“Not even then,” insisted Mr. Hotchkiss. “They say they can take care of the lion with their spears; and they can, too. My word! I’ve seen ’em. I have told them the boys want some moving pictures of it, and they are willing. Now trail along. Of course, if you find yourselves in danger from a lion, don’t hesitate to shoot, but don’t even to save a native’s life--that is, one of the Masai natives--don’t fire. They would never forgive you if you did.” He said something to the Masai chief, who, in turn, addressed his men. The latter called out what seemed to be a salute to the white men, and the latter’s porters answered. Then they started off. Leaving their property in charge of the native porters, one and all of whom refused to come on the lion hunt, Joe and Blake, with the sergeant and Mr. Piper, started after the warriors. Mr. Duncan elected to stay with the baggage. “Better take these with you,” said C. C., to the boys, as they started off with their cameras, for each had one of the moving picture machines. “What?” asked Blake. “A heavy revolver. In case of the worst, if the lion comes at you, and those fellows don’t stop him with their spears, you may need it.” “That’s right,” agreed Joe. They slipped the weapons into their pockets and started off, eager to see what would happen. Their way soon lay across a plain of rather high grass. The hunters were strung out in a long line, covering a wide area, for the lion might be come upon at any time now. After a few miles of this progress, during which there were several false alarms, they came to a small valley. Tall rushes and grass grew in the centre, with here and there thorn trees of no great height. The head hunter called out something, and his men replied in a fierce chorus. “He says,” translated the sergeant, “that here, if anywhere, we’ll stir up a lion.” “Good!” cried Blake. The line of warriors advanced. They were rather silent now, wary and cautious, with their spears and shields in readiness. The boys were on the alert. Suddenly came another shout, and the blacks broke into a run. “Simba! Simba!” was the cry. “A lion!” shouted the sergeant. And there, just ahead of them, sprang up a great tawny beast with a shaggy mane--a yellow terror of the jungle--a full grown, male lion. The hunters broke into a joyous shout, spreading out fanwise. The lion leaped ahead, intent on escaping, for well he must have known the fate in store for him. “We can never get a moving picture if he’s going to run away!” exclaimed Blake. “They’ll stop him soon,” said Mr. Hotchkiss. “Come on.” On they ran, and they had not gone far before the lion was brought to bay. Snarling and growling, he stood in the midst of a large circle of the spearmen. Their leader shouted. “He’s calling us to come up with our picture machines,” explained the sergeant. “Come on.”