The Hottentot, on the contrary, raised his head, and ventured a little
way into the stream.
By these means he saw it was something very foul, but not terrible.
It was a large vulture that had settled on the very top of the nearest
acacia.
At this the Hottentot got bolder still, and to the great surprise of
Staines began to crawl cautiously into some rushes, and through them up
the bank.
The next moment he burst into a mixture of yelling and chirping and
singing, and other sounds so manifestly jubilant, that the vulture
flapped heavily away, and Staines emerged in turn, but very cautiously.
Could he believe his eyes? There lay the lion, dead as a stone, on his
back, with his four legs in the air, like wooden legs, they were so very
dead: and the valiant Squat, dancing about him, and on him, and over
him.
Staines, unable to change his sentiments so quickly, eyed even the dead
body of the royal beast with awe and wonder. What! had he already laid
that terrible monarch low, and with a tube made in a London shop by men
who never saw a lion spring, nor heard his awful roar shake the air?
He stood with his heart still beating, and said not a word. The shallow
Hottentot whipped out a large knife, and began to skin the king of
beasts.
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