He ran forward with Ferrier towards the lionesses, which had halted a quarter of a mile away, and could just be seen above the grass. At the men’s approach they cantered off, and though the chase was kept up for nearly a mile, they always got to cover before the pursuers came within effective range, and finally disappeared among a large patch of reeds by the river, whence it was hopeless to attempt to dislodge them. "Better luck next time," said John, as they retraced their steps. "You shall have first shot, Charley." Returning towards the spot where the lion had been shot, they found that Bill had deserted his post. He was standing in the middle of the path with Said Mohammed, a good hundred yards away from any bushes or trees. The natives were chattering at a little distance. "Why didn’t you do as I told you?" cried John, vexed at the possibility of having lost his quarry. "Conscience made a coward of him, I fear, sir," said Said Mohammed. "Well, go and see if you can find the lion. Get the natives to help. I don’t know which tree it was we shot him at," he added to Ferrier, "but I’m not going back without his head." The party split up and made a systematic search, the natives beating the bush and long grass thoroughly with their spears. At last one of them shouted that he had found the simba, instantly running away from the spot at the top of his speed. There was no growling to be heard, however, so plucking up his courage he returned to the place with his comrades. When John reached them, he found the men grouped a yard or two from the lion’s tail, jabbering in much excitement. The beast was stretched on his side, but John was surprised to see by the heaving of his flanks that he was not yet dead. Judging that the chatter of the men would have roused him if he had been able to rise, John went towards his head, but the moment the lion caught sight of him he uttered a terrible roar and to John’s amazement sprang to his feet. Stepping hastily backward, John stumbled against Said Mohammed, who, believing like every one else that the beast was helpless, had become bold. The Bengali went down like a ninepin. John recovered his footing with an effort, and raising his rifle, fired at the lion at a range of four yards; but he was too hurried and agitated to take a careful aim, and the shot merely had the effect of throwing the infuriated animal on his haunches as he prepared to spring.