All day he wandered about this swamp-island, wondering at the beauty of
the flowers and the richness of their perfume, and admiring the many
strange birds and their nests.
When night began to fall he prepared to watch for the foe.
The lion invariably walked on to the stage at the same spot. When shown
this, to his horror he found a poor boy there tied to a stake, agony
depicted in his staring eyes, and the sweat standing in beads on his
brow and draggling his curly hair.
The poor lad was a sop for Cerberus, and every night it seemed to be the
custom thus to sacrifice one poor victim to save others in the village.
Whether they drew lots for it, or how it was arranged, Harry could not
find out.
There was little fog here to-night, but it lay low down all over the
marsh, which thus looked like one vast sheet of water glimmering in the
starlight. Harry lay in concealment behind a tree, the two rifles
loaded and ready, with Jack, Raggy, and the guide spear-armed and not
far off.
He had released the boy, who looked quite bewildered on first gaining
his freedom, but soon regained his presence of mind, and went off
scampering and shouting into the village.
Hours and hours passed by.
Harry was often startled by noises above him, and looking up saw
gigantic bats flitting from tree to tree.
Would the lion never come?
Hark! a footstep deep down in the marsh; soft though it was, it could be
heard distinctly enough creeping nearer and nearer, pausing often as if
to listen, then coming on and on again through the rustling grass.
At last he is in sight.
A monster white-muzzled he-lion.
For a moment he stands 'twixt Harry and the starlight.
Our hero's hand is shaking. All his nerves are a-quiver, for truth is
he is far from well, and the night air is damp and chilly.
Will he miss? The starlight is confusing.
He takes steady aim and fires.
The lion stands erect roaring, maddened with pain.
Quick as a thought Harry seizes the other rifle, and while the lion is
still half erect fires again, and the man-eater staggers forward,
falling first on his knees, then on his nose, and there remaining--dead.
Harry was a god now in the eyes of these poor people.
In the midst of a large clearing in this swamp-island stood a strange
forked, withered tree. Up in this tree a fire was built and lit. Into
the open space the dead lion was dragged, and with many an eldritch
shout and scream, for hours and hours these savages danced round the
dead lion, and the fire that burned in the tree-top.
But Harry was glad when morning came, and happy indeed when next evening
he found himself once more among the tree-clad mountains with the marsh
far in the rear.
When he lay down to sleep that night he tried to think of the lake with
its hundred isles, and of the feast of flowers, but even in his dreams
he was haunted by the scenes he had recently passed through, and--
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