CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
AFTER A LAPSE.
Oliver West was sleeping soundly that night from sheer fatigue; but all the same his slumber was not pleasant, for though his body was resting his brain was hard at work.
Before an hour had passed he was conscious of being cold, and in a dreamy way he felt that he ought to do what under the circumstances was impossible: that is to say, put more clothes over him, or, failing them, as he had no more, roll himself over and over in the blanket that he had brought strapped to his saddle-bow and only thrown over him when he lay down to sleep.

But his body was so steeped in sleep that he did not stir, and suffered from the freezing air of the night--so tremendous a change from the torrid heat of mid-day out on the veldt.
Later on, about midnight, the impression came upon him that he could hear a lion far away, seeming to make the earth quiver beneath him by giving forth in the fierce beast's strangely ventriloquial way its awe-inspiring roar, so puzzling to the listener as to whether it is far off or near.

And even in his dreamy state West found himself doubting that it could be a lion's roar that he heard so near to where civilisation had driven off most of the savage beasts of the plain.

But the roar came again, nearer, and in his dreams he felt sure that he was right, and he recalled, still sleeping, the fact that now and then the king of beasts followed one or other of the straggling herds of antelopes quite close to the Boers' farms.

Then the curious barking roar ceased, and with it consciousness for some time.
All at once he found himself wide awake, lying upon his back, and gazing straight up through the transparent darkness at the stars.