Twain, Mark, 1835-1910 / 2008-06-12 00:00:00
And there was the lion, a-ripping around under me, and
roaring and springing up in the air at the ladder, and only missing it
about a quarter of an inch, it seemed to me. It was delicious to be out
of his reach, perfectly delicious, and made me feel good and thankful all
up one side; but I was hanging there helpless and couldn't climb, and
that made me feel perfectly wretched and miserable all down the other. It
is most seldom that a person feels so mixed like that; and it is not to
be recommended, either.
Tom asked me what he'd better do, but I didn't know. He asked me if I
could hold on whilst he sailed away to a safe place and left the lion
behind. I said I could if he didn't go no higher than he was now; but if
he went higher I would lose my head and fall, sure. So he said, "Take a
good grip," and he started.
"Don't go so fast," I shouted. "It makes my head swim."
He had started like a lightning express. He slowed down, and we glided
over the sand slower, but still in a kind of sickening way; for it IS
uncomfortable to see things sliding and gliding under you like that, and
not a sound.
But pretty soon there was plenty of sound, for the lion was catching up.
His noise fetched others. You could see them coming on the lope from
every direction, and pretty soon there was a couple of dozen of them
under me, jumping up at the ladder and snarling and snapping at each
other; and so we went skimming along over the sand, and these fellers
doing what they could to help us to not forgit the occasion; and then
some other beasts come, without an invite, and they started a regular
riot down there.
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