Suddenly the voices subsided for in the dusky depths resounded the groans of a lion. The horses, which were pastured at some distance on the young jungle, began to approach the fire, starting up suddenly on their fettered fore legs, while the hair on Saba, who usually was so brave, bristled, and with tail curled under him, he nestled close to the people, evidently seeking their protection.
The groaning again resounded, as though it came from under the ground; deep, heavy, strained, as if the beast with difficulty drew it from its powerful lungs. It proceeded lowly over the ground, alternately increased and subsided, passing at times into a hollow, prodigiously mournful moan.
"Kali, throw fuel into the fire," commanded Stas.
The negro threw upon the camp-fire an armful of boughs so hastily that at first whole sheaves of sparks burst out, after which a high flame shot up.
"Stas, the lion will not attack us, will he?" whispered Nell, pulling the boy by the sleeve.
"No, he will not attack us. See how high the zareba is."
And speaking thus, he actually believed that danger did not threaten them, but he was alarmed about the horses, which pressed more and more closely to the fence and might trample it down.
In the meantime the groans changed into the protracted, thunderous roar by which all living creatures are struck with terror, and the nerves of people, who do not know what fear is, shake, just as the window-panes rattle from distant cannonading.
Stas cast a fleeting glance at Nell, and seeing her quivering chin and moist eyes, said:
"Do not fear; don't cry."
And she answered as if with difficulty:
