“Poor cat!” said Joe, derisively: “I wonder whether a mouse calls his enemy a poor cat. Why, the brute could have taken you and shaken you like a rat, and carried you off in its jaws.”
“Who says so?” retorted Rob, rather warmly.
“I do.”
“And how do you know you were right?”
“Well, of course I can’t tell whether I’m right,” said Joe, “only that’s what lions and tigers do.”
“Seemed as if it was going to, didn’t it?” said Rob, who was now growing warm in the defence of the animal. “Why, it was as tame as tame, and I’m going ashore first thing to-morrow morning to track it out and find where it lay down to die. I want its skin, to keep in memory of the poor thing. It was as tame as a great dog.”
“Won’t be very tame ’morrow morning if you find it not dead,” growled Shaddy.
“Then you don’t think it is dead, Shaddy?” cried Rob eagerly.
“Can’t say nothing about it, my lad. All I know is that Mr Brazier fired two barrels at it, and as the shots didn’t hit you they must have hit the lion.”
“Don’t follow,” said Rob, with a short laugh. “Couldn’t they have hit the ground?”