Cattle Killers
Dec 16, 2019
6 minutes
by ROYCE BUCKLE
Photo by Philip Huebsch.
![manmagza2001_article_016_01_01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/4bgf1l59j47o0rff/images/fileXI7KK31L.jpg)
![manmagza2001_article_016_01_02](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/4bgf1l59j47o0rff/images/fileM0H2HQQO.jpg)
I shone my headlamp around and saw the lioness my father had shot, lying dead. Two other lionesses were feeding on a cow. Flashing my headlamp all around, I counted three cows down. Both lions then stood up, one facing me, the other broadside
IT WAS 1956, and we were farming on the Mwese Highlands, about 60km east of Lake Tanganyika. We had acquired a small herd of cattle which we corralled in a thorn boma at night, until we had time to build a proper pole and wire ma. Up until then, we had seen only the occasional trac t by an old male lion.
I d been working most of the day, ploughing with the tractor, so I’d gone to bed early and was sleeping pretty deeply when, at about 11.30pm, I heard a shot, which could only mean trouble. Then I heard my father shout my name, so I slipped my feet into a
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