"Over there," said Ogonyo. "It looks like something moving over there, bwana."
Danny peered into the darkness. He could see nothing, but now he thought he heard a rustling of foliage beyond the fires. He dropped to one knee and aimed the machine gun in the direction of the sound. There was a burst of flame and the sudden rat-a-tat-tat of the weapon as he squeezed the trigger. For a moment the ringing ears of the watchers heard nothing, and then, as their auditory nerves returned to normal, to the keenest ears among them came the sound of crashing among the bushes, diminishing in the distance.
"I guess I nicked him," said Danny to Smith, who had walked over and was standing behind him.
"You didn't kill him," said Smith. "You must have wounded him."
"Simba is not wounded, bwana," said Ogonyo.
"How do you know?" demanded Danny. "You can't see nothin' out there."
"If you had wounded him he would have charged," explained the headman. "He ran away. It was the noise that frightened him."
"Do you think he will come back?" asked Smith.
"I do not know, bwana," replied the negro. "No one knows what Simba will do."
"Of course he won't come back," said Danny. "The old typewriter scared him stiff. I'm going to turn in."