It was only then that Jake realized that he still carried a full bottle of Scrubbs Ammonia in his hand. The lion came bounding swiffly through the shallow stagnant pool towards him. Despite the wounds, it flowed with lithe and sinuous menace. It was so close that he could see each stiff white whisker in the curled upper

lip and hear the rattle of air in its throat. He let

it come on, for to turn and run was suicide.

At the last moment he reared back like a

baseball pitcher and hurled the bottle.