The distance was not great, and he landed in the centre of some sweet-smelling, soft bushes. He was dazed, and wondered when the lion would pounce. He knew he was powerless to help himself. He heard the pad, pad, of its feet; he could hear the sharp intake of its breath—then the thing was upon him. He shut his eyes and waited.—Nothing happened but the snuffing of the wild beast, and a gentle nosing as it examined the stranger. Alan opened his eyes. The animal was sitting on its haunches surveying him, and he felt there was amusement in the beast’s eyes as it watched him. He moved slightly—still the beast watched motionless. He raised himself up from the encircling bushes and clambered down. He knew he would have to face the inevitable. Suddenly a voice hailed him, and he saw Waz-Y-Kjesta coming round the bend in the lane. “Stand back,” he cried. “There’s a lion here—he may spring!” But the Waz came on fearlessly. Alan was petrified, his tongue was parched, no sound came from his lips. He watched the Waz in frozen horror. The Keemarnian was smiling. “Where have you been, my friend? You are late—very late. I thought you had missed your way, so I came to seek you.” He was now within three feet of the lion. “What is the matter? Why are you so grave? Has aught affrighted you?” Alan pointed to the tawny beast. His hand was shaking. Surely the farce must end soon, the lion spring, and tragedy culminate the play. “Why Maquer,” said the Waz affectionately, “what are you doing here? You seldom visit us, you know.” The lion moved toward him, and rubbed his great head against the Keemarnian’s leg, while Y-Kjesta talked to him and petted him. “He’s tame then?” gasped Alan with a rush of relief. “You know him?” “No, my friend. I’ve never seen this Maquer before—they generally stay in rocky places.” “But he is so friendly.” “All beasts are friendly here, my Alan. What—would Maquer have hurt you on your Earth?” And Alan laughingly told of his fright at the lion. He had learnt one more truth about Keemar—there were no savage animals upon it. Of a truth, it was a perfect land! Waz-Y-Kjesta was highly amused at his friend’s story, and together they went toward the air birds. The Keemarnian airships were indeed wonderful creations. White and gold, they were shaped like swans, with graceful wings outspread, gleaming in the light. They were made of a mixture of wood and metal, and contained accommodation for perhaps forty passengers, as well as the Waz in command, and a staff of ten. Although not as big as the ill-fated Argenta, the Keemarnian airship was possessed of a speed nearly thrice as great. “This is the Chlorie,” said Y-Kjesta, “and our fastest bird. The Jkak has given orders that you are to choose your own vessel, so perhaps you would like to see over some others?”