*XIV*
*A FIGHT WITH A JAGUAR*
When the echoes of the shots died away the stillness seemed all thedeeper. No rustle in the brush or scuffle on the sand gave evidence ofa wounded or dying jaguar. George and Hal and Pepe declared there weretwo tigers, and that they had hit one. Ken walked out upon the stonestill he could see the opposite bar, but was not rewarded by a sight ofdead game. Thereupon they returned to camp, somewhat discouraged attheir ill luck, but planning another night-watch.
In the morning George complained that he did not feel well. Ken toldhim he had been eating too much fresh meat, and that he had better becareful. Then Ken set off alone, crossed the river, and found that thedeer carcass was gone. In the sand near where it had lain were plentyof cat-tracks, but none of the big jaguar. Upon closer scrutiny hefound the cat-tracks to be those of a panther. He had half dragged, halfcarried the carcass up one of the steep trails, but from that pointthere was no further trace.
Ken struck out across the fiat, intending to go as far as the jungle.Turtle-doves fluttered before him in numberless flocks. Far to one sidehe saw Muscovy ducks rising, sailing a few rods, then alighting. Thisoccurred several times before he understood what it meant. There wasprobably a large flock feeding on the flat, and the ones in the rearwere continually flying to get ahead of those to the fore.
Several turkeys ran through the bushes before Ken, but as he wascarrying a rifle he paid little heed to them. He kept a keen lookoutfor _javelin_. Two or three times he was tempted to turn off the trailinto little bamboo hollows; this, however, owing to a repugnance toticks, he did not do. Finally, as he neared the high moss-decked wallof the jungle, he came upon a runway leading through the bottom of adeep swale, and here he found tiger-tracks.
Farther down the swale, under a great cluster of bamboo, he saw thescattered bones of several deer. Ken was sure that in this spot thelord of the jungle had feasted more than once. It was an open hollow,with the ground bare under the bamboos. The runway led on into dense,leafy jungle. Ken planned to bait that lair with a deer carcass andwatch it during the late afternoon.
First, it was necessary to get the deer. This might prove bothersome,for Ken's hands and wrists were already sprinkled with _pinilius_, andhe certainly did not want to stay very long in the brush. Ken imaginedhe felt an itching all the time, and writhed inside his clothes.
"Say, blame you! bite!" he exclaimed, resignedly, and stepped into thelow bushes. He went up and out of the swale. Scarcely had he reached alevel when he saw a troop of deer within easy range. Before they windeddanger Ken shot, and the one he had singled out took a few bounds, thenfell over sideways. The others ran off into the brush. Ken rememberedthat the old hunter on Penetier had told him how seldom a deer droppedat once. When he saw the work of the soft-nose .351 bullet, he nolonger wondered at this deer falling almost in his tracks.
"If I ever hit a jaguar like that it will be all day with him," wasKen's comment.
There were two things about hunting the jaguar that Ken had been biddento keep in mind--fierce aggressiveness and remarkable tenacity of life.
Ken dragged the deer down into the bamboo swale and skinned out ahaunch. Next to wild-turkey meat, he liked venison best. He was glad tohave that as an excuse, for killing these tame tropical deer seemed likemurder to Ken. He left the carcass in a favorable place and thenhurried back to camp.
To Ken's relief, he managed to escape bringing any _garrapatoes_ withhim, but it took a half-hour to rid himself of the collection of_pinilius_.
"George, ask Pepe what's the difference between a garrapato and apinilius," said Ken.
"The big tick is the little one's mother," replied Pepe.
"Gee! you fellows fuss a lot about ticks," said Hal, looking up from histask. He was building more pens to accommodate the turtles, snakes,snails, mice, and young birds that he had captured during the morning.
Pepe said there were few ticks there in the uplands compared to thenumber down along the Panuco River. In the lowlands where the cattleroamed there were millions in every square rod. The under side of everyleaf and blade of grass was red with ticks. The size of these pestsdepended on whether or not they got a chance to stick to a steer or anybeast. They appeared to live indefinitely, but if they could not suckblood they could not grow. The _pinilius_ grew into a _garrapato_, and a_garrapato_ bred a hundred thousand _pinilius_ in her body. Twosingular things concerning these ticks were that they always crawledupward, and they vanished from the earth during the wet season.
