More than once Mr. Halliday set off in the daytime with John and the Wanderobbo, who was now a frequent visitor to the farm, to track the lions and if possible hunt them down. They found that the spoor led into the dense scrub higher up the river, a region ten or twelve miles in length and nearly as much in breadth. So thick was the scrub that it was impossible to trace the beasts for more than a few yards into its recesses. After what he had heard of the Wanderobbo’s skill and prowess as a hunter, Mr. Halliday was surprised to find how reluctant the little man was to accompany them in their expeditions. But he had a wholesome dread of lions. Elephants he was prepared to tackle, and indeed any other creature of the wilds; though even them he would rather snare than stalk; but the lion was a much more cunning and dangerous enemy. He would talk very bravely sometimes, avowing that if he met a lion and stared at him the beast would slink away; but he showed no readiness to enter the probable haunts of the creatures, and admitted that they sometimes took it into their heads to fight instead of running away, and then they were quite as clever hunters as he was. Mr. Halliday somewhat impatiently reminded him that rifles were very deadly weapons; but the Wanderobbo shook his head and said that he had never hunted lions with rifles. He had seen the Arabs do so, and pay for their temerity with their lives. On the whole his advice was to leave the lions alone, and he once confessed very naïvely that if he, bold hunter as he was, saw a lion approaching, he would certainly go the other way.