s arm and knocked him flat. Then the second
_shikari_ sprang forward and bent to pick up the gun, when one stroke
of the lion's great fore paw tore away most of the flesh from one side
of his head and face, and laid him senseless.

"Freed for an instant from the attacks of my men, the lion turned to
the prey held helpless beneath him, and with a fierce roar, was in the
very act of advancing his cavernous mouth and gleaming fangs to seize
me by the head, when in jumped Djama Aout to my succor. His only
weapon was the _Sahib's_ .38 Smith & Wesson self-cocking six-shooter.
His was the quickest piece of sound thinking, shrewd acting, and
desperate valor conceivable. I was staring death in the face--he knew
it at a glance. Just within those enormous jaws, and all would be over
with me. The light charge of the pistol, however placed, would be
little more than a flea-bite on a monster already ripped laterally and
longitudinally through and through by two great .450 cordite shells.
Indeed the lion was not even gasping from his wounds; his great heart
was beating strong and steady against mine. Of what avail a little
pistol-ball, or six of them?

"All this must have raced through Djama Aout's brain in a second, in
the very second _Shikari_ Number Two was falling under the lion's blow.
In another second he conceived a plan, absolutely the only one that
possibly could have saved me.

"Just at the instant the lion turned and opened his jaws to seize and
crush my head, forward sprang Djama Aout; within the lion's jaws and
into his great yawning mouth Djama Aout thrust pistol, hand, and
forearm, and, though the hard-driven teeth crunched cruelly through
sinews and into bone, steadily pulled the trigger till the pistol's six
loads were discharged down the lion's very throat!

"Shrinking from the shock of the shots, the lion released Djama Aout's
mangled arm and freed me of his weight. Unhurt, even unscratched by
the lion, I quickly swung myself up into the biggest mimosa near, a
poor four feet from the ground, within easy reach of our enemy if he
had not been too sick of his wounds to leap at me.

"Having fallen from the pain and shock of his wounded arm, Djama Aout
rose, backed off a little distance, and stood at bay, the pistol
clubbed in his left hand.

"While apparently sick unto death, the lion might muster strength for a
last attack, so I called to Marlow, who, under orders, had waited
without the thicket, bearing