hout some apprehensions, the three continued their work.
They had their horses at hand, ready to be mounted in case the lion
might make his way through the fire. In fact, they intended to take to
their saddles--as soon as the fire should be fairly under way--and watch
the conflagration from a safe distance.

They had dragged up all the bush and dry wood, and had piled them in
front of the door. Swartboy had taken out his flint and steel, and was
about to strike, when a loud scratching was heard from the inside,
unlike anything that had yet reached their ears. It was the rattling of
the lion's claws against the wall, but it had an odd sound as if the
animal was struggling violently; at the same time his voice seemed
hoarse and smothered, and appeared to come from a distance.

What was the brute doing?

They stood for a moment, looking anxiously in each other's faces. The
scratching continued--the hoarse growling at intervals--but this ended
at length; and then came a snort, followed by a roar so loud and clear,
that all three started in airtight. They could not believe that trails
were between them and their dangerous enemy!

Again echoed that horrid cry. Great Heaven! It proceeded no longer
from the inside--it came from above them! Was the lion upon the roof?
All three rushed backward a step or two, and looked up. A sight was
before them that rendered them almost speechless with surprise and
terror. Above the funnel of the chimney appeared the head of the lion;
his glaring yellow eyes and white teeth showing more fearful from
contrast with the black soot that begrimed him. He was dragging his
body up. One foot was already above the capstone; and with this and his
teeth he was widening the aperture around him.

It was a terrible sight to behold--at least to those below.

As already stated, they _were_ alarmed; and would have taken to their
horses, had they not perceived that the animal had _stuck fast_!

It was evident that this was the case, but it was equally evident that
in a few moments he would succeed in clearing himself from the chimney.
His teeth and claws were hard at work, and the stones and mortar were
flying in all directions. The funnel would soon be down below his broad
chest, and then--

Von Bloom did not stay to think what then. He and Hendrik, guns in
hand, ran up near the bottom of the wall. The chimney was but a score
of feet in height; the long roer was pointed upward, reaching