moving feet.

“Maybe there’s another lion prowling around,” the youth thought, picking up his rifle.