CHAPTER XIII
THE TREE-LION
The next day they came to the end of the trail that Muata had followed with the river-man; but the scent was still on the ground, and for a mile or so the jackal led the way, slinking along like a shadow with his nose down and his bushy tail drooping. Then he stopped, and, after a look up into the face of his master, stretched himself out, as much as to say his part was over.
"They have gained on us," said Mr. Hume.
"They rose early and travelled fast," said Muata. "The scent is cold, but there is the trail marked on the tree;" and he pointed to a slight cut in the bark, from which had oozed a thick juice, now caked hard.
"Some one pierced the bark."
"It is the sign of the wise woman, and she made it, maybe, with a wire from her armlets."
They went on more slowly, guided only by the faint cuts at intervals on tree-trunks, all of which "bled," giving out a milky sap; and then again the sign failed. About them were the trees in endless columns, overhead was the roof of leaves, and on the ground was a tangle of undergrowth and decaying vegetation, that gave out a moist earthy smell, which set the lungs labouring for oxygen. The boys were uncomfortable. Their skins were clammy, their eyes were heavy, and their limbs languid. Mr. Hume was glad to sit down, and even Muata showed the effect of the muggy atmosphere in a dulling of his skin. The river-man, sullen and silent, was alone apparently unaffected; but they did not reckon him one of the party, for no one of them had broken through his apathy.
Muata began patiently to make casts in that labyrinth that seemed to hold no living thing but themselves, and as he went slowly through the undergrowth, the boys went off to sleep, from which they awoke, heavy and unrefreshed, at the cry to "fall in."
The trail had been recovered fifty yards further on, the intervening ground having been covered apparently by the cannibals without leaving a sign. Venning blundered on a little way before he discovered that he had left his bundle behind.
"I'll wait for you," said Compton, sitting down on a tree-stump, while Mr. Hume, who had left his position in the rear to consult with Muata, had his back turned.
Venning recovered his bundle, and turned to retrace his steps, but for the time his heavy eyes were no longer faithful guides, and, instead of taking the right direction, he entered a likely looking opening through the trees to the left and hurried on. When he had covered a distance that should have brought him to Compton, he stopped.
"Halloa! halloa!" he cried.
There was no answer.
"Compton! I say, no larks. Where are you?"
A little in advance he heard the rustle of leaves, and went on quickly. When he reached the place where the sound came from there was nothing there, and he gathered his wits together. With a little laugh at his carelessness, he began to retrace his steps, but there was a problem to be dealt with at every step, for he could see nothing familiar. In that multitude of trees, planted so close together, each tree seemed alike. He put his hand to his mouth and uttered a long "coo-ee." The call seemed to be shut in, sounding in his ears very weak and quavering.
"Coo-ee!"—and again "coo-ee!" Ah, that was an answer; and with a glad shout he set off in the direction whence came an answer to his call, forced his way through the undergrowth, tripped and fell over a dead branch with a thud that made his head throb so that he was glad to sit back with closed eyes.
When he opened them again he heard a rustling of the leaves, and moved his lips to call out. "Compton!"
There was unmistakably the sound of some one jumping aside as if startled.
"Over here!" said Venning; and then he closed his eyes again with a feeling of languor. Compton, in the meanwhile growing impatient, walked a few steps in the direction his chum had taken. The rest of the party had moved on, thinking, no doubt, he was following, and he knew that neither he nor Venning could pick up the spoor if they lost touch. He peered through the scrub for some time without seeing any one, and then he heard a low cry—a strangled sort of cry, as if Venning were calling in a very feeble voice. Unshipping his Lee- Metford carbine from the loop, by which it hung at his side, he dashed forward, fully expecting to find his friend in the hands of man or beast.
But at the last stopping-place there was no sign of his friend; and, with head bent, he listened for some sound, his mouth firmly set, and his dark eyes glancing from under his well-marked, brows.
He could hear the beating of his heart, and the innumerable creeping sounds that seemed to have no origin. He was about to shout, when again he heard a thin cry, and, suppressing the shout, he began to advance cautiously from tree to tree, planting his steps carefully. In the soft mould he saw now the footmarks left by Venning as he had hurried, the print of his heel at one spot, a little further on a broken branch, and next, some dislodged moss from a huge tree. He peered round this, examining the ground ahead, then stepped out into a little clearing, across which Venning had walked. He started as he looked down, then threw up his gun, with a quick glance round, for on the ground, side by side with the footprints, were the pugs of a lion or leopard.
