As the beast came on, the young major fired once more. It was at close range, and the bullet found its way directly into the open mouth of the tiger. The spring came to a sudden halt and the beast dropped limp half over the rail and within three feet of where the young major was standing. Then the tiger gave a convulsive shudder, dropped to the deck, and slid down the slope against the broken-off end of the mainmast.
“Is he dead?” questioned Small, coming from the pilot house gingerly.
“I think so, but I’m not sure,” answered Jack.
“What’s all the shooting about?” called another voice, and Randy appeared, followed by Fred, the first carrying a shotgun and the other a pistol.
“One of the tigers broke loose and we’ve been shooting at him,” answered Jack. “There he is—over by the mast.”
“A tiger!” exclaimed Randy. He grabbed the shotgun tighter. “Is he dead, or shall I give him another shot?”
“I think he’s done for,” answered Jack. And when they turned the searchlight on the beast, they saw that he had breathed his last.
“Well, this is certainly the dog’s suspenders,” murmured Fred. “Are there any more of those beasts loose?” he went on nervously.
“You know as much about it as I do,” answered the young major. “I suppose the others can get loose just as well as this one did. This is certainly a fine wreck to be on!” he added, with a grim smile.