Ken soaked his Duxbax hunting-suit in kerosene in the hope that thismethod would enable him to spend a reasonable time hunting. Then, whilethe other boys fished and played around, he waited for the long, hothours to pass. It was cool in the shade, but the sunlight resembled theheat of fire. At last five o'clock came, and Ken put on the damp suit.Soaked with the oil, it was heavier and hotter than sealskin, and beforehe got across the river he was nearly roasted. The evening wind sprangup, and the gusts were like blasts from a furnace. Ken's body wasbathed in perspiration; it ran down his wrists, over his hands, and wetthe gun. This cure for ticks--if it were one--was worse than theirbites. When he reached the shade of the bamboo swale it was none toosoon for him. He threw off the coat, noticing there were more ticksupon it than at anytime before. The bottom of his trousers, too, hadgathered an exceeding quantity. He brushed them off, muttering thewhile that he believed they liked kerosene, and looked as if they weredrinking it. Ken found it easy, however, to brush them off the wetDuxbax, and soon composed himself to rest and watch.
The position chosen afforded Ken a clear view of the bare space underthe bamboos and of the hollow where the runway disappeared in thejungle. The deer carcass, which lay as he had left it, was about ahundred feet from him. This seemed rather close, but he had to acceptit, for if he had moved farther away he could not have commanded bothpoints.
Ken sat with his back against a clump of bamboos, the little rifleacross his knees and an extra clip of cartridges on the ground at hisleft. After taking that position he determined not to move a yard whenthe tiger came, and to kill him.
Ken went over in mind the lessons he had learned hunting bear inPenetier Forest with old Hiram Bent and lassoing lions on the wildnorth-rim of the Grand Canon. Ken knew that the thing for a hunter todo, when his quarry was dangerous, was to make up his mind beforehand.Ken had twelve powerful shells that he could shoot in the half of twelveseconds. He would have been willing to face two jaguars.
The sun set and the wind died down. What a relief was the cooling shade!The little breeze that was left fortunately blew at right angles to theswale, so that there did not seem much danger of the tiger winding Kendown the jungle runway.
For long moments he was tense and alert. He listened till he thought hehad almost lost the sense of hearing. The jungle leaves werewhispering; the insects were humming. He had expected to hear myriadbirds and see processions of deer, and perhaps a drove of _javelin_.But if any living creatures ventured near him it was without hisknowledge. The hour between sunset and twilight passed--a long wait;still he did not lose the feeling that something would happen. Ken'sfaculties of alertness tired, however, and needed distraction. So hetook stock of the big clump of bamboos under which lay the deer carcass.
It was a remarkable growth, that gracefully drooping cluster of slenderbamboo poles. He remembered how, as a youngster, not many years back,he had wondered where the fishing-poles came from. Here Ken counted onehundred and sixty-nine in a clump no larger than a barrel. They wereyellow in color with black bands, and they rose straight for a fewyards, then began to lean out, to bend slightly, at last to droop withtheir abundance of spiked leaves. Ken was getting down to a real,interested study of this species of jungle growth when a noise startledhim.
He straightened out of his lounging position and looked around. Thesound puzzled him. He could not place its direction or name what it was
.The jungle seemed strangely quiet. He listened. After a moment ofwaiting he again heard the sound. Instantly Ken was as tense andvibrating as a violin string. The thing he had heard was from the lungsof some jungle beast. He was almost ready to pronounce it a cough.Warily he glanced around, craning his neck. Then a deep, hoarse growlmade him whirl.
There stood a jaguar with head up and paw on the deer carcass. Kenimagined he felt perfectly cool, but he knew he was astounded. And evenas he cautiously edged the rifle over his knee he took in the beautifulpoints of the jaguar. He was yellow, almost white, with black spots.He was short and stocky, with powerful stumpy bow-legs. But his headmost amazed Ken. It was enormous. And the expression of his face was sosingularly savage and wild that Ken seemed to realize instantly thedifference between a mountain-lion and this fierce tropical brute.
The jaguar opened his jaws threateningly. He had an enormous stretch ofjaw. His long, yellow fangs gleamed. He growled again.
