Well, thought the Hon. Morison, let him
wait. Lions can't climb trees, and if I get into this one I shall
be safe enough from him.
The young Englishman's feet hunt almost to the surface of the
water--closer than he knew, for all was pitch dark below as above
him. Presently he heard a slight commotion in the river beneath
him and something banged against one of his feet, followed almost
instantly by a sound that he felt he could not have mistaken--the
click of great jaws snapping together.
"By George!" exclaimed the Hon. Morison, aloud. "The beggar nearly
got me," and immediately he struggled again to climb higher and
to comparative safety; but with that final effort he knew that it
was futile. Hope that had survived persistently until now began
to wane. He felt his tired, numbed fingers slipping from their
hold--he was dropping back into the river--into the jaws of the
frightful death that awaited him there.
And then he heard the leaves above him rustle to the movement of
a creature among them. The branch to which he clung bent beneath
an added weight--and no light weight, from the way it sagged; but
still Baynes clung desperately--he would not give up voluntarily
either to the death above or the death below.
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