"Golly! that's so!" muttered Jim, stopping like a flash, and dashing for the house again; "I didn't think of that!"
Good Mrs. Gordon and Aunt Cynthia had recovered in a degree their senses. Unspeakably shocked by the peril of the youth, whose courage they estimated too highly, they shrank from no risk that could aid his final escape. They had not closed the shutter after his mishap, and, when they saw him wheel and run back, they stood by the window ready to receive him.
Jim Travers was a good runner; and when it is stated that he was certain Tippo Sahib was skurrying at his heels, it need not be added that he "surpassed himself" in the way of fleetness. Finding, after running a short way, that the beast was not after him, Jim flung aside the torch and went through the window like a cannon shot, rolling over and striking the other side of the room before his flight was checked. A lad of his years, however, rarely suffers from hard knocks and bumps, and he was on his feet the next moment.
"Shet the window quick!" he called, "or he'll be in here."
No need of the appeal, for the mother with deft fingers quickly secured the shutter as before; and but for the lamp, all would have been in darkness again.
Jim darted up-stairs to learn how his playmate was making out.
"Why don't you shoot, Tom?" he called, hurrying to his side.
"'Cause I don't see anything to shoot at," was the answer.
"What's become of the tiger?"
"I guess you scared him off."