Mingled with the shower of burning petrol came the reek of blistering paint as tongues of fire leapt and embraced the coupé.
"Better stand clear," suggested Colonel Narfield after a while. "There are a couple of hundred rounds of ammunition in the car. By Jove! I was a thoughtless ass to chuck that petrol into the fire."
"Some of us might have been food for the lions if you hadn't," observed Colin. "Of course, it's rough luck to have to lose a good car——"
"You're right," agreed Colonel Narfield gravely. "Bring that rifle along with you, Tiny. My shoulder's a bit stiff ... nothing much. The brute's claws missed me."
Quitting their retreat that had all but been a fatal trap, the stranded travellers hastened back along the cliff path until a projecting rock offered a secure barrier from chance missiles.
They were only just in time. The ammunition, consisting of both ball and shot cartridges, was exploding like the fire of a badly-disciplined platoon. Fragments of nickel, splaying against the face of the cliff above their head and dislodging fragments of rock, were sufficient evidence to justify the display of caution on the part of Colonel Narfield and his companions.
The petrol in the back of the car had also exploded—twenty gallons that caused a flame compared to which the ignition of the two-gallon tin was a mere nightlight.
Luckily the car had been standing on ground shelving towards the cliff, and consequently the flaming spirit flowed steadily in that direction, falling in a cascade of fire into the abyss and lighting the deep valley for miles.
It was a weird scene, with a subdued orchestral accompaniment provided by the blood-curdling roars of the now thoroughly scared lionesses. Nor did the flames die out until the first blush of dawn stole over the eastern sky and the night of horror and disaster was at an end.
"We must get a move on before the sun's up," said Colonel Narfield briskly. Although suffering considerable pain from the concussion sustained when the lion hurled him to the ground he made light of his hurts. His chief concern was for the welfare of his newly-joined assistants, and realising that a merry heart goes a long way he endeavoured by precept and example to cheer up his inexperienced companions. "It's a mere forty miles to Kilembonga and fairly good going. We'll be able to find horses at Sibenga's Kraal: that's a matter of a couple of hours' trek. Now then, McFrazer, let's collect what remains of the gear."