THE LIONESS RETURNS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLIII, Issue 20722, 8 May 1937, Page 9 (Supplement)

THE LIONESS RETURNS

VOLUMES of smoke were rising in three or four different places—black columns that rapidly thickened and coalesced till they formed a solid sable wall above the trees of the Rhodesian bush. Corporal Tomlinson halted and swore. That rising pall of smoke once more spelt defeat. He had been certain that this time he would come up with Bilawi, the murderer. He had spread out his native police in a moving semi-circle through the bush, and everything was planned for a neat capture. But the criminal was more alert than he guessed. By firing the long grass the man interposed a barrier which would check the pursuers and give time for a getaway. A mile in front was the flaming barrier, lengthening and increasing in strength every instant. He scrambled down the ant heap and began to retreat in the direction he had come. The sun went hazy an then vanished altogether as tire drifting smoke rolled above him like a canopy; and the roaring crackle of the flames became ominously louder. He was not the only fugitive. Wild pigs dashed past, grunting and squealing; to be followed by a herd of koodoo antelope, the leading bull covering the ground with effortless leaps, horns laid back on the withers and eyes closed against the lashing foliage. He found himself running beside a wideeyed reedbuck—the animal’s natural terror of man's proximity utterly forgotten in the common peril . And then he came on her. She was a full-grown. lioness, and with her were two week-old cubs. Involuntarily Tomlinson halted, but the beast took no notice of him. Gripping one of the cubs in her mouth, she carried it thirty yards, and putting it down came dashing back for the other; to repeat the process as she reached the spot where she had left the first. The flames roared nearer, and Tomlinson felt the blast of their hot breath. Sparks fell in showers, burning holes in his shirt and the skin beneath, but he hardly noticed them. He had seen the agonised look in the eyes of the lioness. Again she dropped one cub, snatched up the other, and ran forward. He glanced at the youngster that had been left. "You poor little devil," he gasped. “I can’t leave you to get burnt.” Hardly thinking what he was doing, he w“ sped up the second cub under his a. .. At any other time it would have been a mad action. But the lioness seemed to understand. After a single glance blackward she ran on without stopping, the cub dangling from her mouth; while the man staggered after her with the other whimpering bundle of fur clutched against his ripped tunic. Stones, rocks, a bare patch of ground. With his eyes streaming from the smoke, ajid his breath coming in sobbing gasps, Tomlinson realised that he stumbled on a refuge. He sank to his knees and then on to his face, the rifle slipping from one hand and the lion cub from the other. The frightened baby nestled against his prone body; while the blaze, parted by the bare patch, roared past in a scorching wall of flame. Tomlinson came-to a few momenta later, to find himself lying on a bare patch of gravel in the midst of a blackened desolation. He sat up. surveying the scene around. Away in the distance the fire swept onwards, leaving behind it a blasted countryside. Tomlinson coughed, for tho smoke floating from the scorched ground and smouldering tree-stumps was still dense. He felt a movement against his leg, and glanced down; at first he could hardly remember how the soft, furry creature came to be there. Slowly he got to his feet and picked up his rifle. He lifted the cub, which promptly gripped his rags with its weak claws, and thrust a warm nose against his neck. Slowly the drifting smoke thinned, and Tomlinson was able to see once

more the range of neighbouring hills. From these he got a bearing; having fixed the line he ought to take, he struck out in the direction of his camp. He pushed on through untouched grass and forest, stumbling with weariness. Dusk had fallen when he reached his camp. Here he found his people anxiously awaiting his arrival; they had managed to evade the fire far more easily, and had returned two hours previously. There was a wooden box half full of stores just Inside the entrance of his tent, and in it Tomlinson placed the cub after ejecting the tins. “When you’ve brought me something to eat,” he said to his cook boy, “you'd better have a try at feeding that thing,” he nodded towards the cub. “There's some condensed milk somewhere, I believe.” Next morning Tomlinson was too sick to attempt the pursuit. Yet there was work, and urgent work, tc do. He called his head native constable and gave him direetions tc continue the search for the wanted criminal; and presently he heard the footsteps of his men as they shuffled out of the camp. The day passed slowly, punctuated by visits from the cookboy, the only native left in camp, and the periodical shuffling of the cub round the box that imprisoned it. Tomlinson had nothing to read, but much to think about. He groaned in spirit at his enforced idleness. Probably Bilawi would now make good his escape, and all his past efforts be wasted. Night came on. Tomlinson heard the cookboy finish washing up and depart to his own quarters. The police natives had not yet returned, and Tomlinson began to wish they would. He had thought nothing of it in the daytime; but at night it was not a very comfortable feeling to lie there in pain, knowing that a desperate criminal with a grudge against him was somewhere in the vicinity. Presently he fell into a doze. He was awakened by a slight sound, and at first he thought it was caused by the cub. He opened his eyes, and started. A sturdy black figure was standing inside the tent, a figure that had already armed itself with Tomlinson’s own rifle, and was busy securing a supply of ammunition. The moonlight showed that the visitor was Bilawi. Presently he swung round, lifted the rifle, and laughed.■ “You thought to catch me, white hyena; but now, with your white man's gun, I can defy the lot of you. Your fool police are far away, as I shall be by dawn. But you, who have hunted me for half a moon, you shall stay here!” Bilawi laughed again, and lifted the loaded weapon significantly. Tomlinson saw his only hope was to bluff. "You fool,” he retorted, “put down that rifle. Even now unseen eyes are watching. Do what I say, or death will come upon you. Listen!" Playing for time to collect his thoughts he waved a hand towards the surrounding bush. Superstitious like all his race, the native hesitated. “Bah! What do you white men know of Spirits and the unseen?" Bilawi ejaculated, regaining a grip on himself. “That sound was but an offal-seeking jackal.” The muzzle of the weapon rose. Tomlinson gave vent to a sharp exclamation. The native turned his head to see what his intended victim was staring at; framed in the doorway of the tent, and looking huge in the moonlight, was a full-grown lioness. Bilawi yelped in fright, dropped the weapon, and dived into cover under Tomlinson’s bed. The lioness took no notice; gently she lifted her cub from the box, turned, and faded like a ghost into the surrounding bush. With a quick twist Tomlinson leaned over and secured the dropped rifle; and the next instant its muzzle was against Bilawi’s head. A minute later the cook, awakened by his masters yells, came running with the rope he had shouted for.