e empty gun was her
only defense in that perilous moment.

"Grab my gun! Here in the holster!" she panted.

The lion struck against the muzzle of the shotgun, and the girl--in
spite of the braced position she had taken--was thrown backward to the
ground. As she fell the pistol was drawn from its holster.

The empty shotgun had saved her from coming into the embrace of the
angry lion, for while she fell one way, the animal went another. Then
came three shots in rapid succession.

She scrambled to her feet, half laughing, and dusting the palms of her
gantlets. The lion was lying a dozen yards away, while the victim of its
attack stood near, the blue smoke curling from the revolver.

"My goodness!"

After the excitement was all over that exclamation from the girl seemed
unnecessary. But the fact that startled her was, that it was not a man
at all to whose aid she had come. He was a youth little older than
herself.

"I say!" this young man exclaimed. "That was plucky of you,
Miss--awfully plucky, don't you know! That creature would have torn me
badly in another minute."

The girl nodded, but seemed suddenly dumb. She was watching the youth
keenly from under the longest, silkiest lashes, it seemed to Pratt
Sanderson, he had ever seen.

"I hope you're not hurt?" he said, shyly, extending the pistol toward
the girl. She stood with her hands upon her hips, panting a little, and
with plenty of color in her brown cheeks.

"How about you?" she asked, shortly.

It was true the young man appeared much the worse for the encounter. In
the first place, he stood upon one foot, a good deal like a crane, for
his left ankle had twisted when he fell. His left arm, too, was
wrenched, and he felt a tingling sensation all through the member, from
the shoulder to the tips of his fingers.

Beside, his sleeve was ripped its entire length, and the lion's claws
had cut deep into his arm. The breast of his shirt was in strips.

"I say! I'm hurt, worse than I thought, eh?" he said, a little
uncertainly. He wavered a moment on his sound foot, and then sank slowly
to the grass.

"Wait! Don't let yourself go!" exclaimed the girl, getting into quick
action. "It isn't so bad."

She ran for the leather water-bottle that hung from her saddle. Molly
had stood through the trouble without moving. Now the girl filled the
bottle at the spring.

Pratt Sanderson was lying back on his elbows, and the white lids were
lowered over his black eyes