The horses were growing tired, and showed signs of uneasiness which Challis was puzzled to account for. The explanation came with startling suddenness. On rounding a rocky eminence they saw, only a hundred yards away, two lions lying side by side. The trembling horses reared, backed, then turned tail and fled in terror. Mogra was thrown almost at once, and neither Challis nor John could check their horses for a considerable distance. When at last they regained control over them, they returned, afraid that Mogra might have been pursued by the beasts and by this time be torn in pieces. They were relieved in a few minutes to see him running towards them at the speed of a hunted deer. There was no sign of the lions; Challis conjectured that they were digesting a heavy meal. Mogra was shaking with fright, but unhurt except for a bruise or two. His horse had disappeared. As they stood discussing what to do next, John caught sight of a number of men in the distance. Two or three at the head of the party appeared to be carrying something among them. "Him say belong him," said John, after a word from Mogra. "Tell him to call them," Challis commanded. The men turned at Mogra's shout; but they evidently did not recognise him in the distance, and no doubt supposed the horsemen to be Tubus, for they hurried on with every sign of distress. "_Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!_" bawled John. "White man! White man! ... Berry silly chaps, sah!" "Let us ride towards them," said Challis. "Stay! Let Mogra run ahead." They remained stationary, while Mogra hastened to his friends, who soon came to a halt. Mogra ran back. He explained that they were carrying to the cave the son of their chief, who had been mauled by one of the lions. One of their fellows had already been eaten. They were willing that the white man should accompany them to the cave. The party reached it just before dark. Challis was surprised to find that its entrance was fully exposed--a large hole in the side of a rocky hill. He concluded that its security lay in its being situated in a desolate region that was unlikely to tempt any raiding party. An attempt had been made to render it more defensible by blocking up the entrance with trees felled on the hillside. The large tree of which Mogra had spoken, the configuration of the ground, and a few scattered cactus plants screened it from view from a distance. The entrance was dark, but the interior of the cave was faintly illuminated by torches. When the party entered, the horses being tethered to the tree, the strangers were at first ignored in the general excitement and lamentation over the injuries of the chief's son. His was the third case in two days. Examining his wounds, the chief, a bearded man of about sixty years, wrung his hands with grief, and the women howled in concert.