Snatching up a blazing brand, the lad moved off in that direction, whirling the torch around his head until it burst into clear flame, then lowering it closer to a bloody heap of fur and powerful limbs, to give a short ejaculation of wondering awe.
It was a headless body upon which he gazed, ragged fragments of skin and a few splinters of bone alone remaining to tell that a solid skull had so recently been thereon.
Professor Phaeton gave another of his peculiar little chuckles, as he drew near, then patted the compact little rifle with which he had wrought such extraordinary work: a weapon of his own invention, as were the dynamite-filled shells to match.
“Although I am rather puny myself, boys, with this neat little contrivance I could fairly well hold my own against man or beast,” he modestly averred.
“A modern David,” gravely added Bruno, while Waldo chimed in with:
“What a dandy Jack the Giant-killer you would have been, uncle Phaeton, if you had only lived in the good old days! I wish—and yet I don't, either! Of course, it might have been jolly old sport right then, but now,—where'd I be, to-day?”
“A day on which has happened a miracle far more marvellous than all that has been set down in fairyland romance, my dear son,” earnestly spoke the professor. “And when the astounding truth shall have been published, broadcast, throughout all Christendom, what praises—”
“How thoroughly we shall be branded liars, and falsificationers from 'way up the crick'!” exploded the youngster, making a wry grimace and moving on to view the headless lion from a different standpoint.
“He means well, uncle Phaeton,” assured Bruno, in lowered tones. “He would not knowingly hurt your feelings, sir, but—may I speak out?”
“Why not?” quickly. “Surely I am not one to stand in awe of, lad?”