rer, and he could make out that
it had moved on a few feet and then stopped, as if crouching down
waiting to make a spring.

"What did the doctor say?" thought Mark. "I was not to fire unless
there was real necessity. There must be real necessity here, for that
beast is creeping closer and closer so as to be within easy distance for
its spring."

The boy hesitated no longer, but raising his rifle to his shoulder he
covered the object that was advancing, and was about to draw trigger
when he realised the fact that he was aiming at what seemed to be a
bush, while the lioness, or whatever it was, had disappeared.

Mark stared in wonder, for he could not understand how it was that an
object which had seemed so clear in the transparent darkness had
disappeared so easily, and he was staring almost wildly in the direction
where he had seen it last when there was a faint, rustling sound a
little to his left, convincing him that the nocturnal marauder had
passed a pensile bough of a tree that must be sweeping the ground, and
must be close upon the ponies, one of which uttered a low, tremulous,
whinnying sound, and gazing sharply in the direction Mark saw as he drew
trigger the big animal assuming a rampant position in springing upon the
pony.

The silence of the night was broken by a roar, and Mark felt that a
cloud was interposed between himself and the camp visitant which hurled
him violently to the ground.

CHAPTER NINE.

"SEEN ANY MORE LIONS?"

Feeling half stunned, Mark rolled over and over, holding on to his piece
the while, and struggled to his feet from amongst the bushes in which he
had involuntarily sought refuge. His movements took him through a low,
clinging cloud of the smoke of gunpowder, and he heard the rustling of
trampled bushes as what he assumed to be his assailant dashed away. And
now he grasped the fact that his shot had thoroughly roused the whole
camp. The ponies were plunging and dragging at their raw hide lariats,
and the oxen were upon their feet, alarmed in the darkness and about to
break away; but Buck Denham, the English driver, and the Hottentot were
yelling at them, and the black forelopers were adding their shrill cry
as they aided in trying to pacify the beasts.

In the midst of the noise and confusion Mark heard his name loudly
uttered, followed by the words, "Where are you, my lad? Speak up!"

"Here--here," he panted.

"Oh, that's right."

"Not hurt, are you?" cried th