Oscar was so disheartened over the loss of the buffalo, and so angry at the boastful McCann for the arrant cowardice he had exhibited, that he did not at all enjoy his supper.

He forced down a few mouthfuls, drank a cup or two of tea, and then went out among the cattle and horses (he now owned four of the latter, having purchased two steady old hunters while he was in Leichtberg) to satisfy himself, by personal examination, that they were securely fastened. Then he looked at the supply of firewood, and having lighted his lantern, climbed into the wagon and devoted himself to his diary.

If McCann could have known what he wrote regarding the part he had played in the exciting scene that had just been enacted he would have felt like going off somewhere and hiding himself.

"I'll fix you to-morrow, my fine fellow!" said Oscar to himself, smiling over the thought that had just then suggested itself to him. "I'll make you prove some of your boasts, or acknowledge yourself to be a coward."

One would think that McCann had already proved himself a coward; but if additional evidence were needed to fully establish that fact, and to prove beyond a doubt that there was no dependence to be placed in him in times of danger, an incident happened that very night which caused the after-rider to show himself up in his true colors.

Just as Oscar closed his diary and arose to put it away in the hanging pocket in which he usually kept it he was startled by a sound that made the cold chill creep all over him. He knew what it was as well as though he had heard it every day of his life. It was the roar of a lion.

It was repeated five or six times, and ended in long-drawn sighs, which grew lower and deeper until they sounded like the mutterings of distant thunder.

This was followed by a sound that almost paralyzed the young hunter—a sound made by something scrambling into the forward end of the wagon.

He turned quickly, fully expecting to see the opening filled by the shaggy head of the terrible king of beasts; but he saw, instead, the pale, almost livid, face of the redoubtable McCann, who was making all haste to seek a place of refuge.

"What do you want in here?" demanded Oscar as soon as he had somewhat recovered himself.

"Didn't you hear that lion?" asked McCann in a trembling voice.

"Having a pair of good ears, I did," answered Oscar. "What of it?"

"Why, he is close to us—within a stone's throw of us!" gasped McCann, looking all around for some little hole to crawl into.

"How do you know that? I haven't lived in Africa as long as you have, but I know that you can't tell where a lion is when you hear his roar. It sounds just as loud and distinct when he is half a mile away as it does when he is only a hundred yards from you."

"I wish this one was a hundred miles away," panted McCann, sinking down behind the fore-chest and trembling violently in every limb. "I told you what would happen if you stayed here; and if you lose all your stock don't blame me for it. Don't you know that the water-hole is only two hundred yards away? He is coming there to drink."

"Well, we can't help it, can we? I say, Mack," exclaimed Oscar, a bright idea striking him, "go out there and shoot him when he comes to drink. You have often done such things, you know; and I will give you an extra twenty-five pounds if you will secure a lion's skin for me to take home with me. I can't do it, for if I should find myself within range of one of those fellows I should be so badly frightened that I couldn't cover him with the sights. You will find one of the Express rifles and plenty of cartridges in that case."

McCann was too badly frightened to reply. Indeed, so abject was his terror that, if Oscar had not been possessed of an extraordinary amount of pluck, some of his after-rider's cowardice would have communicated itself to him.

Even a timid person can keep up some show of courage in times of danger when there are brave men around him, but it takes a man of nerve to present a bold front when in the company of poltroons.

Oscar was not frightened; he was only excited—very highly excited, too—for his hands trembled, and his heart beat audibly, as he took his heaviest rifle from its case and pushed a couple of cartridges in the barrels.

"You are never going to shoot at him?" cried McCann.

"You just let me get a fair sight at him, and see if I don't shoot," was Oscar's reply.

"Then we're all dead men," declared the terrified after-rider. "He'll jump right into the wagon."

"Well, if you didn't want to run such risks why did you come out here?" demanded his employer sternly. "I am not going to lose any of the stock if I can help it. You ought to know that we have nothing to fear from the one whose voice we have just heard, for when a lion means business he doesn't go about warning all the other animals of his approach; he keeps quiet. But there may be others about, you know."

