“Oh, I say, do get down the guns,” whispered Ned. “A tiger? And loose?”
“Loose? Why, you young donkey, do you think this is the zoological gardens, and the tiger’s cage has been left open?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure; only it seems very risky to be here like this, and not even able to shut the door. No—no—no—no, uncle,” continued Ned hastily; “you promised you would not think that you ought to have left me at home.”
At that moment the cry came again louder and nearer, but modified so that there could be no doubt about the animal that had given vent to the sound.
The knowledge that a tiger was prowling about somewhere near was enough to make Murray rise softly, and reach down one of the guns from the slings, and slip a couple of ball-cartridges into the barrels, and thus prepared he sat waiting, both having the consolation of knowing that if the animal attacked them, it could only be by taking to the water first and swimming to the boat.
The sound came again, exactly, as Ned said afterwards when he felt quite safe, like the cry of a magnified tom-cat.
But a couple of hours passed away without further alarm, and somewhere about that time Murray gave a start, for he had been fast asleep.
“Ned,” he whispered.
A heavy breathing was his answer, and the next minute he too was fast asleep only to be awakened by the warm sun at last, and to find from Hamet that the boat had been cast off, and they had been rowing steadily up the river from the earliest dawn of day.
“Ned,” said Murray. “Ned.”