Lion (second story)

The chief worked upon his desk with a white and sleeveless shirt, white shorts, shoes and socks. The day was hot, moist, and with inland territory gloominess. The hours and the labour went slowly away. Suddenly a cry! Chief! Please chief! Lion killed our herd! The chief, a good hearted human creature, raised his eyes, frowned, thought quickly and answered: bring me a goat. The native thinking the lion was already doomed cheerfully brought the goat that was immediately fastened to Portuguese flagpole before the chief home. The post stood in the middle of a flower bed bordered by stout bricks. The goat, in want of its herd, bleated ceaselessly. In the evening the chief sat on the balcony on a large chair with his eyes upon the goat standing fifteen metres away. Defenceless to the mosquitoes he waited... waited... and before dawn, a shiver struck the chief. Something was wrong and the goat bleated in fright. What was moving in the darkness? The chief strained his eyes and waited for a while. A shadow moved slowly. The chief switched the light on. Only fifteen metres from the big lion. He fired a shot between the eyes of the lion. The lion jumped straight upwards and when touched the ground it struck the bricks, the flower beds, the goat and the post and destroyed everything. Fired another shot and it died but: the garden was ruined!! And the beat of the drums began: tan-tan! tan-tan! tan-tan!! tan-tan!!! tan-tan!!!! ... Who was the chief and the hunter? The identical blood runs in our veins. I am the son of the hunter!