In the Quicksands
Jack ducked down and dodged the ocelot, and got past the animal. He could do this now, for the whole contents of the pepper bottle had gone squarely into the eyes of the beast.
The effect was indescribable. The animal gave a frightful roar, dropped to the floor, and, rolling over and over, tore frantically with its paws at its blinded, smarting eyes.
The cubs, excited and frightened by the uproar, joined in the chorus. They waddled around, getting in our hero’s way, and by their cries arousing the mother from her own distress.
She got upright, and seemed to spot Jack. Her advance, however, was clumsy and at fault, and the youth had time to get out of her way.
A second and a third rush she made at him. The last time one paw struck Jack’s coat sleeve and ripped it from place.
“This is getting serious,” murmured the lad. “Each time she comes swifter and surer. I must get out of here, now or never.”
Jack drove the cubs to their litter, and poked them with his foot. They set up a frantic uproar. This was just what he wanted. The mother flew towards her offspring.
The moment that she did so, Jack glided to the opposite wall of the cave.
He made a sharp run for the opening overhead, calculated poise and distance nicely, and landed with success.
He grabbed the rounding root. It held like iron, but his feet were dangling, and as he swayed there the big ocelot brushed by them on the hunt for the intruder.
Jack held firmly to the root and swung up his other hand. He caught at a higher tree root. Now he had a double hold.
He knew that the ocelot might come after him even up there, and lost no time in climbing from root to root. At last his head projected through the mesh of verdure into clear daylight. Jack lifted himself to solid ground and leaned against the tree trunk, out of breath and perspiring.
“That was action,” he panted. “Will the beast come after me? No--but something else may. Oh, the mischief!”
The roars and growlings down in the cave seemed to have attracted outside attention. Jack turned sharply, at the sound of crackling branches and rustling leaves at a densely-verdured spot near at hand.
There burst through the greenery a new enemy. This was an ocelot larger than the one he had just escaped from.
“That is the head of the family, sure,” thought Jack. “It’s a race, now.”
The new feature in the incident came straight for our hero, with bristling muzzle and fiery eyes. Jack started down the edge of the ravine.
It crumbled so that he could not make very rapid progress. To turn aside into the jungle meant to fight his way through thick, thorny bushes. To leap down into the dry water-course was even worse. There, as he knew, the spongy, shifting sand bottom would prevent even the progress of a decent walk.
Jack glanced back over his shoulder. The big ocelot, more sure-footed than himself, was following him up resolutely.
Jack took the first tree he came to. It was a dead one. There were lower branches within reach, and he swung himself up to its first crotch readily. The ocelot did not pause. It started up the tree without delay. Jack armed himself with a piece of a thick limb. Reaching down, as the beast got about four feet away, he delivered a smart whack directly across its snout.
The animal issued a terrific snort. Its eyes blazed madly. A second blow with the club brought the blood, but it kept on climbing.
Jack knew that it would be folly to tempt to battle at any closer quarters. He stood on a dead limb about twenty feet from the ground.
The limb was as thick as his arm, and over thirty feet long. It ran clear across the ravine, and a discovery of this fact gave Jack an idea.
He planned to go out to the far end of the limb, swing from its extremity and drop to the ground, landing on the ether bank of the cut.
The ocelot could not get hold or balance to venture as far out on the limb as the lad dared to go. Jack calculated that the time it lost in getting down to the ground again, would enable him to meantime put a considerable distance between himself and the enemy.
The lad sat astride the dead tree branch and began to walk himself outward from the main trunk of the tree.
The ocelot reached the crotch, surveyed Jack with a savage growl, and carefully planting its feet, started out after him.
Its progress was slow. Jack hitched himself along more rapidly. The branch began to creak. Our hero doubted if it would sustain their double weight. However, he trusted to the wary instinct of the ocelot, which kept coming right forward. Jack was about eight feet from the end of the branch when it gave a very ominous crack. In fact, he saw the white splinters show where it joined the tree.
He swung both feet to one side of the limb, held on only by his fingers, and planned to get to its end hand over hand.
Snap! Jack hurried progress, but it was no use. He saw the ocelot crouch and hug the limb. It gave way at its base. Jack let go. He landed directly on the smooth, sandy bottom of that portion of the ravine.
He struck the ground upright, squarely with both feet. Glancing quickly at the tree, he saw that the branch had whipped right down against the trunk.
The limb had not entirely broken loose, but swayed from several sustaining wood filaments. The ocelot, still hugging the limb, was clawing frantically at the main trunk of the tree to get a new hold there to keep from a tumble.
“It won’t do to stop, I see that,” murmured Jack. “Ugh! what kind of a mushy mess have I got into?”
Jack looked down at his feet. They had sunk into the sand and were covered to the ankles. With the greatest difficulty he pulled out one foot.
The instant he put it down again in a new spot, however, it sank afresh. He released the other. This threw his weight on a single foot, which went down half way to the knee.
It was not ten feet to the bank of the ravine. Jack lost all interest in the ocelot as he thrilled at a startling discovery.
“Quicksand!” he breathed hastily. “There is not a moment to lose!”
Our hero tugged to get the sunken foot free. He succeeded. Then, half-dancing about, he threw himself flat.
His idea was to make a hurried scramble for the bank on hands and knees. But he uttered a cry of the greatest alarm as his hands went down into the treacherous mass clear to the wrists.
It took a great effort to get upright again. By the time he had done so, Jack realized that he was in a most serious and critical situation.
He was sunk now clear to the knees in a weaving, shifting mass. It circled his imprisoned limbs like great moving ropes, pulling him downward with a suction force that was tremendous.
The youth uttered a grasp of real horror. He could not budge either limb. As he sank to the thighs, he gave himself up for lost.
He saw that no help of any kind whatever was at hand. He knew that the camp of the men who had come with him must be near. He raised his voice to a desperate pitch.
He let out a series of the most piercing yells. But his heart sank, as from the neighboring jungle there instantly arose a mocking imitation from the throats of several parrots.
They drowned out his cries for help. Jack shuddered as the shifting sands wound about his waist. He drew up his tingling fingers with a shock as the mass swept them in ominous, warning contact.
“It is the last of me,” thought Jack, as tears of despair came to his eyes. “Jenny and the folks will never know my fate!”
Jack looked up at the dark sky, sick at heart, but trying to resign himself to the terrible fate that hung over him.
His glance shifted to the tree. He instinctively dodged his head to one side as he did so. Something spirited was happening there.
The ocelot had got a clutch on the main tree trunk, now. As it let go of the dangling limb, however, this parted under the strain.
Its small end struck the ground, and it swung out, coming for Jack and threatened to crush him.
The limb fell with a crash, the big end just reaching the west side of the ravine. Its centre grazed our hero’s shoulder.
“I am saved!” cried Jack.
He threw one arm tightly around the limb, then the other. Now he was clinging to a natural bridge spanning the ravine from one side to the other.
Jack held on and tugged hard to draw himself up from this quicksand bath.
It was hard work. Finally he got one limb free, then the other. They were numb, and felt like pieces of lead.
Jack was so exhausted with the effort that, crawling on top of the limb, he lay there lengthwise, almost exhausted.