Venning was in danger, then! With an involuntary action he pressed his hat down firmly on his head, then moved forward, swiftly and silently, to another tree beyond. Looking round this, he saw at once through the twining tendrils the form of an animal, moving slowly, with flattened ears and twitching tail.
This did not surprise him, for he was prepared by the spoor; but what surprised him was to see that the brute was advancing towards him—not retreating. For a moment he felt sick at the thought that he was too late, that his friend had been already attacked, and that the beast had left Venning for the new-comer.
The brute was unmistakably stalking some one. Its body was stretched out, the forearms reaching out in long stealthy strides, the round head sunk low, with a fixed snarl that bared the white teeth. A leopard it was in form, but without the black rosettes on a grey ground, the colour being of a uniform yellow along the sides, with black markings down the muscular shoulders, and a streak of white from the throat under the belly. The eyes were large, and of a greenish hue. They were fixed in a steadfast stare on some spot to the left. Compton glanced in that direction, and, to his joy, he saw Venning, alive, seated with his chin on his breast, and his back to a fallen stump. As Compton looked, the boy's eyes opened, and his head turned as if he had heard some noise.
Compton's distress left him. A feeling of great thankfulness swept over him when he saw that he was not too late, that his friend lived; and with firm nerves he stepped clear of the tree to shoot. The movement caught the notice of the leopard. It had crouched down as Venning turned, but now it lifted its round head to view the new- comer. With a low growl it made a sudden leap forward, covering an incredible distance, which brought it nearer to Compton, and as it gathered itself together he fired, then sprang aside. There was a rush through the air, a thud, and a tearing noise. There, almost within reach of him, with the blood running over its face from a scalp-wound, and its fore-paws tearing the moss from a tree, was the leopard; and, swift as thought, Compton fired from his hip at the shoulder. The leopard rolled over, growling, then tried to drag itself by its powerful paws towards Compton, its mouth wide open. He fired again, into the gaping jaws, the muscles relaxed, the beast fell, and he ran towards Venning.
"Are you all right, old chap?"
Venning held on to his friend's arm, and as they stood, the leopard screamed.
"He is quite done, old fellow. Come and see."
Venning went forward quietly, as if still in a daze, and they looked down on the leopard, struggling in the death-throes. It raised its torn head, and again the scream rang out from its red jaws—a terrible cry, and out of the forest came the answer, shrill and fearsome. With a low growl the leopard fell forward, dead; but they could hear an animal advancing rapidly, with fierce grunts; though from what direction it was impossible to tell.
"It must be the mate," said Compton, with an anxious look at
Venning. "How do you feel?"
"I'm all right now;" and he passed his hand over his forehead. "I can help you this time. If it is the mate, it will go first to its dead."
"Then we'd better crouch down by that tree."
They knelt side by side a little way off, with their rifles ready; but, though the noise made by the advancing animal grew louder, they could see no movement whatever.
Then an extraordinary thing occurred. A bough above shook heavily, and a large flattened body shot down from one branch to another, tail, neck, and legs at the full stretch, alighting easily on the rounded branch. It paused for a moment, then flew right across from one tree to another, a distance of about thirty feet, when again it gathered itself together for another flying leap to the ground, alighting with singular ease within a few paces of the spot where the dead leopard was lying.
With outstretched neck and twitching nose, it stepped to its mate, sniffed, then threw its head up with bristling hair and emitted a terrible scream of rage, ending in a harsh cough.
As Compton pressed the trigger it bounded aside, as if it had seen him, and an instant later had reached the trunk of a tree.
"Where is it?"
"Went up that tree," said Venning, rising and stretching his neck.
"You take that side, I this."
They moved slowly, finger on trigger and eyes swiftly scanning the branches, but they made the circuit of the tree without a glimpse of the yellow and black body that had so swiftly come and gone.
"Where the dickens has it gone?"
"Maybe into a hole up there."
They stood staring up in bewilderment, but there was not a movement anywhere, and presently they wandered around examining the trees near. The beast had vanished as completely as if it had been no bigger than a fly.
"Well," said Compton, with a short laugh, "I'm going to take the skin off the dead one, before it disappears too."
