Fred played concertina nearly all night long, and when dawn came, though there were tracks of lions all about the camp we were only tired and sleepy.

Nobody was missing; nobody killed.
We never again took lions so seriously, although we always built fires about the camp in lion country when that was possible.

Partly by dint of carelessness that brought no ill results, and partly from observation we learned that where game is plentiful lions are more curious than dangerous, and that unless something should happen to enrage them, or the game has gone away and they are hungry, they are likely to let well alone.
If there are dogs in camp--and we bought three terrier pups that morning from a settler at Kikuyu--leopards are likely to be more troublesome than lions.

The leopards seemed to yearn for dog-meat much as Brown of Lumbwa yearned for whisky.
The journey to Lumbwa is one of the pleasantest I remember.

We took Brown's supply of whisky from him, locked up with our own, sent him ahead in the hammock, and let him work as guide by promises of whisky for supper if he did his duty, and threats of mere cold water if he failed.
"But water rots my stomach!" he objected.
"Lead on, then!" was the invariable, remorseless answer.