From time to time the low growls gave warning of the enemy's close presence, and to them each sound was as a death-knell; for what were their knives against a foe so powerful, who had, too, the advantage of sight?
For perhaps two hours of awful suspense they stood, and then Compton lost patience.
"I can't stand this," he said.

"That brute's playing with us, and I'm going to finish it." "Wait; when the morning comes we can see." "Will it ever come?
No." Compton struck a match, cradled it in his hand till it caught, then, with his face showing rigid by the reflection, he moved forward.
Venning went too, shoulder to shoulder.

Each held his knife, point up, every muscle on the strain.

A snarl greeted each step, and presently they saw two glowing spots before the match went out.
Another match was struck by a steady hand, and this time the spots blazed out from the blackness.
Venning felt for his log-book, tore out a sheet, screwed it up, lit it, and held the flame up.
There, less than six feet away, was the leopard, its mouth open, the gleaming fangs showing their full length--a sight so forbidding that he dropped the paper and sprang back.
"Light another," said Compton, steadily.
This was done.

He went down on his knees, reached out, seized the butt of a rifle, and drew it forth.