Chunky was not sure that he liked the arrangement. He was wondering whether lions were gifted with the proverbial memory of elephants. If so, and if the big cat should get loose in the night, Chunky knew what would happen to himself. The boy determined to sleep with one eye open, his rifle beside his bed. He would die fighting bravely for his life. He was determined upon that.
Around the camp fire a jolly party of boys gathered that night after supper, their merry conversation interrupted occasionally by a snarling and growling from the captive.
"Now, young gentlemen, we are anxious to hear the story of the capture," said the Professor.
"Oh, it was nothing," answered Stacy airily. "It was nothing for us. Shooting cats is too tame for such hunters as Tad and me. We just saw him up a tree—-that is, I saw him, and——-"
"Where were you?" interrupted Nance.
"I was up the same tree," answered Stacy.
"I'll bet the cat treed him," shouted Ned Rector. "How about it, Tad?"
"Chunky's telling the story. Let him tell it in his own way."
"I'll tell you about it, fellows. I was up a tree looking for lions. I found one. He was sitting in the same tree with me. He was licking his chops. You see, he wanted a slice of me, I'm so tender and so delicious——-"
"So is a rhinoceros," interjected Ned.