They set to work stripping the skin off the muscular body, stopping often to listen and glance around. The work, however, was completed in peace, and then, suddenly remembering their position, they hastened to retrace their steps. Slowly they hit off the trail, and finally arrived as far as the place where Venning had first missed his bundle.
"It's after us, Dick!"—in a whisper.
"Where?"
"Up among the branches. I saw it spring across as I looked back."
They looked up into the trees, and then at the dark shadows before them, for the afternoon was slipping away.
"I don't like it. The beggar may spring on us at any moment."
"Or it may wait bill it is too dark for us to see."
"Yes, by Jove!"
"It is bad; but I am afraid we do not know the worst."
"What do you mean?"
"Mr. Hume must have missed us a long time back; and he would have come after us if——"
"I see," said Compton, gravely. "You think that something has happened to them?"
Venning nodded. "It's all my fault, Dick."
Compton was glancing up into the trees. "We must dispose of that brute first. But how?"
"I have an idea," said Venning, after a long pause. "One of us will go on. Animals can't count. Seeing one of us moving, he may show himself to the other, who remains hidden."
"Good. I will go on;" and at once Compton, taking the more dangerous post, advanced slowly, leaving Venning standing against a tree.
A few moments later the watcher saw a dark form flitting through the branches high up, without, however, offering a ghost of a mark, and there was nothing left for him but to follow Compton and explain.
"And I suppose it's watching us now?" said the latter, gloomily.
"Any good to climb up a tree?"
"I should think not. Why, it's at home up there. You can see that from the length of the claws, and the length of the tail, which acts as a steerer, a balancing-pole, and a brake. You see when it brings the tail down—-?"
"No, I don't; but I do see that we are in a fix, and that the others must be in a worse position."
"I cannot imagine Mr. Hume being caught in a trap, especially when he has the jackal."
"And Muata!"
"And the black chap!"
"By Jove! suppose that fellow has proved treacherous;" and the two turned this unpleasant thought over in their minds until a light sound attracted their notice. Looking up, they caught the glare of fierce green eyes.
"We've got him now!" yelled Compton. "Round that side."
Venning dashed round the tree, and three shots were fired in rapid succession at a vanishing object.
"Missed again!"
"By gum, yes; and if we go on playing hide-and-seek any longer, we'll be missing ourselves. We've got to build a camp at once. That's the place, between those three trees. I'll cut, and you build."
Compton, rolling up his sleeves, cut down saplings, and Venning built a low roof, using the long tendrils of the creepers to bind it. Then the spaces in between the trunks were filled in, and large chunks of tinder were cut out of a fallen tree and placed at the entrance, a fire of dry wood being made in a hole inside. There was enough water in their flasks for a "billy" of tea, and by the time they had finished their meal the darkness was on them. No sooner had they settled down to watch than their foe was down, sniffing out the position, and they were thankful they had acted in time. They beard it at the back first, then overhead, and next at the side, its presence indicated by low growls. Then it was in the front, and Compton fired at a momentary gleam of two luminous spots. It bounded right on the roof, which shook to its weight, then clawed up a tree, detaching fragments of moss, and again leapt to the ground, emitting this time a ferocious roar. It seemed as if its long patience were exhausted, and that it was lashing itself into a fury, for it was here and there with lightning quickness, striking blows at the fence, and at times seizing a branch in its teeth, but so quick that they could not move their weapons smartly enough to cover the point of attack.
It was nervous work for the watchers. Every moment they expected to find themselves under the claws and teeth of the maddened beast, with the odds all against them, for in such a small enclosure they would be helpless. It was bad enough when the brute was emitting his terrible roars and screams, but the spells of silence were worse.
In one of these spells Venning felt for the raw skin of the slaughtered leopard, and threw it out into the darkness. There were stealthy footsteps, the noise of sniffing, followed by the sound of an animal rolling on the ground, and they fired together. With a snarl the leopard bounded right to the very mouth of the opening, knocking over the smouldering tinder and sending out a shower of sparks. Venning fired. Compton lunged forward with his big knife, and the leopard leapt aside.
"Hit him that time, I bet," muttered Venning, who was shaking with excitement.
