It is not necessary for the purposes of this story to enlarge upon the difficulties with which the travellers now had to contend; they may be left to the imagination of the reader, merely remarking that in many places the trees grew so thickly together, and the undergrowth between them was so dense, that to accomplish a march through it of three miles between sunrise and sunset of a single day was regarded as a feat worthy of especial note. Not, however, it must be understood, that these conditions uniformly prevailed; very far from it indeed; for there were days when, from circumstances difficult to account for, the going was so comparatively easy that a distance of ten, or even twelve miles was accomplished. But this did not occur until some time after they had finally lost touch with the river and had got away from the vast plains on to higher ground, where the forest was less dense, the undergrowth much thinner—becoming in some places altogether non-existent—and where open glades became increasingly frequent and of ever extending area.
Thus far the travellers had met with no very remarkable experiences. There is nothing exciting in the work of hewing a path for oneself through miles of tough, tangled undergrowth, or in toiling thirstily hour after hour in sweltering heat, wondering meanwhile how much longer it will be before the welcome sound of trickling water will reach one’s ears; even crouching in concealment for hours at a stretch, rifle in hand, in the hope that something eatable will come within shot, soon grows monotonous; while, as for the multitudinous nocturnal sounds of the forest, so weird and thrilling when first heard, the party soon became accustomed to them, and slept soundly through them all.
But, naturally, in the course of a long journey through the unexplored wilds of South America, interesting incidents are by no means uncommon, while others of a more weird and thrilling character occur occasionally, as our friends were to learn in due time. It was, however, one of the merely interesting kind that awaited them in an open glade which they entered on a certain evening, after a long and toilsome journey, just as the sun’s last rays were gilding the tree-tops on the eastern side of the clearing.
The weary, sweat-drenched travellers celebrated their arrival in this wide open space with shouts of joy, for a tiny streamlet meandered through the middle of it, while in other respects it was ideal, not only as a camping place for the coming night, but also as a spot upon which to halt and recuperate for a few days—a relaxation which they had been promising themselves during the past fortnight. It was the bone-weary Indian carriers who were loudest in the expression of their rejoicing as they stumbled through the tangled grass toward the margin of the tiny stream, upon the bank of which their camp would be pitched; and as they gladly flung down their burdens on the chosen spot, they emitted a final yell of satisfaction which, to the astonishment of all, was answered, from some distance on the opposite side of the stream, by a wailing cry, as of some person—or, more probably, some creature—in extreme anguish. The cry was so peculiar, so expressive of suffering, so piercing, yet at the same time so feeble, that it instantly arrested the attention of everybody, and all stood staring tensely in the direction from which it had come.
“Hillo!” exclaimed Dick, who was the first to find his voice after the first moment of surprise had passed. “What on earth does that mean?”
“Don’t know,” answered Earle, who was glancing about him in search of a favourable spot upon which to pitch the tent; “but we’ll soon find out. Pitch the tent anywhere you like, Peter, so long as it is not too close to the water. Where you are standing now will do quite well. Come on, Dick, and bring your rifle with you. It was somewhere over in that direction.”
The pair took the brook at a bound, and, despite their fatigue, set off at a run in the direction from which the sound had proceeded. As they went, the peculiar sound—half whine, half scream—pealed out again upon the still air, thus guiding them afresh, so that in the course of a couple of minutes they reached its source.
And this was what they saw.
A young black panther—a somewhat rare animal—about three-parts grown, lying stretched out upon its left side in the long grass, apparently in a dying condition. There was a broad trail in the grass leading from the spot where it lay toward the far edge of the timber; but the trail was short, not more than a few yards long, growing less and less distinct as it receded, showing that the miserable creature had been in the clearing for several days, dragging itself slowly, and doubtless with infinite suffering, toward the water, which it had thus far failed to reach. Its coal-black coat, “watered” with the characteristic markings of the panther, also in black, was dull and staring, the result of neglect, and probably also of suffering; its tongue, dry and parched, lolled out of its open jaws, which were lightly fringed with froth; and its half-closed eyes were glassy yet burning with fever. It was in the last stage of emaciation, its ribs and backbone showing clearly beneath its skin.
“Poor brute!” ejaculated Dick, whose sympathies were easily aroused. “It’s evidently dying, and in great pain, too. Better put it out of its misery, hadn’t we?” And he raised his rifle suggestively.
“Not on your life,” interposed Earle, hastily. “Yes, the poor beast is pretty well pegged out; but I guess we can save him, with care and a little trouble. He’s dying of hunger and thirst, that’s what is the matter with him, and that”—pointing to the creature’s enormously swollen right forepaw—“is what has brought on all the trouble. An exaggerated case of abscess, rendering it impossible for the beast to hunt, or, finally, even to walk. But I guess I can fix him all right, so far as the abscess is concerned, after which we will see if we can’t pull him round and tame him. I’m very fond of animals, and I guess he would make a fine pet, and look mighty picturesque basking on one’s hearthrug winter nights. You stay here, and I’ll bring along a hammock and a couple of ‘boys’ to tote him over to the camp. I shall be better able to see what I am doing there than here. You stay and keep the poor chap company. I believe he knows that we sympathise with him.” With which whimsical remark Earle started back hot foot for the camp, now in process of being pitched, leaving Dick to keep the dying beast company.
Now, whimsical as that idea of Earle’s might at first seem, Dick came to the conclusion that there really might be something in it; for not only did the unhappy panther show no fear of his visitors or anger at their close proximity, but there was a certain pitiful expression in his fevered eyes that, to Cavendish’s imagination at least, seemed to appeal for compassion and help. Of course, it may have been that the creature was too near dissolution to feel either anger or fear; but Dick decided that that remained to be seen. He eagerly awaited the return of Earle, and was unfeignedly relieved when, after a somewhat lengthy interval, he saw his friend returning, accompanied by two Indians bearing a lighted lantern and a hammock arranged as a stretcher.
Rejoining Dick, Earle at once got to work, displaying a quiet activity and sureness of himself that at once excited the young Englishman’s amazement and admiration. Bidding the Indians to stand back a few paces, and taking the lighted lantern from them, the American deposited a mahogany case upon the ground, which, upon being opened, proved to contain a complete surgical outfit. Withdrawing from this a sponge and a bottle, he rapidly saturated the former with the contents of the latter, and then, stepping fearlessly up to the suffering beast, he applied the sponge to its nostrils, holding it there for a short time until the creature’s eyes closed and it seemed to lapse into unconsciousness. Then, beckoning the natives to approach with the stretcher, he and Dick, with the help of the Indians, lifted the now inanimate body of the panther and deposited it upon the stretcher, which he then ordered the Indians carefully to convey to the camp, Dick leading the way with the lantern while the American paused a moment to replace the bottle and sponge and close the case. But he overtook the little procession before it was half way to the camp, and hurried on to complete his preparations for the operation which he contemplated. These preparations were complete by the time