Not hurriedly, nor yet slowly, Ken fired.
He heard the bullet strike him as plainly as if he had hit him with aboard. He saw dust fly from his hide. Ken expected to see the jaguarroll over. Instead of that he leaped straight up with a terrible roar.Something within Ken shook. He felt cold and sick.
When the jaguar came down, sprawled on all fours, Ken pulled theautomatic again, and he saw the fur fly. Then the jaguar leaped forwardwith a strange, hoarse cry. Ken shot again, and knocked the beast flat.He tumbled and wrestled about, scattering the dust and brush. Threetimes more Ken fired, too hastily, and inflicted only slight wounds.
In reloading Ken tried to be deliberate in snapping in the second clipand pushing down the rod that threw the shell into the barrel. But hishands shook. His fingers were all thumbs, and he fumbled at the breechof the rifle.
In that interval, if the jaguar could have kept his sense of direction,he would have reached Ken. But the beast zigzagged; he had lost hisequilibrium; he was hard hit.
Then he leaped magnificently. He landed within twenty-five feet of Ken,and when he plunged down he rolled clear over. Ken shot him through andthrough. Yet he got up, wheezing blood, uttering a hoarse bellow, andmade again at Ken.
Ken had been cold, sick. Now panic almost overpowered him. The riflewabbled. The bamboo glade blurred in his sight. A terrible dizzinessand numbness almost paralyzed him. He was weakening, sinking, whenthought of life at stake lent him a momentary grim and desperate spirit.
Once while the jaguar was in the air Ken pulled, twice while he wasdown. Then the jaguar stood up pawing the air with great spread claws,coughing, bleeding, roaring. He was horrible.
Ken shot him straight between the wide-spread paws.
With twisted body, staggering, and blowing bloody froth all over Ken,the big tiger blindly lunged forward and crashed to earth.
Then began a furious wrestling. Ken imagined it was the death-throes ofthe jaguar. Ken could not see him down among the leaves and vines;nevertheless, he shot into the commotion. The struggles ceased. Then amovement of the weeds showed Ken that the jaguar was creeping toward thejungle.
Ken fell rather than sat down. He found he was wringing wet with coldsweat. He was panting hard.
"Say, but--that--was--awful!" he gasped. "What--was--wrong--with me?"
He began to reload the clips. They were difficult to load for even acalm person, and now, in the reaction, Ken was the farthest removed fromcalm. The jaguar crept steadily away, as Ken could tell by the swayingweeds and shaking vines.
"What--a hard-lived beast!" muttered Ken. "I--must have shot--him all topieces. Yet he's getting away from me."
At last Ken's trembling fingers pushed some shells in the two clips, andonce more he reloaded the rifle. Then he stood up, drew a deep, fullbreath, and made a strong effort at composure.
"I've shot at bear--and deer--and lions out West," said Ken. "But thiswas different. I'll never get over it."
How close that jaguar came to reaching Ken was proved by the bloodcoughed into his face. He recalled that he had felt the wind of onegreat sweeping paw.
Ken regained his courage and determination. He meant to have thatbeautiful spotted skin for his den. So he hurried along the runway andentered the jungle. Beyond the edge, where the bushes made a densethicket, it was dry forest, with little green low down. The hollow gaveplace to a dry wash. He could not see the jaguar, but he could hear himdragging himself through the brush, cracking sticks, shaking saplings.
Presently Ken ran across a bloody trail and followed it. Every littlewhile he would stop to listen. When the wounded jaguar was still, hewaited until he started to move again. It was hard going. The brushwas thick, and had to be broken and crawled under or through. As Kenhad left his coat behind, his shirt was soon torn to rags. He peeredahead with sharp eyes, expecting every minute to come in sight of thepoor, crippled beast. He wanted to put him out of agony. So he kept ondoggedly for what must have been a long time.
The first premonition he had of carelessness was to note that theshadows were gathering in the jungle. It would soon be night. He mustturn back while there was light enough to follow his back track out tothe open. The second came in shape of a hot pain in his arm, as keen asif he had jagged it with a thorn. Holding it out, he discovered to hisdismay that it was spotted with _garrapatoes_.