Tom patted the little fellow on the shoulder, and went to the wagon and took down a blanket, which he handed to Peter. The wild boy, who now showed no sign of any inclination to run away, and had for the last twenty-four hours been allowed complete liberty, at once wrapped himself up, snuggled close to the fire, and fell fast asleep. For another two hours the three white men sat round the fire, the boys writing up their diaries, Mr. Blakeney smoking and reading. Then they chatted for a while, and at nine o’clock or thereabouts prepared to turn in for the night. Guy went to the tent; Mr. Blakeney climbed to his wagon. Tom prepared his blanket and kaross by the fire, as he had done since Peter’s capture. He still judged it advisable to keep the boy under his control at night, and, fastening the cord to his belt, made the other end secure round the belt which Peter wore for the purpose. Then settling himself with his feet to the comfortable blaze, he gazed for a few minutes upwards at the brilliant array of stars, and was quickly sleeping the wonderful and refreshing sleep of the wilderness. How long Tom had slept he knew not, but he was suddenly awakened by a sharp tug at his belt. Snatching up his loaded rifle, which lay by his side, he sat up and looked around him. Peter was crouching on his hams two or three yards away, his blanket fallen from his shoulders, his eyes wildly excited. He was barking fiercely, just as a baboon barks when enraged or alarmed. In another instant there was violent commotion in the ox kraal. The native servants, sleeping at the fire near by, had been awakened by the wild boy’s warning barks; they were now on their feet, and, rushing to the kraal with their guns and blazing fire-sticks, began letting off their rifles at some object among the oxen. Mr. Blakeney jumped down from his wagon in his pyjamas, rifle in hand. Guy, similarly equipped, burst out of his tent. Tom, unbuckling the cord at his belt, sprang up with his weapon. The three ran towards the scherm. "A lion, baas! a lion!" cried Jan Kokerboom excitedly, as they neared the scene. "There he is. Shoot, boys, shoot!" Then, putting up his gun, he again fired. Poeskop and Seleti were reloading; Mangwalaan held up a flaming torch to give light. It was a weird scene, only fitfully illuminated by the blazing torch and the light of the men’s fire close at hand. Another rush took place among the oxen; then a dark figure cleared the thorn fence just behind the group of affrighted animals. "He’s gone!" yelled Poeskop, who had just got another cartridge into the breech of his Snider. "He’s gone!"