“Probably we did,” returned Archie. “We couldn’t have killed them unless we hit them.”
“I mean we must have killed all we hit and frightened the rest away,” said Fred. “If there were any wounded ones among them they would have been in here before this time.”
The Night in the Shooting Pit.
The others were very willing to accept this as the reason why they had not all been torn in pieces long ago. It put new life and courage into them, and having pushed a cartridge into their breechloaders, they raised their heads cautiously above the bank to take a survey of the scene of the slaughter. They could not see a single lion or hear anything of one; but they heard something else—a heavy tramping of feet and a confused murmur of voices. They looked hastily around, and saw a bright light shining above the bank behind them.
“Uncle Dick’s coming!” cried Fred; and the next moment the old sailor appeared at the top of the bank, closely followed by the rest of the party, two of whom carried firebrands in their hands.
CHAPTER XV.
“WHERE’S MY HORSE?”
“What is it, boys?” asked Uncle Dick, his voice trembling with excitement and alarm. “Anybody hurt?”
“No, sir,” replied Eugene, drawing a long breath of relief; “but if you look about a little you’ll find some thing out there that’s hurt. We haven’t fired thirty-nine shots for nothing, I tell you.”
“What was it, anyhow?” asked George. “A lion?”