He retreated slowly, still leading the horse, but keeping his eyes fixed on the globes of fire which seemed to advance.
Two long tawny forms began a crouching march towards the ostrich farmer's son, and Jack clutched the revolver with a nervous grip, his forefinger pressing lightly on the trigger. If the horse should happen to break away, all would be up.
The tawny forms were but a few paces away, crouching low down, as though about to make a spring, so grasping the pommel of the saddle, with an energy born of despair, Jack vaulted into the seat, and set forth at a rapid gallop.
His spirits rose as he sped onwards, and he was congratulating himself upon his very narrow escape, when his horse stumbled and fell on the veldt, with a terrible crash, throwing Jack over its head.
Our hero thought that every bone in his body had been broken, but he managed to stumble to his feet.
To his horror, he found that his horse's right fore-leg was broken, and the poor beast unable to stand.
The two hideous forms were following, and even now were only a few yards distant.
Jack prayed fervently for deliverance, and before he could realise what was happening, the fierce brutes had sprung upon the horse, which was screaming in agony.
He could hear a terrible crunching sound as the lions began munching their yet alive prey.
He dared not expend a shot, and deeming prudence to be the better part of valour, he left the unfortunate horse to the cruel mercies of the lions, and ran as fast as he could across the veldt, trusting that the savage beasts would satiate their hunger upon the horse's carcass, and refrain from pursuing him.