Then followed a weary time of waiting in complete silence, broken only by the soft melancholy murmur of the forest. They refilled the magazines of their carbines, built up the tinder fire, and stretched their ears to catch the first warning note of danger. Then the whisperings swarmed in upon them. A creak of a branch, the turn of a leaf, the scraping of creeping insects, the whizzing of moths, and the murmur of the forest, all seemed to them the whisperings of stealthy foes. Every now and again they moistened their lips, which dried after the repeated spells during which they held their breath, while intently listening for the footfalls of the enemy.
Then, with a feeling of relief, they heard an unmistakable wouf! That, at least, was a tangible sound—the sound of a startled animal.
Presently they heard its footsteps, as it came cautiously forward, a little way at a time. Once more the fingers coiled round the triggers, and the barrels were raised.
Then came a yelp, this time of fear, followed by the leopard's terrible scream. Some animal darted by the opening, so close that they could see the gleam of its eyes as it glanced in upon them, and after it with a bound went a larger form. They listened to the dwindling noise of the chase, and Compton stirred up the fire.
"What's up now, eh?"
"It," said Venning, referring to the leopard, "is after something, don't you think?"
"I hope to goodness it will have a good run, then."
But even as he spoke the sound of the chase grew; the smaller animal flashed by again with the savage pursuer at its heels, flew round the trees, and leapt inside—leapt in and pressed itself down behind the two of them. With a snarl, the leopard stopped before the smouldering logs, and then sprang on to the roof, at which it struck two or three tremendous blows before bounding off again.
"Where's my knife?" yelled Compton.
Venning felt a warm tongue on his hand, and drew it away with a cry, as if he had been stung.
"Use your knife, man. I'm blinded."
"All right," gasped Venning.
"Feel for it first, or you'll be hitting me. Quick! I say."
"What is it?" cried Venning, alarmed at the sudden change in
Compton's tones from rage to alarm.
"Something's pulling me. It's got its arm through the side."
There was a sudden fierce yap and a snapping of jaws. Compton's shirt gave way with a tear, and outside in the dark the leopard screamed. Inside the cry was answered by the howl of a jackal.
"It's our jackal," shouted Venning.
"Where—what?"
"Here;" and Venning laughed hysterically. "Poor old chap!" then,
"Good old jacky!"
"Nonsense!" said Compton; but his band groped out in the dark, and when he felt the rough tongue, he joined in the laugh. They were as pleased as if Mr. Hums or Muata had returned.
"Did the brute really hook you?"
"Forced his paw through," said Compton, shuddering, "but the jackal bit him."
The jackal's tail thumped the ground, then they felt it stiffen, and were again on the alert. Venning ran his fingers lightly along the jackal's back till he reached the nose, which was pointing straight up. Without a moment's delay he raised his rifle and fired.
At the same moment the saplings forming the roof snapped and fell in upon them with an added weight, which knocked them flat. They were dimly conscious of a tremendous struggle, but when they had crawled out of the litter, they were thankful to find that each was still alive. After the first hurried words, they faced the darkness apprehensively, for their shelter was gone, and their rifles were under the branches.
"Quick!" said Compton, "help pull the branches away."
Guided by the tinder, they felt for the branches and pulled, but let go at once and fell back, for a fierce growl greeted them almost in their faces.
"By Jove!" muttered Compton, "it's all over now. Don't run; let us stick together."
"I'm not running," said Venning. "We've got our sheath-knives."
They drew their knives, and, holding each other by the disengaged hand, fell back step by step, till they found the support of a tree- trunk, when they waited for the attack. From time to time the low growls gave warning of the enemy's close presence, and to them each sound was as a death-knell; for what were their knives against a foe so powerful, who had, too, the advantage of sight?
For perhaps two hours of awful suspense they stood, and then Compton lost patience.
"I can't stand this," he said. "That brute's playing with us, and
I'm going to finish it."
"Wait; when the morning comes we can see."
"Will it ever come? No."
Compton struck a match, cradled it in his hand till it caught, then, with his face showing rigid by the reflection, he moved forward. Venning went too, shoulder to shoulder. Each held his knife, point up, every muscle on the strain. A snarl greeted each step, and presently they saw two glowing spots before the match went out. Another match was struck by a steady hand, and this time the spots blazed out from the blackness.
Venning felt for his log-book, tore out a sheet, screwed it up, lit it, and held the flame up.
There, less than six feet away, was the leopard, its mouth open, the gleaming fangs showing their full length—a sight so forbidding that he dropped the paper and sprang back.
"Light another," said Compton, steadily.
