But the little ratel met that regal stare squarely and unmoved.  He whose proud boast it was that he feared nothing that walked or crawled, or swam or flew, could not be frightened now.  And he who came to terrify was perhaps all but ten feet long, and he whom he sought to terrify was barely three feet.  It was a comparison to make you gasp.

Now, that lion did not want the ratel at all, or his wife, or his family, or anything that was his.  He wanted the gnu, and would be very pleased if the ratel would go away and leave it to him.

The ratel, moreover, did not want the gnu, being an eater of honey, locusts, and generally badger-like fare for the most part; and if the lion had only had the sense to wait a few minutes longer behind the scenes, the ratel would have gone away and left the gnu.  But he would not be driven; that was the rub.  Attacking nobody unprovoked, he was a grim beast to attack, and gave way before none.  Hence the trouble.

Finding that the bluff of the impressive tableau did not work, the lion tried a fresh one.  Still staring at the ratel, he sank his head to the ground, so that his great mane hung to the earth all about him.  His forelegs and his shoulders crouched, but his hindlegs and his back were held at their highest, and his tail began to lash behind.  Then he began to growl tremendously and nerve-shatteringly, and as he did so he curled his upper lips up and back, till the whole ghastly array of his teeth was laid bare to view.  In this position he looked like a gigantic grinning mask, with blind eye-sockets where the wrinkles were on the sloping forehead, his eyes nearly invisible below, and a tail lashing far up atop.  It was a horrible sight, and one calculated to stampede the pluckiest animal.

It was, of course, also a deliberate piece of mesmeric bluff, the reason for which was not made clear till one noticed, what the ratel probably could not, that the great leonine tusks, the terrible fangs, were yellow and worn, as were the rest of the teeth.  This was an old lion, a king on a throne already tottering, a monarch of yesterday.

That lion, however, might have turned into Satan himself, for all the ratel cared.  He was threatened, attacked, bullied, forced.  His blood was up, and had not all who ever fought him allowed that he was the pluckiest beast on earth?  Enough!  Come lion! come devil! he would give ground to none.

[Illustration:  “All allowed that he was the pluckiest beast on earth”]

Lions are not too patient.  Also, they have fine spirit of their own.  They are among the very few beasts who will hunt and attack animals as strong as, or stronger than, themselves.  And this lion’s patience snapped suddenly.  All at once he seemed to remember that he was still a king, though a king already within the shadow of abdication.  The terrible bass rumble of his growl grew, and changed tone; his tail lashed faster and faster; and then, all suddenly heralded by a couple of wicked, rasping, coughing grunts, he—­charged.