“Van Roozen tells me of an Englishman, named Brown, who was killed by a lion on the Crocodile River. One day this man and his son had found and taken three cubs, and the old lion came up to them. The son wanted to fire, but the father forbade him, and threw one cub down, which the old one took away, and they took the others to the waggon. The day following the old man took his gun, and said he was going after ostriches. He had one young Kafir boy with him. It seems he had gone to the place where the lions were, and had met the old one, which he fired at, but did not kill upon the spot--though I believe it was found dead afterwards. It had torn the flesh off one of his arms and both his legs, but he had taken his gun, gone to a hole where buffalo wallow, used his pannikin to wash his hands and face, and gone on to the waggon-road (the son followed the blood spoor). He had put his gun in a tree, and hung up his powder-flask, and gone on the road a hundred yards when he had dropped and died.” The day after Van Roozen’s encounter with the lion, Frank Oates, whilst out hunting, again visited the carcass, and, kindling a fire, cooked some of the meat. On this the boys who were with him, and both his pointers, had a feast, and he tasted some of it himself, which he found to be coarse in the grain, and not unlike quagga meat. Resuming his journey to the Zambesi later the same afternoon, he now broke fresh ground, keeping for a day or two in a northerly direction close to the Ramaqueban, a really magnificent river when viewed from the ground above, its broad sandy bed stretching far away into the distance through the veldt. The dry beds of a number of spruits, all rising quite near the river, and suddenly becoming large before falling into it, were crossed as he proceeded. It is no wonder that South African rivers, thus fed by so many tributaries along their entire course, fill with such amazing rapidity directly the rains fall, and swell into large streams almost at their source. Next turning towards the north-west, he presently struck across back towards the Tati River, and joined the more direct road from the settlement to the Zambesi, which here for some distance kept up the river’s bank, the country now assuming that broken rugged appearance--here with rough craggy kopjes, there with small open park-like glades--which makes at irregular intervals so pleasing a change in this otherwise little-varying landscape, and compensates, where it occurs, for much that is uninteresting. The Tati, itself one of those rivers which become large so near their source, was again itself shortly left behind, the waggons trekking forward in a direction nearly north. On June 17th, a few miles further on, another river was crossed, and the following entry made in the traveller’s Journal:--