Nevertheless, you are only a man, and not worth killing; if he is an old lion, he may have eaten a score like you, white and black, but he is not hungry just now and wants to sleep.

Down goes his head again, and his eyes shut themselves for another nap.

On you go, stealthily, nearer and nearer, your rifle ready in both hands.

But a dry stalk of grass cracks under your foot, and almost before you can stand still he is up and glaring at you, his long tufted tail showing upright against the sky.

If you move, even to lift your gun to your shoulder, he will charge; and sooner or later, move you must.