We crept on, Bes stopping to cut the arrow from a reed and set it back
in the quiver, for it was a good arrow made by himself. But now he
shifted the broad spear to his right hand and in his left held his
knife. We heard the wounded lioness roar not far away.

"She calls her man to help her," whispered Bes, and as the words left
his lips the reeds down wind began to sway, for we were smelt.

They swayed, they parted and, half seen, half hid between their stems,
appeared the head of a great, black-maned lion. I drew the string and
shot, this time not in vain, for I heard the arrow thud upon his hide.
Then before I could set another he was on us, reared upon his hind
legs and roaring. As I drew my dagger he struck at me, but I bent down
and his paw went over my head. Then his weight came against me and I
fell beneath him, stabbing him in the belly as I fell. I saw his
mighty jaws open to crush my head. Then they shut again and through
them burst a whine like that of a hurt dog.

Bes had driven his spear into the lion's breast, so deep that the
point of it came out through the back. Still he was not dead, only now
it was Bes he sought. The dwarf ran at him as he reared up again, and
casting his great arms about the brute's body, wrestled with him as
man with man.

Then it was, for the first time I think, that I learned all the
Ethiopian's strength. For he, a dwarf, threw that lion on its back and
thrusting his big head beneath the jaws, struggled with it madly. I
was up, the knife still in my hand, and oh! I too was strong. Into the
throat I drove it, dragging it this way and that, and lo! the lion