“Oh,” cried Mark at last, “a lion must have leaped upon him and pulled him down while he was going his rounds.”
“Not likely, sir,” said Buck Denham, “with the ponies and all them bullocks about.”
“Then where can he be?” cried Mark. “Don’t you think a lion may have leaped upon him when he was making up the fire?”
“Might, sir,” said the man, “but lions are not likely to go near a fire. I want the day to break, so that we may follow the spoor. What I am hoping is that Peter may have been scared, and will turn up as soon as it is day and he feels safe.”
“That’s what we all hope,” said Mark, speaking for the rest.
“Yes, sir; but the worst of it is that when you want the sun to rise it takes such a long time before it will.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, who had been silently listening for a few minutes; “let’s call the roll, and learn the extent of our losses.”
“Oh, I can pretty well tell you that, sir,” said Denham: “the four ponies, and eight-and-forty of my draught oxen.”
“No, no, man!” said the doctor. “Not so bad as that?”
“Well, not quite, sir, for I hope we may pick up some of them here and there;” and he gave Mark, who was close at hand, a nudge with his elbow.