A sharp crack, as of a bone breaking, told him pretty nearly where the spot must be, not fifty yards from where he stood; and, taking a guess aim--for he could not see the sight at the end of the barrel--he was about to draw trigger, when, at almost one and the same moment, Duke uttered a frightened snarl: there was a rush, and the boy fired now at random, fully aware of the fact that a lion must have crept up within a few yards, and been about to spring either at him or the dog, when the fierce, snarling growls made it alter its intention. They say that discretion is the better part of valour, and it would be hard to set Dyke's movement in retreat down to cowardice, especially when it is considered that he was almost blind in the darkness, while his enemy was provided by nature with optics which were at their best in the gloom of night. Dyke moved back into the house, where, partly sheltered, and with the dog close to his feet, watchful as he was himself, and ready to give warning of danger, he waited, listening for the next sound. This was long in coming, for the lions seemed to have been scared away by the report of the piece--it was too much to believe that the beast which had charged was hit--but at last _crick, crack_, and a tearing noise came from out of the darkness toward the stables, and taking another guess aim, the boy fired and listened intently as he reloaded his piece. Once more there was silence till a distant roar was heard, and Dyke felt hopeful that he had scared away his enemy; but hardly had he thought that, when the cracking and tearing noise arose once more, telling plainly enough that if the beast had been scared away, it had only been for a short distance, and it had now returned to feed. Dyke's piece rang out again, as he fired in the direction of the sounds, all feeling of dread now being carried away by the excitement, and a sense of rage that, in all probability, one of the best draught oxen had been pulled down and was being eaten only a few yards from where he stood. Crack went a bone once more, as the noise of the piece died out, showing that the lion had ceased to pay attention to the report. And now Dyke fired again, and backed right into the house, startled by the result, for this time his bullet had evidently told--the lion uttering a savage, snarling roar, which was followed by a crash, as if caused by the monster leaping against one of the fences in an effort to escape. Then once more all was still. The tearing and rending had ceased, and though the boy listened patiently for quite an hour, no animal returned to the savage banquet.