The Indian, after his first frenzied outburst
of fear, now lay quiet, as though fearing to move,
moaning in pain.
Suddenly the jaguar, attracted either by some
slight movement on the part of Ned or Tom, or
perhaps by having winded them, turned his head
quickly and gazed with cruel eyes straight at the
spot where the two young men stood behind the
bushes.
"He's seen us," whispered Ned.
"Yes," assented Tom. "And it's a perfect shot.
Hope I don't miss!"
It was not like Tom Swift to miss, nor did he
on this occasion. There was a slight report from
the electric rifle--a report not unlike the crackle
of the wireless--and the powerful projectile sped
true to its mark.
Straight through the throat and chest under
the uplifted jaw of the jaguar it went--through
heart and lungs. Then with a great coughing,
sighing snarl the beast reared up, gave a convulsive
leap forward toward its newly discovered
enemies, and fell dead in a limp heap, just beyond
the native over which it had been crouching before
it delivered the death stroke, now never to fall.
"You did it, Tom! You did it!" cried
Ned, springing up from where he had been kneeling
to give his chum a better chance to shoot.
"You did it, and saved the man's life!" And Ned
would have rushed out toward the still twitching body.
"Just a minute!" interposed Tom. "Those
beasts sometimes have as many lives as a cat.
I'll give it one more for luck." Another electric
projectile through the head of the jaguar produced
no further effect than to move the body
slightly, and this proved conclusively that there
was no life left.
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