K RIVER'S BRINK.

It was a weird picture. The grey rocks jutting forth into the evening
stillness; the spotted, creeping beast, gathering itself together for
its deadly spring; the man, weakened, helpless, lying there at its
mercy. Even then, so strange are the fantasies that cross the human
brain at the most critical moments--even then, with a kind of grim
humour it flashed upon Renshaw Fanning how thoroughly the positions were
reversed. Many a time had the spotted pard fallen a victim to his sure
aim; now it had devolved upon one of the feline race to give him his
death stroke.

With bared fangs and snarling throat, the brute once more gathered
itself to spring. But instead of hurling itself upon the prey before
it, it uttered a yell of pain and whisking half round seemed to be
snapping at its own side. Its tail lashed convulsively, and a frightful
roar escaped from its furry chest. There was a faint twanging sound
beneath, and again something struck it, this time fair in the eye.
Snarling hideously the great beast reared itself up against the cliff,
beating the air wildly with its formidable paws. Then its mighty bulk
swayed, toppled over, and fell crashing to the ground beneath.

Thoroughly roused now, Renshaw peered cautiously over the ledge. But
what he saw opened his eyes to the fact that this opportune, this
unlooked-for deliverance, was more apparent than real. In escaping from
one peril he had only fallen into another.

The huge cat was rolling and writhing in the throes of death. Its
slayer, an under-sized, shrivelled barbarian, was approaching it
cautiously--a naked Koranna, armed with bow and arrows and spear. But
cautiously as Renshaw had peeped forth the keen glance of the savage had
seen him. Their eyes had met.

He lay still, thinking over this last, this desperate chance. He was
unarmed--practically that is--for although he had a knife it was not
likely the enemy would come to such close quarters as to admit of its
use. The latter with his bow and arrows would have him at the most
perfect disadvantage. He could climb up to the ledge and finish him off
at his leisure.

For some minutes Renshaw lay still as death. Not a sound broke the
silence, not a voice, not a footfall. Perhaps, after all, he had been
mistaken, and the Koranna had not seen him. Or, more likely, the savage
had started off to call up his companions, who probably were not far
distant. Was it worth while utilisin