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It’s a large male and it’s lame in a back paw.”
    A vein had begun to thump in Peter’s temple as a terrible premonition took hold of his mind. Jacking a round up the spout of his hunting rifle, he had urged the restless Prince forward, but the horse had caught the taint of lion on the wind and wasn’t happy. Nevertheless, in response to the rake of spurs he had surged forward behind Talon as Mzee quietly followed up on the boys’ trail. An injured lion was the last thing they needed to encounter. Silence had descended as all three peered around, tense and alert, knowing that danger could be very close.
    â€œHuko, bwana, huko (1) .” The old man had pointed off to the left, not far from the western end of a granite outcrop rearing up several hundred yards ahead. Just in time the other two had caught a fleeting glimpse of a large male lion, its tawny flank disappearing rapidly into the scrub behind a stand of flame trees.
    â€œThat’s Cat Hill.” The others had nodded.
    â€œBut there’ve been no lions around here for months.”
    Although the boys’ trail curved to the right, it was obvious where it was headed and the men had pressed forward as rapidly as they could, Peter ever more afraid of what he was going to find. The bundu (2) itself seemed to hold its breath, as if anticipating a reaction to the shameful secret it was about to reveal. Then a sharp exclamation, followed by a swift rattle of sound from up ahead, told Peter that Mzee had spotted something and it wasn’t like him to make unnecessary noise. Cresting the slight rise, Peter’s gaze had followed the direction of Mzee’s pointing finger and his heart had leapt. Despite the lengthening shadows of evening, there was still enough light to recognise me, although he couldn’t see his own son, Matt.
    Apparently, I had seemed strangely still and awkward to him, almost as though I was ignoring the presence of help, although I distinctly remember hearing their approach. And to a certain extent his supposition was true. Shame had kept my head firmly turned away, rifle gripped rigidly across my chest.
    â€œPaul!” Peter’s sharp call had cracked out like a rifle shot and, to his evident astonishment, I had jerked guiltily, but refused to look round. Confused, Peter had dismounted swiftly and run forward, taking in the awkward angle of my leg and realising I was hurt. I remember he reached down to touch me reassuringly on the shoulder, aware of the tears streaming down my face.
    â€œPaul, what is it? Where’s Matt?” The question hung in the air like a lance waiting to pin me back to the earth from which I was struggling to rise. “Paul, where’s Matt?” he repeated.
    I remember how Peter’s voice rose, grinding out the words as fears like poisonous snakes had begun to slither around his mind, but my choking sobs almost drowned his efforts at communication.
    â€œHe’s – he’s dead.”
    Like beads of poison my words had dropped, one by one, into Peter’s ears. I just couldn’t help it. Everything conspired to overwhelm me and, as my despair surfaced, I began to shriek again and again, “He’s dead. Dead! We were attacked and I couldn’t do anything. There was a lion.”
    â€œWhere? Where’s Matt?”
    â€œI did everything I could.” The lie dropped easily off my tongue as I pointed stiffly upwards, finger waving somewhere above my head, indicating the hill behind me before dropping back exhausted to clutch the rifle to my chest again, like a talisman. Then I had begun to shake uncontrollably as the hopelessness, the plunging cold and the pain all conspired to hit me at the same time, and I remember lapsing into an almost comatose silence.
    â€œQuick, Mzee, see if you can get him free. Splint his leg. John, you come with me. I’ve got to see.”
    With the expertise of years, and the fitness for which he was