Only one thing seemed to the boy to be quite certain, and that was that the beasts were surely approaching. Kali also noticed that the lions were creeping round the bivouac, approaching in smaller circles, and he also noticed that, being kept from attacking them by the fire, they were expressing their displeasure and fear by emitting these dreadful sounds.
He also seemed to think that only the horses were in danger, for he said, as he counted on his fingers:
“The lions will kill one, two; not all, not all!”
“Throw wood on the fire,” repeated Stasch.
Again a bigger flame burst forth, and suddenly the roars ceased. But Kali raised his head and began to listen.
“What’s the matter?” asked Stasch.
“Rain——” answered the negro.
Now Stasch also pricked up his ears. The branches of the trees served as a roof for the tent, and also for the entire hedge, and therefore not a single drop fell to the ground, but it could be heard pattering on the leaves above them.
As there was not a breath of even the sultry air stirring, it was easy to conjecture that it was pouring in the thicket.
The sound increased moment by moment, and after a little while the children perceived drops descending from the leaves, drops of rain that looked like large rosy pearls in the firelight. As Kali had prophesied, a terrific storm had come up. The sound of the storm increased until it became a wild roar. Rain fell faster and faster, and at last great streams of water penetrated the thicket. The fire was going out. Kali threw on fagots to no effect. The wet branches only smoldered, the blackened wood beneath crackled, and after a feeble flicker the flames died away.