“Then why didn’t you fire? A shot or two would have scared them away.”
“Yes,” continued the boy in the same bitter tone; “but you can’t fire when your gun’s empty, and you have no cartridges.”
“But you had plenty when we started. I filled your pouch.”
“Yes, but it came undone in the ride after the eland. It’s lost. I sent Duke to try and find it, and he didn’t come back.”
“My poor old chap!” cried Emson, leaning forward to grasp his brother’s shoulder. “I did not know of this.”
“No, you couldn’t know of it, but you were precious hard upon me.”
“My dear old chap, I spoke to you like a brute. I ought not to have left you, but I was so delighted with the way in which you had brought down the game, and, as it were, filled our larder, that I thought you ought to have all the honour of keeping guard, while I played drudge and went to fetch the sledge to carry the meat home. But tell me: the lions came?”
“One did,” said Dyke, “and gave me turn enough, and when I got away from him to try and catch Breezy here, another savage brute hunted me and nearly struck me down. Oh, it was horrid!” he cried, as he ended his rough narrative of what he had gone through.
“Dyke, old chap, I shall never forgive myself,” said Emson, grasping his brother’s hand. “I’d do anything to recall my words.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” cried the boy, clinging to the hand that pressed his; “I’m better now. I was so exhausted, Joe, that I suppose I couldn’t keep awake. I say, how was it I didn’t fall off?”