The
lion slouched to his side and sniffed him and then, growling, he
bared his teeth.
Smith-Oldwick drew the pistol from his shirt. "If he has made up
his mind to kill me," he thought. "I can't see that it will make
any difference in the long run whether I infuriate him or not. The
beggar can't kill me any deader in one mood than another."
But with the man's movement in withdrawing the weapon from his shirt
the lion's attitude suddenly altered and though he still growled
he turned and sprang away, and then at last the Englishman stood
almost at the foot of the tree that was his goal, and between him
and safety sprawled a sleeping lion.
Above him was a limb that ordinarily he could have leaped for and
reached with ease; but weak from his wounds and loss of blood he
doubted his ability to do so now. There was even a question as to
whether he would be able to ascend the tree at all. There was just
one chance: the lowest branch left the bole within easy reach of a
man standing on the ground close to the tree's stem, but to reach
a position where the branch would be accessible he must step over
the body of a lion. Taking a deep breath he placed one foot between
the sprawled legs of the beast and gingerly raised the other to plant
it upon the opposite side of the tawny body. "What," he thought,
"if the beggar should happen to wake now?" The suggestion sent a
shudder through his frame but he did not hesitate or withdraw his
foot.
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