in all his life. It drove the blood from his cheeks and left him
gripping the handle of his axe, but outside he could hear the lion
rolling over and crashing among the long grass between the hut and the
zareba, and he knew that he was the victor for the moment.

Another danger caught his eye and he sprang forward. Whipping off his
coat he hastily beat out the flames that were running up the side of the
hut from the blazing oil, and scattered dust over the latter with his
foot. That frail thatch was his only protection now!

He still had two jars of oil. One he was resolved to keep in case he had
to use the little axe. At least he would have the advantage of sight.
His hopes and courage rose somewhat as he listened to the blinded animal
thrashing about in the grass. Then came silence outside.

Burt waited but could hear nothing. "I hope he's run off!" muttered the
boy to himself. He hardly dared hope for that, however, and his fears
were justified when he heard the swift pad-pad outside again. This time
it was faster and heavier. Burt remembered the lions he had seen running
like great cats across the plain and his heart leaped as he pictured the
look of the animal outside.

Now came a furious attack at the corner of the hut beside him. So
sudden and unexpected was it that Burt was caught napping. Before he
could strike a match or catch up the pot of oil he was horrified to see
a double row of fangs crash through the thatch, followed by a great
tawny head. Across the face extended a broad white scar as of an old
burn.

With one strangled cry Burt lifted the keen little axe and brought it
down in the center of the white scar. He saw a tremendous paw that
ripped across his breast and hurled him backward, heard a maddened
scream from the beast, and as he fainted his last memory was of the
rocking, reeling walls about him.

He woke with the sting of cold water on his face and gasped. His first
thought was that the lion was over him, and he struck out blindly and
savagely.

"Go slow, old man!" sounded the voice of Critch. Burt looked up and saw
the face of his chum. He sank back weakly, while Critch went on bathing
his face. "Take it easy, Burt. Don't try to talk yet. Want a drink?"

Burt certainly did want a drink, and he half emptied the canteen of
water at a draught, while Critch supported him. Then he struggled to
his feet.

"Let's get out o' here," he murmured. A shudder swept over him as he
glanced around. T