She was staring past him, her eyes wide with terror, and the color fast receding from her face.
“What in– Another snake?” he demanded, twisting warily about to glare at the ground behind him.
“There–over in the grass!” she whispered, “It looked out at me with terrible, savage eyes!”
“Snake?–that far off?”
“No, no!–a monster–a huge, fierce beast!”
“Beast?” echoed Blake, grasping his bow and arrows. “Where is he? Maybe only one of these African buffaloes. How’d he look?–horns?”
“I–I didn’t see any. It was all shaggy, and yellow like the grass, and terrible eyes–Oh!”
The girl’s scream was met by a ferocious, snarling roar, so deep and prolonged that the air quivered and the very ground seemed to shake.
“God!–a lion!” cried Blake, the hair on his bare head bristling like a startled animal’s.
He turned squarely about toward the ridge, his bow half drawn. Had the lion shown himself then, Blake would have shot on the instant. As it was, the beast remained behind the screening border of grass, where he could watch his intended quarry without being seen in turn. The delay gave Blake time for reflection. He spoke sharply, as it were biting off his words: “Hit out. I’ll stop the bluffer.”