er the branches.

"Quick!" said Compton, "help pull the branches away."

Guided by the tinder, they felt for the branches and pulled, but let
go at once and fell back, for a fierce growl greeted them almost in
their faces.

"By Jove!" muttered Compton, "it's all over now. Don't run; let us
stick together."

"I'm not running," said Venning. "We've got our sheath-knives."

They drew their knives, and, holding each other by the disengaged
hand, fell back step by step, till they found the support of a tree-
trunk, when they waited for the attack. From time to time the low
growls gave warning of the enemy's close presence, and to them each
sound was as a death-knell; for what were their knives against a foe
so powerful, who had, too, the advantage of sight?

For perhaps two hours of awful suspense they stood, and then Compton
lost patience.

"I can't stand this," he said. "That brute's playing with us, and
I'm going to finish it."

"Wait; when the morning comes we can see."

"Will it ever come? No."

Compton struck a match, cradled it in his hand till it caught, then,
with his face showing rigid by the reflection, he moved forward.
Venning went too, shoulder to shoulder. Each held his knife, point
up, every muscle on the strain. A snarl greeted each step, and
presently they saw two glowing spots before the match went out.
Another match was struck by a steady hand, and this time the spots
blazed out from the blackness.

Venning felt for his log-book, tore out a sheet, screwed it up, lit
it, and held the flame up.

There, less than six feet away, was the leopard, its mouth open, the
gleaming fangs showing their full length--a sight so forbidding that
he dropped the paper and sprang back.

"Light another," said Compton, steadily.

This was done. He went down on his knees, reached out, seized the
butt of a rifle, and drew it forth. A second later a bullet crashed
into the brain of the leopard, and then, worn out by the strain they
had been under so long, they sat with their backs to the trees.

"I'm going to sleep," said Compton.

"I wonder what's become of the jackal?" muttered Venning, drawing up
his knees with a sigh of relief.

"Don't know, and don't care, for he's better off than we are. Good
night."

"Good night, old chap; and it was awfully good of you to turn back."

Snore! Venning yawned, and in five minutes they were both asleep in
the forest, without so much as a twig to cover them. But they