--what you will; but they were all tame alongside that
python, after the little black-back had got his fangs home.

You know the size of pythons? 'Bout the biggest things in snakes there
are going, bar two; and this one was not a baby. But nobody can
properly measure their strength. This one unwrapped itself in one
awful swiftness, and wrapped itself up again more awfully swiftly and
in worse knots. Then things became hazy, and one could only tell by
the dust, and the sand, and the grass, and the leaves, and the other
things flying around that something was happening.

But the jackal did not seem to care. He only sat well back, with jaws
open and very red tongue lolling, obviously doing a dog-laugh to
himself. Perhaps it touched his sense of humor to think that so small
a beast as he, with just one scientific bite, should create such a deal
of disturbance. But the--er--aroma could not have amused even him, and
he was, as you might say, salted to stenches; for, though he was on the
up-wind side, even there it was enough to knock flat anything that the
python's tail could not reach. It was a most stupendous stench--a sort
of weapon of defense, or danger-signal, that these big snakes have.

Now, perhaps it was the reek that drew the purr. Purring is generally
looked upon as a nice and comfy sort of a sound, but _this was not_.

The jackal just heard it intruding upon the confusion of the python's
last contortions, as if suddenly, and it seemed to come from the
ground, and the sky, and the surrounding scenery all at the same time.
There was nothing nice and comfy about it at all. The jackal removed
himself, at sound of it, about four yards in as many bounds, and every
grizzled scrap of fur along his black back stood on end. If we had
heard it, we should have reached for our rifle, and felt tingly all
down our spine, for that was the sort of purr it was--a horrible,
hungry, suggestive, cruel, and blood-curdling sound of ghoulish
pleasure.

The jackal ceased to dog-laugh, and his tail was between his legs, for
he knew that purr, and its name was death. Death angry is bad enough,
but death pleased--

Louder and louder the purr became, till it seemed, as the python began
to lash out the very last of its life, apparently, to fill the whole
place. Finally, it became real, and--a shape walked slowly out of a
thorn-bush.

It would be blatant exaggeration to call that shape a lion.
It--he--had been one. He was