Part 5 (1/2)

Giving the cub into the care of Bela Mos.h.i.+, Wilmshurst followed his companions as they tramped in single file along the narrow bush track, the Haussas tailing on to the end of the procession.

The edge of the bush was almost reached when Laxdale, with a splendid shot at a hundred and twenty yards, brought down a large panther. A halt was made while the blacks skinned the dead beast, for in practically waterless districts panther-skin is a valuable aid to the efficiency of a Maxim gun. Soaked in water, wrapped round the jacket of the weapon, the evaporation keeps the gun cooler for a longer time than if the water within the jacket alone were used.

Upon coming within sight of the camp the white men were able to walk side by side in comparatively open country.

MacGregor, Laxdale, and Danvers were on ahead, Spofforth and Wilmshurst about fifty paces behind, Bela Mos.h.i.+ with the cub was close on Dudley's heels, while the Haussas with the dead panther were some distance in the rear, the blacks carrying the officers' rifles since the hunters were clear of the bush.

”I'll take the cub,” said Wilmshurst, noticing that the native sergeant was stumbling frequently as he carefully nursed the somewhat fretful animal.

”Berry good, sah,” replied Bela Mos.h.i.+, handing the cub to the subaltern. ”I tink, sah, dat----”

A chorus of yells and warning shouts from the Haussas made the officers turn pretty sharply. What they saw was something that they had badly wanted to see but at the present moment had not the faintest desire to meet.

Leaping with prodigious bounds across the flat ground was an enormous lioness. The devoted beast had followed her cub for miles, her instinct telling her that when the men halted her opportunity would come to recover the little animal. A lioness bereft of her cubs has been known to follow hunters for days in order either to recover or revenge her offspring. The sight of the large camp, however, must have incited the gigantic feline to premature action.

Of the five white men only MacGregor retained his rifle. Laxdale and Danvers took to their heels, making for a large baobab that stood about fifty yards away. Strange to relate, MacGregor followed suit, thrusting a clip of cartridges into the magazine of his rifle as he ran. Wilmshurst, hampered by the cub, stood stock still, fascinated by the awesome sight of the approaching lioness.

Ten yards in front of Wilmshurst stood Spofforth, swaying gently on his toes, his bulky figure thrown slightly forward and his arms outstretched.

”Run for it!” he exclaimed in a high-pitched, unnatural voice, but without turning his head.

Wilmshurst disobeyed--for one thing he was unable to tear himself away; his feet seemed rooted to the ground. For another, a sense of camaraderie urged him to remain an impa.s.sive spectator of the impending struggle between an unarmed man, who had voluntarily interposed his big bulk between the hampered subaltern and the infuriated animal.

The lioness, roaring loudly, leapt. Spofforth closed just as her forepaws touched the ground, and the next instant man and beast were engaged in a terrible struggle.

The powerful officer clutched the lioness just below the jaws with both hands, holding her in a vice-like grip. With his feet dug firmly, into the ground he held, swaying to and fro but not giving an inch while the cruel talons of the ferocious beast were lacerating his arms from shoulder to wrist.

Exerting every ounce of strength Spofforth bore down, striving to fracture the terrible jaws. Once the lioness succeeded in dealing him a blow with her paw that, but for the protection afforded by his double pith helmet would have brained the man. For a few seconds Spofforth reeled, his head-gear fell to the ground, leaving his skull unprotected should the lioness repeat the terrifically powerful stroke; yet not for a moment did his grip release.

Through an eddying cloud of dust raised by the struggle Wilmshurst watched the unequal conflict, until his will-power overcoming the initial stages of hypnotic impotence, he threw the cub to the ground and drew his knife.

With a sensation akin to that of a mild-tempered individual who essays with his bare hands to separate two large and ferocious dogs engaged in combat Wilmshurst edged towards the flank of the lioness with the intention of hamstringing the tensioned sinews of her hind legs.

Before he could deliver the stroke Bela Mos.h.i.+ grasped his officer by the shoulders and unceremoniously jerked him aside; then lifting a rifle to his shoulders the Haussa sergeant pressed the trigger.

Down in a convulsive heap fell Spofforth and the lioness, the brute frantically pawing both her antagonist and the dust in her death agonies. Then with a sharp shudder the animal stretched herself and died, while the subaltern, utterly exhausted, lay inertly upon the ground, his rent sleeve stained with still spreading dark patches.

By that time Laxdale and Danvers were upon the scene. Temporary bandages were applied to Spofforth's ugly-looking wounds, while the greatly concerned Haussas improvised a litter made of rifles and coats.

Upon this the badly-mauled subaltern was placed and the journey resumed towards the camp, the dead lioness and her very much alive cub being carried in as trophies of the night's work.

”Where's MacGregor?” asked Wilmshurst.

Laxdale and Danvers exchanged enquiring glances.

”Hanged if I know,” said the former. ”The last I saw of him was when he was making for the baobab. We were a set of blighters scooting off and leaving old Spofforth to act like a modern Horatius.”

All three subalterns knew that the Rhodesian was the only man on the spot who had a rifle ready, yet generously they forbore to give expression to their thoughts.

”See if you can find Mr. MacGregor,” ordered Wilmshurst, addressing Bela Mos.h.i.+.