“Do you think we may move now, Denham?” said the doctor. “Or would you fire a few more charges?”
“I don’t want to waste powder and shot, sir, and I think they are all gone. Here, Mak, my lad, lions gone?”
The black made no reply, but came cautiously close up and listened.
“Come,” he said, and in obedience to his brief command Buck, the doctor, and Bob Bacon ranged themselves with presented rifles on either side, and, not to be outdone, the two boys ran forward to join the advancing party as well.
The spot where the feline marauders had been busy over
their prey was not above sixty yards from the last waggon, and as the little party advanced, gaining confidence from the silence that reigned, and reducing the distance to about half, gazing searchingly the while at what looked like a breastwork of leaves lit up by the fire, the silence seemed to be awful, and as if moved by one impulse all stopped short at the end of another ten yards.
“Must be gone, I think, gentlemen,” whispered Buck; “but be ready to fire, for they are treacherous beasts, and one may be lying there badly wounded but with life enough in him to do mischief after all.”
“Hadn’t we better wait till daylight?” whispered the doctor.
“It will mean so long, sir,” said the driver, rather gruffly. “I think we might risk it now, Mak,” he cried, and he added a few words in the black’s dialect. “He’s willing, gentlemen,” said the driver quietly. “Let’s all go on again.”