“All sorts of tropical birds are slaughtered merely for the purposes of the milliner,” went on the professor. “It is certainly a shame, but so long as the ladies demand feathers on their hats the slaughter will probably continue.”
Leaving the table-land they plunged again into the forest. The professor had found tracks which he felt certain belonged to some wild animals, and as they advanced each held his gun ready for use should the occasion require.
The occasion was not long in coming. Directly in front of them was a fallen tree, a veritable monarch of the forest, all of nine feet in diameter and with branches spreading in all directions. As they were making their way around the roots of this tree they heard a low snarl of rage and saw a wild beast not unlike a huge cat leap from the roots with another wild beast in its mouth.
Crack! went the professor’s rifle and the bullet hit the beast in the forepaw. At once it dropped its prey—an armadillo—and faced around with another snarl of rage more fierce than ever.
“He’s coming for us!” yelled Mark, and fired his own gun. But his aim was not true and the bullet merely grazed the beast’s tail.
By this time the ocelot—for such the animal proved to be—was up on the tree trunk, glaring directly down upon them. He was closer to Frank than to anyone else, and it looked as if he would leap upon the youth without further delay.
It must be confessed that Frank was badly frightened. But he did not lose his total presence of mind, and almost mechanically he lifted the shotgun he carried and blazed away. At the same time Sam and Darry fired, and between the three the ocelot was mortally wounded and rolled to the ground, growling and snarling in a fashion fearful to contemplate. Then the professor rushed in and with a shot at short range finished the beast.
“Say, but that was a close call all around,” came from Mark, when the excitement was over.
“That’s what it was,” returned Frank, breathing heavily. “I don’t want to get in such close quarters again. I thought sure he was going to nab me.”
The professor was much vexed that his first shot had not killed the ocelot. “I must be getting rusty in my shooting,” he said.