The moon played on the spots of its body. The dark spots became silvered, and relapsed into darkness as the animal breathed, while its tail lashed about, occasionally whipping the sand with a peculiar whish.
How was he to withstand its spring?
The weight of its body would send him over the precipice like a shot.
Strange to say a grim satisfaction came to him at the thought that the brute must go down with him. Where could he hold? Could he clutch at anything? he asked himself.
He dared not remove his eyes from those of the leopard. He could not in fact. But in a sort of introverted glance he saw that nothing stood between him and space but a bare, polished wall, that shone white beneath the moonbeams.
“Was there a loose stone—a stone that would crush in the skull of the bloodthirsty animal?” Not so much as a pebble to cast into the depths, for he had already searched for one to fling over, as people do when perched on eminences. He cried for help, “Jim! Jim! O‑o‑o‑h, Jim!”
There came no reply; not the slightest sound broke the stillness as the sound of his cries died away.
Reuel was now cool—cool as a cucumber—so cool that he deliberately placed himself in position to receive the rush of the terrific brute. He felt himself moving gently back his right foot, shuffling it back until his heel came against an unevenness in the rock, which gave him a sort of purchase—something to back it.
He gathered himself together for a supreme effort, every nerve being at the highest condition of tension.
It is extraordinary all the thoughts that pass like lightning in a second of time, through the mind, while face to face with death. Volumes of ideas flashed through his brain as he stood on the stone ledge, with eternity awaiting him, knowing that this would be the end of all his hopes and fears and pleasant plans for future happiness, that he would go down to death in the embrace of the infuriated animal before him, its steel-like claws buried in his flesh, its fetid breath filling his nostrils. He thought of his darling love, and of how the light would go out of her existence with his death. He thought of Livingston, of the fellows who had gathered to bid him God speed, of the paragraphs in the papers. All these things came as harrowing pictures as he stood at bay in the liquid pearl of the silent moon.
The leopard began to move its hindquarters from side to side. A spring was at hand.
Reuel yelled then—yelled till the walls of the ruined castle echoed again—yelled as if he had 10,000 voices in his throat—yelled, as a man only yells when on his being heard depends his chance for dear life.
The beast turned its head sharply, and prepared to spring. For a second Briggs thought that a pantomime trick might give him a chance. What if he were to wait until the animal actually leaped, and then turn aside?
Carried forward by its own weight and momentum it would go over the ledge and be dashed to pieces on the rocks below.
It was worth trying. A drowning man catches at a straw. Instinctively Reuel measured his distance. He could step aside and let the brute pass, but that was all. The ledge was narrow. He was, unhappily, in very good condition. The sea-voyage had fattened him, and it was just a chance that he could escape being carried over by the brute.
He accepted the chance.
Then came the fearful moment.
The leopard swayed a little backward!
Then, to his intense delight, he heard a shout of encouragement in Vance’s well-known voice, “Coming, Briggs, coming!”
The next moment a hand was laid on his shoulder from a window above; it was Charlie, who trembling with anxiety had crept through the ruin, and, oh, blessed sight! handed Reuel his revolver.
Briggs made short work of the leopard: he let him have three barrels—all in the head.
Vance had become alarmed for the safety of his friend, and had gone to the ruin to meet him. When very nearly there, he had heard the first cry for help, and had urged his camel forward. Arrived at the castle he had found Jim apparently dead with sleep, coiled up on the warm sand. How he could sleep within sound of the piercing cries uttered by Briggs was long a mystery to the two friends.
XI
The caravan had halted for the night. Professor Stone, the leader of the expedition, sat in Reuel’s tent enjoying a pipe and a talk over the promising features of the enterprise. The nearer they approached the goal of their hopes—the ancient Ethiopian capital Meroe—the greater was the excitement among the leaders of the party. Charlie from his bed of rugs listened with ever-increasing curiosity to the conversation between the two men.
“It is undoubtedly true that from its position as the capital of Ethiopia and the entrepot of trade between the North and South, between the East and West, Meroe must have held vast treasures. African caravans poured ivory, frankincense and gold into the city. My theory is that somewhere under those pyramids we shall find invaluable records and immense treasure.”
“Your theories may be true, Professor, but if so, your discoveries will establish the primal existence of the Negro as the most ancient source of all that you value in modern life, even antedating Egypt. How can the Anglo-Saxon world bear the establishment of such a theory?” There was a hidden note of sarcasm in his voice which the others did not notice.
The learned savant settled his glasses and threw back his head.
“You and I, Briggs, know that the theories of prejudice are swept away by the great tide of facts. It is a fact that Egypt drew from Ethiopia all the arts, sciences and knowledge of which she was mistress. The very
