Again the lion essayed to slake his burning thirst at the glassy pool; and again he retreated in rage and confusion. Attributing his trouble to the leopard, evidently, he made a vicious slap at her with his great paw. She sprang aside, spitting and snarling. The lion pursued her; and, to escape, she sprang upon the slender trunk of the palm tree to whose top the balloon was tied, and began a nimble and quick ascent. “Oo—h!” Bob gasped. “Murder!” croaked Fitz Mee. Then, instantly, he jumped from the locker; and opened and shut the valve of the air-tank, three or four times in quick succession. “Pst! pst! pst!” hissed the escaping air, and the leopard, more alarmed at the unknown danger above than at the known danger below, gave a yowl of fright and leaped to the ground and loped out of sight. Bob heaved a sigh of relief. “Fitz,” he whispered, “playing with wild beasts is like playing with fire; a fellow’s likely to burn his fingers.” The goblin nodded; then he jerked out: “But look at the lion! Bob, look at the lion!” The noble animal was not content to go without a drink; and once more he was drawing near the spring, cautiously, slowly. A third time his nose and tongue touched the water; and a third time he sprang back, startled and enraged. And this time he rashly spatted the surface of the pool with his paw, and let out a hoarse roar of futile rage, as the treacherous liquid sent a stream of electricity tingling through his anatomy. The two aëronauts were hunkered upon the locker, leaning far over the rim of the basket and laughing heartily but softly. On a sudden the goblin’s hands slipped and he fell headlong from the car—turning completely over in mid air and lighting plump astride the lion’s back! CHAPTER VIII THE BALLOONISTS ENCOUNTER ARABS Fitz Mee let out a frantic yell as he descended; Bob echoed it. “I’m a goner!” squeaked the goblin as he alighted on the lion’s back. “Goner!” screamed the boy, in unison. The lion, no doubt coupling the sudden arrival of the little green sprite with the unusual condition of the spring he had always known, went mad with fright. He stuck his tail between his hind legs, gave a snort, followed by a prolonged and doleful whine, and scampered away among the trees and across the sands of the desert, the goblin clinging to his mane. “Oh, dear—dear!” moaned the boy. “What am I to do? What _can_ I do? Poor old Fitz Mee! Poor old Convulsions! The lion’ll shake him off out there—and—and eat him up! And I can’t help him! I don’t dare to go to his aid; the other beasts would eat _me_! Was ever a boy in such a pickle! Oh, I wish I was back home! I do—I do! I was a fool to come on such a wild adventurous trip, anyhow! Poor old Fitz Mee! Poor old Epilepsy! Gone! Lost! And here I am down here in the desert—with miles of trackless sands all around me; and with no means of getting away—except an old balky balloon! Oh, dear—dear!”