“Well, that is the story of the death of poor Jim-Jim and how we avenged it. It is rather interesting in its way, because of the fight between the two lions, of which I never saw the like in all my experience, and I know something of lions and their manners.” “And how did you get back to Pilgrim’s Rest?” I asked Hunter Quatermain when he had finished his yarn. “Ah, we had a nice job with that,” he answered. “The second sick ox died, and so did another, and we had to get on as best we could with three harnessed unicorn fashion, while we pushed behind. We did about four miles a day, and it took us nearly a month, during the last week of which we pretty well starved.” “I notice,” I said, “that most of your trips ended in disaster of some sort or another, and yet you went on making them, which strikes one as a little strange.” “Yes, I dare say: but then, remember I got my living for many years out of hunting. Besides, half the charm of the thing lay in the dangers and disasters, though they were terrible enough at the time. Another thing is, my trips were not all disastrous. Some time, if you like, I will tell you a story of one which was very much the reverse, for I made several thousand pounds out of it, and saw one of the most extraordinary sights a hunter ever came across. It was on this trip that I met the bravest native woman I ever knew; her name was Maiwa. But it is too late now, and besides, I am tired of talking about myself. Pass the water, will you!” End of Project Gutenberg’s A Tale of Three Lions, by H. Rider Haggard