It was a lion, with head held high, dragging
along a helpless black man.
A second later, and before the intense glare had died away, the
watchers saw the lion gently sink down, as though weary. He stopped
short in his tracks, his head rolled back, the jaws relaxed and the
native, who was unconscious now, toppled to one side.
"Tom's killed him with the electric rifle!" cried Mr. Durban.
"Bless my incandescent lamp! so he has," agreed Mr. Damon. "Bless my
dynamo! but that's a wonderful gun, it's as powerful as a
thunderbolt, or as gentle as a summer shower."
Mr. Durban seeing that the lion was dead, in that brief glance he
had had of the brute, called to some of the natives to come and get
their tribesman. They came, timidly enough at first, carrying many
torches, but when they understood that the lion was dead, they
advanced more boldly. They carried the wounded black to a hut, where
they applied their simple but effective remedies for the cruel bite
in his shoulder.
After Tom had shot several other of the illuminated charges into the
jungle, to see if he could discover any more lions, but failed to do
so, he and his friends returned to the anchored airship, amid the
murmured thanks of the Africans.
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