Holding his rifle in his hands, in readiness for a shot, Oscar took his seat on the fore-chest, while McCann groaned and shivered behind it.

The former had scarcely taken up his position when the roar was repeated, apparently nearer than before (the lion is so perfect a ventriloquist that he could not be certain on this point), and it was the signal for a concert the like of which but few hunters have ever listened to.

An answering roar came from the other side of the water-course—a deep-toned roar of defiance. There was an instant's pause, and then a whole chorus of the resounding notes rang out on the night air.

It continued for perhaps half a minute, and when it died away it was answered in just the same manner, proving that the lion whose voice Oscar had first heard was attended by a troop quite as numerous as the one on the other side of the water-course.

No words can describe the effect of these sounds. Many a brave and experienced hunter has been completely demoralized by them.

Oscar's blood went rushing back upon his heart, leaving his face as pale as death itself, and his hair seemed to stand on end.

The natives ceased their conversation and lay down close beside their fire, drawing their skin cloaks over their heads; the horses snorted and trembled with fear; the oxen pulled at the trek-tow; the dogs whined and sought refuge under the wagon, and McCann groaned behind the fore-chest.

"There's nothing to make such a fuss about," said Oscar, who knew that he might as well turn about and go back to the coast as to show the white feather in the presence of his men. "Two strange troops of lions are approaching the water-hole from different directions, and they are daring one another to come on—that's all. You had better go out and mend your fires."

"Eh? I wouldn't go out there for all the money there is in Africa," replied McCann in a scarcely audible voice.

Seeing very plainly that there was nothing to be expected of the after-rider, for that night at least, Oscar laid down his rifle, and was about to step upon the dissel-boom, intending to go out and replenish the fires himself, when something happened that proved almost too much for his courage.

The roars of defiance had all this while grown louder and fiercer, and the way in which the kingly beasts challenged one another when they arrived on opposite sides of the fountain was simply terrific.

They kept this up for a minute or two, and finally some of the boldest and angriest of them came together.

A terrible battle ensued, and Oscar could not tell whether there were two or a dozen engaged in it. He knew that they did not all take part, for he could hear some of them roaring with all the power of their lungs, as if they hoped in that way to encourage their respective champions to greater exertions.

The hubbub they raised was altogether too much for the nerve of the Hottentots, who suddenly jumped up from behind the fence of thorn bushes they had built around their fire, and ran toward the wagon, chattering like monkeys.

"Keep out of here," said Oscar sternly. "Go back and throw on more wood."

The Hottentots disappeared as if by magic, and Oscar, holding fast with both hands to his heavy rifle, which had more than once been on the point of slipping out of his grasp, stood on the fore-chest and listened to the noise of the combat.

He strained his eyes, trying to peer through the darkness to obtain a glimpse of the contestants, but all in vain. The banks of the water-course in which the fight was carried on were high, and there were several trees between him and the fountain.

But even if the battle had taken place on the open plain he could not have witnessed it, for the color of the lion's hair renders him invisible in the dark. Mr. Lawrence had told him that, on more than one occasion, while he was watching a fountain at night, he had heard a lion loudly lapping the water within twenty feet of him, and yet he could not see him.

Oscar was recalled to himself by the actions of the Kaffir, who, having mended his own fire, had taken up a blazing brand in each hand, and started out to replenish the others. He was so cool, and went about his work so deliberately, that Oscar regained his courage while he looked at him.

Taking his rifle with him, so as to be ready for any emergency, Oscar hastened to the Kaffir's assistance; and in a few minutes more all the fires were burning brightly.

When he returned to the wagon the fight was over, the lions had ceased their roaring, and everything was quiet.

"I'll just tell you what's a fact," soliloquized Oscar as he seated himself on the fore-chest and laid his rifle across his knees. "Hearing a lion roar in a menagerie, when he is safe behind iron bars, and hearing a dozen or more of them give tongue here in the wilds of Africa, where there is literally nothing to protect you from their fury if they take a notion to pitch into you, are two widely different things. I never want to listen to another concert like that as long as I live. I have no ear for such music."

He took off his cap and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. The exciting ordeal through which he had passed had brought the perspiration out all over him.