This was done. He went down on his knees, reached out, seized the butt of a rifle, and drew it forth. A second later a bullet crashed into the brain of the leopard, and then, worn out by the strain they had been under so long, they sat with their backs to the trees.
"I'm going to sleep," said Compton.
"I wonder what's become of the jackal?" muttered Venning, drawing up his knees with a sigh of relief.
"Don't know, and don't care, for he's better off than we are. Good night."
"Good night, old chap; and it was awfully good of you to turn back."
Snore! Venning yawned, and in five minutes they were both asleep in the forest, without so much as a twig to cover them. But they were not altogether unprotected, for when they rubbed the sleep out of their eyes in the morning, they found the jackal curled up at their feet, with one ear cocked and one eye open. But a very different jackal he was from the graceful animal they knew so well. His body was distended to enormous proportions, and it was clear how his absence was to be accounted for. While they had stood in the dark, expecting every moment to be pounced upon, he had been gorging on the dead leopard. They now looked at their foe of the night, and found why it was that it had left them uninjured. There were three wounds on the body—the bullet-hole in the forehead, a fleshy wound on the hind leg, and a hit on the spine, which had disabled it just as it was in the act of springing down upon the roof.
"It's your bag," said Compton. "To think that we stood shivering and shaking for two mortal hours, while all the time the beggar was helpless!"
Venning did not echo the complaint; he was too much occupied examining his prize, and taking exact measurements with a tape, which he entered in his log' book, together with a description of the markings.
"It's a new species," he said, with the pride of an explorer who discovers a new mountain. "I will call it a tree-lion—leo arboriensis Venningii—that is, if you don't wish it called after you."
"Call it anything you like, old fellow; but I should say it was just an ordinary leopard."
"You never saw a leopard with those markings."
"And no one ever saw a climbing lion."
"It has adapted itself to changed conditions. The markings match the colouring of the branches, and there has been a change in the formation of the claws"—holding up a huge paw—"while the forearm is a little curved, and the skin between the elbow and the body bears a resemblance in its growth to that found on the so-called 'flying-squirrel.'"
"It's a tough customer, whatever it is, and I hope that it is the last of its kind. Do you know that we have no more water?"
"I shall examine the contents of the stomach, and I fully expect to find that its usual prey is the monkey."
"It had a great hankering for white man, at any rate. Did you hear me say there was no water?"
"Its hind legs are very much longer than the fore legs—another proof of an arboreal existence. It's a most important find. I wish Mr. Hume were here."
"So do I," said Compton, heartily, stirring the jackal with his foot.
That sagacious animal rose slowly, stretched itself, one leg at a time, sniffed at the dead leopard, or tree-lion, whatever it was, and then curled itself up again.
"Coo-ee—coo-ee!" came out of the woods.
"Coo-ee!" replied Compton, to the glad sound. "Coo-ee!" and he fired off his gun.
Muata's shrill whistle pierced through the files of trees, and the jackal slunk away.
"Hurrah!" yelled Compton, taking off his cap. "Hurrah! Here we are— all safe!"
"All safe, thank God;" and Mr. Hume hurried forward, with his eyes beaming. "Thank God."
"It is as I thought. Here is the hind leg of a monkey, with some of the hair still attached;" and Venning held up a disgusting-looking object.
Mr. Hume looked at the dead animal, the broken hut, and back at
Compton.
"We shot it last night, and its mate in the afternoon."
Then he pulled Venning to his feet and shook him. "Believe he's gone off his head."
"I've not," said Venning; and he held out a blood-stained hand to Mr. Hume, who took it with a great happy laugh. "Have you seen a beast like that before, Muata?"
"Any one would think," said Compton, "that nothing had happened— that we had not been lost, and that he had not brought us into this mess."
"Steady," said Mr. Hume, with a smile.
"Dick is right, sir. If it had not been for him, I should have been dead. I am a little bit excited now; but I will tell you all soon. Well, Muata?"
"Wow!" exclaimed the chief, who had been talking with the river-man. "One of these I have seen, and he also. It was a great thing to kill two; of all things that walk they are the fiercest."
"And I am very thirsty," said Compton.
"Their home is in the trees," continued Muata.
Venning nodded. "Leo arboriensis."
"Venningii," added Compton, as he took his lips from a water-bottle.
"And now we'll have breakfast, if you don't mind."