With his heart thumping wildly, Paul paused to listen, shuddering at the noisome odor that was wafted to his nostrils. From within he could hear the sound of deep, harsh breathing, varied occasionally by a long-drawn snore.
Stooping, he picked up a great chunk of earth and flung it with all his force into the cavern. He heard the dull thud of its fall distinctly, followed by the patter of the spreading fragments, and then a cry rose to his lips, but was resolutely stifled.
The noise of the lion's snoring had ceased!
In spite of himself, he shrank farther and farther from the mouth of the lair, and it was only by a tremendous effort of will that he could prevent himself from taking to his heels in precipitate flight. He could hear a soft pad-pad of velvety footsteps, and the rattling of dry bones one against the other. Then suddenly came a roar louder than thunder, and before Paul could move a step a tawny form flashed into view, as the lion, with one tremendous spring, bounded toward him.
There was no time to fire. Flinging his rifle aside, he fled like the wind, straight for the spot where his friend was waiting. Another roar from behind seemed to shake the forest to its foundations, and he put all his strength into a mighty effort to distance the great beast that was overtaking him with enormous leaps. Then a cry of agony burst from his lips as, catching his toe in a trailing creeper, he went headlong to the earth.
In spite of the suddenness of the shock, he never lost consciousness for a moment. He felt a heavy, evil-smelling body come crashing down onto his own, and his right arm was seized in a grip that brought a shout of agony from between his clenched teeth. Next instant the man-eater lifted him into the air with as much ease as if he had been a baby, and stood gazing round in splendid defiance, its tail lashing slowly from side to side.
"I'm afraid to shoot from here, Paul. I'm coming down."
Paul heard Jack's voice as in a dream. He was beginning to feel faint with the pain of his crushed arm, but he did not mean to die without a struggle. Stealthily drawing his hunting-knife, he raised it in the air to the full extent of his arm and plunged it up to the hilt in the lion's side, aiming for the heart.
Phat! Phat!
The sharp report of a rifle seared his brain, as Jack, stealing up behind, gave the brute both barrels in quick succession. Simultaneously with the detonations, as it seemed, the grip of those cruel jaws relaxed, and even as he fell back in a dead faint he had a vision of the Selekes plunging their assegais again and again into the quivering body of the man-hunter.