That ominous, low murmuring awoke me with a vengeance,
for it was unusual for them to growl in the middle of the night.
I wondered if they, as well as the pup, had gotten the scent of a
prowling lion.
I reached down to my feet and groped in the dark for Moze. Finding
him, I gave him a shake. The old gladiator groaned, stirred, and came
out of what must have been dreams of hunting meat. He slapped his tail
against my bed. As luck would have it, just then the wind abated to a
soft moan, and clear and sharp came the bay of a hound. Moze heard it,
for he stopped wagging his tail, his body grew tense under my hand,
and he vented his low, deep grumble.
I lay there undecided. To wake my companions was hardly to be
considered, and to venture off into the forest alone, where old Sultan
might be scouting, was not exactly to my taste. And trying to think
what to do, and listening for the bay of the pup, and hearing mostly
the lions growling and the wind roaring, I fell asleep.
"Hey! are you ever going to get up?" some one yelled into my drowsy
brain. I roused and opened my eyes. The yellow, flickering shadows on
the wall of my tent told me that the sun had long risen. I found my
companions finishing breakfast. The first thing I did was to look over
the dogs. Shep, the black-and-white pup, was missing.
"Where's Shep?" I asked.
"Shore, I ain't seen him this mornin'," replied Jim.
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