Raising his small red head high in the air, he bawled his challenge to the devil cat. The bawl must have scared him as much as it had startled me.
He came tearing back. The tiny hairs on his back were standing on end. My father had told me lions were scared of fire.
I started throwing on more wood. I was glad I’d dragged up a good supply while making camp.
Hearing a noise from the bed, I looked back. The girl pup, hearing the commotion, had gotten up and joined the boy dog.
They were sitting side by side with their bodies stiff and rigid. Their beady little eyes bored into the darkness beyond the cave.
The moist tips of their little black noses wiggled and twisted as if trying to catch a scent. What I saw in my pups gave me courage.
My knees quit shaking and my heart stopped pounding. I figured the lion had scented my pups.
The more I thought about anything harming them, the madder I got. I was ready to die for my dogs.
Every time the big cat screamed, the boy dog would run to the mouth of the cave and bawl back at him.
I started whooping and throwing rocks down the mountainside, hoping to scare the lion away.
Through the long hours of the night, I kept this up.
The lion prowled around us, screaming and growling; first on the right, and then on the left, and above and below.
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