“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 were not altogether unprotected, for when they rubbed the sleep out of their eyes in the morning, they found the jackal curled up at their feet, with one ear cocked and one eye open.  But a very different jackal he was from the graceful animal they knew so well.  His body was distended to enormous proportions, and it was clear how his absence was to be accounted for.  While