“No, no,” said the Zulu. “No lion here.”
“But I heard it quite plainly,” said Dick, who felt angry at being doubted.
“Sure and I did too, so close to me shoulder that I could feel the baste’s breath blow over on to me chake.”
“No, no,” said the Zulu. “Look! see!”
He pointed towards the oxen and horses in turn.
“But it would be impossible to see it in this darkness,” said Mr Rogers.
“Yes, but the oxen,” said the Zulu. “They would not lie quiet if there was a lion.”
“Of course not,” said Mr Rogers, envying the savage his knowledge. “Then what caused the alarm?”
There was no reply; and after satisfying themselves that all was safe, and piling up the rest of the wood upon the fire—for the streaks of the coming dawn could be seen—the tired watchers returned to the waggon, and slept until roused for breakfast, when the secret of the alarm came out, Coffee having been afraid to confess at the time that he knew it was his brother imitating the lion’s cry in his sleep, his proximity to Dick and Dinny making it seem the more real. Feeling sure that he would be punished if he spoke, Coffee had remained silent, and so the matter ended, Dick laughing heartily at the false alarm, though Dinny would not believe that the cry emanated from the boy.
“Jist as if I was such a biby as to belave that story, Masther Jack,” he said. “I tell ye it was the lion himself attacking the bastes, and you’ll see he’ll be about the camp now every night, as regular as clockwork. It’s very good of the masther to try and put one at his aise about the wild bastes; but that there was a lion—I know it was; and if, Masther Jack, dear, I’m missing some night, ye may know that there’s a lion aiting of me; and I hope ye’ll take me bones back and give me a dacent burying somewhere among Christians, and not lave them kicking about out here in a foreign land.”