It was Billy Barnes, too, who reported that evening in great excitement that while he was walking along the porch he had seen a big spotted cat “loafing around.”
“That wasn’t a cat,” laughed Mr. Chester, “that was an ocelot and if you think you can qualify as a Nimrod we will go out after supper and try and get a shot at it. They are bad things to have around the place – not that they are really dangerous, but they steal chickens and the men are scared of them and spend most of the day looking out for what Billy calls a ‘big cat,’ instead of doing their work.”
“I don’t know what or who Nimrod is,” replied the good-natured reporter, “but I sure would like to get a shot at that ossy – what do you call it?”
After supper the hunting party put on stout boots, coming well above their knees, in case of lurking snakes, and armed with rifles started out after the ocelot. Frank and Harry were both pretty good shots, having had a good deal of experience at their father’s camp in the Adirondacks in the days before he became a planter. Billy Barnes had never had a rifle in his hand before, but he didn’t say so. He opined that to shoot all you had to do was to look steadily at the object aimed at and then, pull the trigger.
“I think we’d better try for him over by Bread-Fruit Spring, sir,” said the young overseer as the party, as quietly as possible, sallied out.
“A good suggestion, Blakely,” replied Mr. Chester.
“Do they eat bread-fruit?” inquired Billy.
“No, but they drink water, Mr. Barnes,” replied Mr. Chester; “now, don’t let’s have any talking or we shall have our night’s work for nothing.”
Following Mr. Chester’s directions the party spread out in a fan-shape, as they neared the spring, and it was agreed that they should gradually draw in the ends of this “fan” as they neared the spot where they expected to find the ocelot. If any one got lost they were to shout or fire their rifle.
In pursuance of this plan the party carefully tiptoed along, stopping every now and again to listen carefully. Billy Barnes was far out to the left of the rest of the party and as they got deeper into the mysterious shadows of the tropical forest his heart began to beat a little faster than usual. The moon shone down through the immense tree-tops in a few patches, but outside of these circles of light-illuminated spots the jungle was as black as an unlighted cathedral.
Every time a creeper brushed against his face, Billy remembered all he had ever read of huge snakes that hung in trees and crushed people to death with their terrible constricting folds. Then, too, occasionally a sleeping monkey, disturbed by a bad dream or some preying night animal, would start off through the branches with a screech that sounded horribly human. Not for the world would Billy have let the boys or their father know that he was filled with a great longing for human company, but he devoutly wished he was back at the comfortable hacienda.
“A nice finish for the Planet’s special correspondent,” he mused. “William Barnes, Crushed to Death by a Boa Constrictor” – b-r-r-r – “that would look well in a head, wouldn’t it?”
Suddenly, as Billy emerged from a dark shadow cast by a huge tree with immense buttress-like roots, the space between any one of which would have served as a barn for a horse and buggy, he saw in the patch of white moonlight right ahead of him a sight that made his scalp tighten and his blood run chill.
Crouching over the body of a deer and tearing at it with low, snarling growls, was a thing that looked something like Billy’s “big cat,” but was much too large to have ever been mistaken for that peaceful domestic animal. The creature was too engrossed with its meal to pay much attention to the badly-scared boy, and if he had retained his presence of mind he might even have tiptoed off unnoticed, but at that moment the luckless Billy was impelled to sneeze.
As his loud “Ah, c-h-o-o!” sounded the animal lifted its head angrily. In the moonlight Billy could see its white, gleaming teeth and cruel eyes. It looked about, as if puzzled, for a few seconds, but suddenly its green eyes lighted on the petrified Billy, who was too scared even to run.
Instantly it crouched down on its belly and began lashing the ground with its tail. Its upper lip was pulled back in a snarling grin that disclosed its saber-like teeth and dripping fangs.
“It’s all off,” groaned poor Billy. He raised his rifle to his shoulder in a desperate sort of hope that it might scare the thing away.
“If I only hadn’t been ashamed to ask how the thing worked,” thought Billy.
As the thought flashed across his mind the animal with a loud, screaming snarl sprang directly at the trembling reporter. More from instinct than anything else he pulled the trigger and a loud report followed. It was a heavy sporting rifle that Billy carried and the unexpected recoil, which, not knowing anything about firearms, he had not prepared for, threw him off his balance. This saved his life for the minute, for as he reeled the huge creature he had disturbed at its forest meal shot past him so close that he could feel its warm breath against his cheek.
Foiled of its prey for the moment the maddened animal switched round with the agility of its kind and crouched for a fresh spring.
“Gee, now I know how a mouse feels,” gasped poor Billy to himself, as the huge creature prepared for what Billy felt was to be its death-spring.
With an agility born of desperation the youth made a wild leap for a hanging tendril of one of the giant creepers that festooned a tree near by. He caught it and began climbing with a skill he never knew before he possessed. He was beginning to think that he could at least reach a branch of the tree where he would be out of his savage opponent’s reach, when something happened that threw him into a cold sweat.
He felt the creeper begin to sag. It was breaking under his weight. In vain he tried to brace himself against the tree trunk. His knees slipped and slid and he could get no foothold.
Suddenly, without any warning, the creeper snapped. With a wild shriek of real terror Billy was hurled to the ground. His last conscious thought was of his old home up in New York State and of who would tell his mother of his fate.
Then like a man in a dream he saw a flash of fire so near at hand that it almost scorched his face. He heard a loud report and a snarling growl of pain and felt something warm and heavy fall with a crushing weight on top of him. Then everything went black.
When he came to he found himself in the center of an excited group. Everybody was shaking Frank’s hand and congratulating him, and the boy, looking very embarrassed, was trying to head off the tide of compliments.
“Oh, you’re all right, then,” exclaimed Harry as Billy opened his eyes on the group in the moonlight.
“W-w-what happened?” gasped Billy, “didn’t that critter get me?”
“No, thanks to Frank,” exclaimed Harry impulsively; “you owe him your life, Billy. He heard your first shot and hurried to your aid and just in time. The critter didn’t get as you call it – didn’t get you, but Frank got the critter.”
“As pretty a shot as I ever saw,” remarked Mr. Chester.
“Oh, pshaw,” said Frank, “I couldn’t help hitting him, he looked as big as an elephant; and besides, if I hadn’t got him he’d have got me.”
“What the dickens was the thing?” inquired Billy, “a lion or tiger?”
“No, but something quite as dangerous – a jaguar,” replied Mr. Chester, “and as big a specimen as I have ever seen.”
He stirred the magnificently spotted hide of the dead wild beast with his foot as he spoke.
“Frank!” exclaimed Billy, with tears springing to his eyes and real emotion in his voice, “you saved my life to-night.” Frank put up a protesting hand.
“No, I will say it,” impulsively burst out Billy. “I owe you my life and by jimminy crickets,” wringing Frank’s hand like a pump-handle, with a hearty grip,