Free The Last Leopard by Lauren St. John

binoculars, and decide what to do next. My grandmother will kill me if I end up getting shot.”
    They both laughed at that. After a brief battle with Mambo, who was so determined to eat his fill of grass that Martine had to reattach his lead rope and tie it to the back of Tempest’s saddle, they continued on their way.
    As soon as they rounded the kopje , they spotted the rhino. It was grazing under a tree. Luckily the wind direction was in their favor and rhinos have poor eyesight, so it didn’t notice them. It did, however, notice the sharp crack that suddenly split the air. Its horn jerked up and its piggy eyes swiveled as it tried to assess the threat. It didn’t hang around for long. With astonishing speed, it tore around the kopje and out of view.
    The combination of the rifle shot and the rhino’s hasty exit was too much for Tempest, who bolted a few strides before being brought up short by Mambo’s lead rope. He reared in panic. Martine had to use all her giraffe-riding experience to cling on and soothe him. If Ben’s pony hadn’t stayed relatively placid throughout, disaster would have quickly followed.
    “What was that?” Martine demanded when she’d finally managed to settle the Arab. “I know it was a gunshot, but who fired it? Were they trying to hit the rhino?”
    Ben put the binoculars to his eyes. “I don’t think so,” he said. “It looks like there’s something going on at the Lazy J, but it’s hard to make out what at this distance. There are a lot of people gathered around a sort of paddock enclosed by a high fence. Let’s go a bit closer.”
    They rode until they were practically touching the boundary fence that divided Black Eagle from the Lazy J. Martine felt guilty about going against Sadie’s wishes, but she was as determined as Ben not to leave until they knew what had happened at the hunting lodge.
    Ben lifted the glasses again. “There’s a man entering the enclosure on his own. He’s wearing a hat and a khaki safari suit, and he has a really big stomach. It’s huge. He looks pregnant. He’s holding something in his hand, but I can’t see what it is. Either a stick or a gun.”
    “Let me look,” said Martine, reaching for the binoculars.
    Ben held them out of range. “Hold on a second. A small gate is opening in the wall and . . . Oh, wow. A male lion has come out. Martine, he’s so beautiful. He has the most amazing dark mane and he’s a tawny color with big muscles.”
    “Ben, please!” Martine begged, but before she could say anything else another shot rang out.
    Ben’s body went rigid. The color fled from his face and an expression of absolute horror came over it.
    “What is it, Ben?” cried Martine. “What have you seen? Has something happened to the lion?”
    “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. “Martine, let’s get away from here. The Lazy J is a wicked place.” He looked as if he was about to cry. “Come on, Mambo, let’s go.”
    Martine took advantage of his struggles with the pony to snatch the binoculars, which he’d hooked around the pommel of his saddle.
    “No, Martine, don’t!” yelled Ben.
    But Martine had already wheeled Tempest and was lifting the glasses to her eyes. The lion lay dead on the ground. The hunter had one foot on its chest and one hand on his rifle, and he was smiling and posing for photographs. The lion’s blood was leaking out onto his boot, but he didn’t seem to notice.
    Tears started to pour down Martine’s face. She put down the glasses, buried her head in Tempest’s mane, and sobbed uncontrollably. She wept for the proud lion, cut down without a chance so that a fat man could have a lion-skin rug in his home and a bloody photograph on his wall. She wept for the white giraffe whom she missed and who was safe at Sawubona when he too could so easily have lost his life to hunters. She wept for all the other animals whose fate it was to die alone and unloved at the hands of cruel, selfish human beings.
    And gradually