ed
from the howling that went up.

"There!" he shouted savagely, "will that satisfy you?" The pack fell
upon the wounded, and was back again into position, coming closer
and closer as the fires died down.

Then he remembered the stories he had heard of the persistence of
the wild-dogs--how they would drive off even a lion from his prey--
and he fell to counting his cartridges. There were only five left.
He counted the dogs. There were more than fifteen, as far as he
could reckon; and if he reduced them to ten, he could not hope to
withstand the final rush of ten big-jawed and active animals. Even
if he could keep them off in that open space, he could not stay
there another day; and if they tackled him in the reeds, he would
have no chance. He began to rack his brain for a scheme; but while
he thought, the circle closed in until quite plainly he could
distinguish the staring eyes all centered upon him. He piled on more
fuel, and as the flames sprang up they fell back. As the flames died
down, they advanced as by a given signal. He kept on adding to the
fires until his fingers, groping for fresh reeds, found none, and
the sweat broke out on his forehead. In one hour at least there
would not be light enough from the smouldering heaps for him to see
a mark, and then--something had to be done!

No doubt the watchful eyes saw the sign of fear in his face. At once
the circle closed in, and this time he could see that several of the
dogs were not sitting, but standing, as if ready for the final
spring. He fingered a cartridge, then suddenly flung it into the
topmost heap of glowing ash. The eyes of the pack followed the
missile, and for a second each dog looked at the heap. As they
looked there was a report, and a mass of live embers was scattered
high and wide, over them, over the opening, into the fringe of
reeds. With wild yelps of fear and pain the pack broke, and Compton
groveled on the ground with his hands before his face, for he had
flattened himself just in time to escape being blinded by the
burning dust, some of which, however, did get into his eyes. A
little fly in the eye, as many a cyclist has found to his cost, is
enough to engage the entire attention for five minutes, but a
handful of ash gives more anguish to the square inch; and when
Compton succeeded in opening his inflamed vision upon the scene, a
transformation had happened in the writhing interval. The air was
full of a sharp crackling and little expl