The Day of Resis

by Lillian Frances Mentor

The lion again rose to his feet, and then settling on his haunches prepared to spring.

“Be ready,” said Harry. “Now,” and he darted forward, but stopped again as soon as he could, for Enola’s hand had left his and she had fallen. There she lay with the lion’s paw resting across her breast. Harry could see that she had neither lost consciousness nor presence of mind, for she was gazing steadfastly into the eyes of the huge beast.

It was a terrible moment. Harry was afraid to move or cry for help, for fear of the lion seizing Enola and making for the bush.

All this time the lion was watching Harry intently, seeming to know that interference would come from that quarter. But he was as powerless to help Enola as if he had been bound hand and foot. He could see that she was becoming weak from terror and loss of blood, and that she could scarcely breathe owing to the weight of that fearful paw on her breast. Her eyes closed several times, and Harry could see that she would soon be unconscious. Something must be done. Would the lion, if he made a rush for him, turn his attention from Enola long enough for her to get out of reach? It mattered little what became of himself if he could but save Enola.

Harry seized a short piece of wood lying near him and made a rush for the lion. The lion raised on his haunches as Harry struck him a powerful blow between the eyes.

“Roll out of the way,” said Harry.

Enola rolled over once and then staggered to her feet, but sank down again too weak to move farther. The lion was dazed for an instant by the blow, but only for an instant, and with a lightning stroke of the paw, struck Harry on the shoulder, knocking him senseless and bleeding on the ground.

“Help,” cried Enola, but the sound was so faint that she despaired of its reaching the camp. Nevertheless it was heard, and the commotion caused the lion to turn to see what was happening. That look was his death warrant, for a bullet struck him squarely in the eye, and he rolled over with scarcely a groan, dead. One paw was lying across Harry’s neck, as though defying them even in death to take his prey from him.

Mr. Bruce rushed up gun in hand, and with several of the carriers bore Enola and Harry to the camp. Restoratives were administered and Enola soon regained consciousness, but Harry lay in a stupor for hours. Both were badly torn by the claws of the lion, and it was several days before the caravan could move on.

The journey from here on, was through an open forest, watered by numerous streams which sprung from the mountains. Their progress was somewhat impeded by these streams, but two evenings later they camped near the village in which dwelt the old man, who was going to show them the entrance to the cave. Was he still alive and would they find him?