“There, you needn’t go now. There’s somebody else shooting.” For a couple of reports came from somewhere in the direction of where the fire kept burning, and then another, followed by a confused noise of bellowing oxen, trampling feet, and the deep-toned, barking roar of a lion, which dominated everything else.
“Here, Mark,” cried Dean in a hoarse whisper, clinging to his cousin now tightly, “we are attacked by lions.”
“Seems like it,” was the reply. “Where are father and the doctor?”
“I don’t know. I would say let’s shout, only it would be like asking the savage animals to come.”
“But we must do something. Are you loaded?” And as Mark spoke there was the sound of his raising the cocks of his piece.
“No. My hand shakes so. That’s better. I could hardly do it. I say, don’t you feel frightened, Mark?”
“Horribly. But look sharp. Are you ready? Let’s jump out together, and then fire.”
“All right. Ready now. I wish I didn’t feel in such a shiver. Here, I’m ready. Perhaps it will scare the brutes.”
“Hope so,” said Mark, as he drew aside the folds of the tilt and crouched by the waggon chest ready to spring. “Hooray! There’s somebody shouting. Now then; take hold of my hand. Let’s jump together.”
There was a double thud, as the boys sprang out into the darkness.