Burt waited but could hear nothing. "I hope he's run off!" muttered the boy to himself. He hardly dared hope for that, however, and his fears were justified when he heard the swift pad-pad outside again. This time it was faster and heavier. Burt remembered the lions he had seen running like great cats across the plain and his heart leaped as he pictured the look of the animal outside.
Now came a furious attack at the corner of the hut beside him. So sudden and unexpected was it that Burt was caught napping. Before he could strike a match or catch up the pot of oil he was horrified to see a double row of fangs crash through the thatch, followed by a great tawny head. Across the face extended a broad white scar as of an old burn.
With one strangled cry Burt lifted the keen little axe and brought it down in the center of the white scar. He saw a tremendous paw that ripped across his breast and hurled him backward, heard a maddened scream from the beast, and as he fainted his last memory was of the rocking, reeling walls about him.
He woke with the sting of cold water on his face and gasped. His first thought was that the lion was over him, and he struck out blindly and savagely.
"Go slow, old man!" sounded the voice of Critch. Burt looked up and saw the face of his chum. He sank back weakly, while Critch went on bathing his face. "Take it easy, Burt. Don't try to talk yet. Want a drink?"
Burt certainly did want a drink, and he half emptied the canteen of water at a draught, while Critch supported him. Then he struggled to his feet.
"Let's get out o' here," he murmured. A shudder swept over him as he glanced around. There were gaping holes in the thatch walls, and before him was a pool of blood, black against the dirt. The two boys reached the doorway and Burt sank down gratefully in the warm morning sunlight, leaning against the wall of the hut.
"You must have had a fierce time," said Critch sympathetically. "Are you hurt?"
Burt glanced down and shook his head. His shirt had been ripped to pieces by that savage sweep of the lion's paw, but beyond one slight scratch he had escaped damage. He paled again at the narrowness of the escape. Then Critch thrust some roasted bananas into his hand, and the two boys made their breakfast together.
"I feel a heap better now," smiled Burt weakly as he set down the empty canteen at length. "Now we can talk."