They could hear him rushing about--passing from door to window--striking both with his huge paws, and causing them to shake upon their hinges--all the while uttering the most fiendish roars.
Though not without some apprehensions, the three continued their work.
They had their horses at hand, ready to be mounted in case the lion might make his way through the fire.

In fact, they intended to take to their saddles--as soon as the fire should be fairly under way--and watch the conflagration from a safe distance.
They had dragged up all the bush and dry wood, and had piled them in front of the door.

Swartboy had taken out his flint and steel, and was about to strike, when a loud scratching was heard from the inside, unlike anything that had yet reached their ears.

It was the rattling of the lion's claws against the wall, but it had an odd sound as if the animal was struggling violently; at the same time his voice seemed hoarse and smothered, and appeared to come from a distance.
What was the brute doing?
They stood for a moment, looking anxiously in each other's faces.

The scratching continued--the hoarse growling at intervals--but this ended at length; and then came a snort, followed by a roar so loud and clear, that all three started in airtight.