“No; I was feeling sure that the other lion would.”
Emson was right, for Dyke was awakened that night by the alarm of the horses and oxen, who gave pretty good evidence of the huge cat’s being near, but a couple of shots from Emson’s gun rang out, and the animals settled down quietly once again, there being no further disturbance that night on the lonely farm.
Chapter Eight.
The Desert Herds.
“I tell you what, little un,” said Emson some mornings later, “I’m going to start a crest and motto, and I’ll take a doubled fist for the crest, and Nil desperandum for motto.”
“And what good will that do you?” said Dyke, hammering away as he knelt on the sand with the lion’s skull held between his knees.
“What good! Why, I shall always have my motto before me—‘Never despair,’ and the doubled fist to—”
“To show that you are always ready to punch Kaffir Jack’s head,” cried Dyke quickly; and bang went the hammer on the end of the cold chisel the boy held.