"El tigre! El tigre!" Then there was a jumble of words.
"It's over this way!" and this time Ned shouted,
seeing no need for low voices since the other was so loud.
Tom looked to where Ned had parted the
bushes alongside a jungle path. Through the
opening the young inventor saw, in a little glade,
that which caused him to take a firmer grip on his
electric rifle, and also a firmer grip on his nerves.
Directly in front of him and Ned, and not more
than a hundred yards away, was a great tawny
and spotted jaguar--the "tigre" or tiger of Central
America. The beast, with lashing tail, stood
over an Indian upon whom it seemed to have
sprung from some lair, beating the unfortunate
man to the ground. Nor had he fallen scatheless,
for there was blood on the green leaves about
him, and it was not the blood of the spotted
beast.
"Oh, Tom, can you--can you----" and Ned
faltered.
The young inventor understood the unspoken
question.
"I think I can make a shot of it without hitting
the man," he answered, never turning his head.
"It's a question, though, if the beast won't claw
him in the death struggle. It won't last long,
however, if the electric bullet goes to the right
place, and I've got to take the chance."
Cautiously Tom brought his weapon to bear.
Quiet as Ned and he had been after the discovery,
the jaguar seemed to feel that something was
wrong. Intent on his prey, for a time he had
stood over it, gloating. Now the brute glanced
uneasily from side to side, its tail nervously
twitching, and it seemed trying to gain, by a sniffing
of the air, some information as to the direction
in which danger lay, for Tom and Ned had
stooped low, concealing themselves by a screen
of leaves.
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