'Now look here, you fellows,' began Denison, whose turn it was to entertain the company at the camp-fire the next night, 'don't you go laughing at the story I'm going to tell you, and pretending that you don't believe it's true, for that would hurt my feelings, and I might burst into tears, and you wouldn't like to see a strong man weep!'

'Go on,' said Bobby, rudely, 'or perhaps one of us will give the strong man something to weep for!'

Denison eyed the speaker with contempt, but plunged into his tale at once. 'See this mark?' he said, turning up his sleeve and showing a scar upon his forearm, 'and this?' he indicated a mark on his neck; 'Well, you're going to hear how I came by these. Do you know what a Hall-mark is? A lion stamped on good metal; that's it, isn't it? Well, these are Hall-marks: the stamp of a lion; only Stationers' Hall didn't stamp them: the lion made his own mark on me. I've got more of them on my arms and legs.'

It was like this: I was antelope-shooting with a friend not so very far from the spot we are now in, though a bit farther north. My friend, Thomson by name, had been a trifle off colour, and just now was quite on the sick list, so that we had not moved camp for some time, and I spent my days in trying to get a specimen of water-buck for my collection of antelope heads.

One morning, to my joy and excitement, I came upon the spoor of a herd of them, I was alone and some miles from camp; our cleverest Kaffir hunter was on the sick list as well as Thomson, so that as a matter of fact I had been obliged to go alone—a kind of veldt influenza had got hold of the other two, and neither of them felt worth two penn'orth of toffee. I came in sight of my little water-buck family when I had scouted after them for about an hour; they were grazing peacefully in a plateau half a mile away, quite unsuspicious of my presence and evil intentions with regard to them. I was scouting against the wind, of course, and had hopes of getting my shot in—the first I had ever fired at this particular species. I made for a boulder which lay between myself and the herd, and creeping most cautiously and slowly (for I was really keen to succeed), I reached it without alarming the timid animals, which were now scarcely four hundred yards away. Very carefully I raised myself from the snake-like attitude in which I had made my advance, in order to risk a peep over the edge of the rock, for I must lay my exact plan of campaign, so that I might make sure of another couple of hundred yards, which distance gained, I was going to fire my shot.

I had risen from my crouching attitude, and was about half-way to the upright, when all of a sudden the world seemed to come to an end and break up into stars and giddy whirlings, accompanied by sharp pains in the back, flights through space, and terrific thunderous sounds in my very ears. I was conscious of turning a double or triple somersault, of alighting face-down on the long grass, of a heavy weight leaning upon my neck and spine, of pain, stiffness, semi-consciousness, of a continuous noise as though a motor-car lay and throbbed and whirred on the top of me. What had happened?'

I lay and wondered for a few minutes. Had there been a volcanic eruption? Were bits of it lying upon me and pinning me down? Would there be another upheaval in a moment; more steely-blue stars and another flight, and then—the end? If so, I wished it would come quickly and not leave me in suspense, and, oh! if only the horrible whirring noise at my ear would only stop for a minute. My head ached as though it would burst. I opened my eyes, but could see nothing but the stalks of yellow grass in which my face was buried.

Was I sufficiently alive—had I energy enough to move, to raise my aching head a little way in order to look around a bit? For a few minutes I could not summon sufficient strength to stir a finger; I felt paralysed and utterly bereft of the power to set my muscles working. Gradually, however, I began to feel a little better, the noise at my ear ceased and let peace in; a delightful calm followed, and with it consciousness gradually returned.

I raised my head a few inches; instantly something came in violent contact with the back of my skull, dealing me a stunning blow; at the same time a crash of thunder reverberated at my ear, and again I lay still, conscious only of the horrible whirring sound which had begun again and continued without ceasing. I think I entirely lost consciousness at this point, and lay, it might have been a few minutes, it might have been an hour, lost to every sense of fear, of wonder, of pain.

When I awoke, on regaining consciousness, I still lay upon my face, but my brain felt more capable of coping with the situation. I lay and reflected. Something had happened to me: was it a stroke of paralysis? I moved the muscles of my face: they were all right on both sides. I turned my head slightly first one way and then the other—no, I was not paralysed. I tried to raise myself, but found that some heavy weight upon the small of my back prevented me. That was odd. Could there have been an earthquake, and had some rock rolled over upon me—a most unlikely thing, yet what else could it be? I wriggled my back in order to discover, if I could, the nature of the incubus. Instantly there recommenced that abominable sound, close to my ear, which had so angered me before; now that my brain was once more in working order I was able to listen with understanding. The sound was the growling of some great beast; the weight upon my back could be nothing else than its paw which held me down; I was, in a word, at the mercy of a savage animal, doubtless a lion, for the weight of the paw proved that it could be no smaller beast. I had been knocked down from behind: stalked while I myself stalked the water-buck; I was in the position of a mouse which has been caught by a cat.

My brain remained wonderfully clear, though I expected that my reason would leave me in that moment of terror. It did not. On the contrary, I lay there and thought more keenly and quickly, I believe, than I had ever thought before. How long ago had the brute sprung upon me? Surely an hour, at least, must have passed since I fell, or was it that time passes very slowly in these terrible moments? I counted thirty slowly—well, that was half a minute; nothing happened.

'Why doesn't he eat me?' I wondered. 'There must be a reason for the delay. Is he waiting for his mate?' He certainly was waiting—while I lay and thought, another minute or two had passed.

I longed to screw my head round so that I might at least catch a glimpse of the brute in whose power I lay. I wondered where my rifle was—if only I could see or reach it! There was a skinning-knife, I knew, in my belt, and the recollection gave me a moment of joy. A knife is not much of a weapon with which to engage a lion in battle, especially if one could not get at it; but where there is a knife there is hope. Something hard was in my right hand—what was it? Why—what—it was my rifle! It might as well, of course, be a hundred miles away at the present moment, for I dared not move a finger to draw it towards me, and my arms were both stretched at full length in front of me; but still, when the fatal moment should arrive it might come in useful, and the thought encouraged and cheered me.

Meanwhile, was the beast falling asleep? Oh, if only he would, I thought! The idea almost stopped my breathing, so fearful was I lest anything I might do should keep my foe awake! I believe he did doze a little. The pressure of the great paw upon my back seemed to relax a trifle. I waited what seemed to me a quarter of an hour; then—my heart in my mouth—I tried a tiny little wriggle. In a moment the pressure increased, a roar rent the air, I thought my last moment had arrived and a prayer came to my lips. I felt my left shoulder or upper arm seized. 'Heaven help me!' I muttered aloud—my head swam—I think I fainted for a second. When I recovered consciousness I was being dragged through the long grass.

(Concluded on page 68.)