“A tortoise, I declare!” cried Fritz. “What a long way from the sea. How came it here, I wonder?”
“Perhaps there has been a tortoise-shower,” remarked Ernest. “One reads of frog-showers in the time of the ancient Romans.”
“Hollo, Professor! you're out for once,” said I. “This is nothing but a mud-tortoise, which lives in wet, marshy ground and fresh water. They are useful in gardens; for although they like a few lettuce leaves now and then, they will destroy numbers of snails, grubs, and worms.”
Resuming our journey, we arrived at a charming valley, verdant, fruitful, and shaded by clumps of graceful trees. It afforded us the greatest delight and refreshment to pass along this cool and lovely vale, which we agreed to call Glen Verdant.
In the distance we could see herds of antelopes or buffaloes feeding; but as our dogs continually ranged a long way ahead of us, they were quickly startled, and vanished up one or other of the narrow gorges which opened out of the valley.
Following the imperceptible windings of the vale, we were surprised, on quitting it for the more open ground, to find ourselves in country we were already acquainted with, and not far from the Jackal Cave, as we called the place where Fangs had been captured in cubhood.
On recognising the spot, Ernest, who was in advance with one of the dogs, hastened towards it. We lost sight of him for a few minutes, and then arose a cry of terror, violent barking, and deep, surly growls.
As we rushed forward, Ernest met us, looking white as ashes, and calling out,—
“A bear, a bear, father! He is coming after me!”
The boy clung to me in mortal fear. I felt his whole frame quivering.
“Courage, my son!” cried I, disengaging myself from his grasp; “we must prepare for instant defence!”
