“No, not yet.”
“All right; then I’ll have another nap.”
But at that moment from out of the darkness, at apparently the edge of the jungle beyond the hacienda clearing, there was a sudden crashing as of the breaking of wood, followed instantly by an exceedingly shrill and piercing shriek, the rustle and beating of leaves, two or three low piteous sobs, and then silence for a few moments, followed by a soft rustling which died away.
“Steady there!” whispered the skipper, as he heard the click of a lock. “Don’t fire, my lad. It would only be wasting a charge.”
“But the savage has killed somebody, Mr Reed,” whispered Fitz, in a voice he did not know as his own; and he crouched rigidly there with the butt of his piece to his shoulder, aiming in the direction of the sounds, and with every nerve upon the strain.
“Yes,” said the skipper coolly; “the savage has killed somebody and has carried him off. There, you can hear the faint rustling still.”
“But a savage could not carry a man off like that,” said Fitz wonderingly.
“No,” replied the skipper, with a low chuckle. “But that savage has gone off with the body he seized. Don’t you know what it was, my lad?”
“No,” replied Fitz wonderingly.
“Then I’ll tell you, as far as I know myself. I should say that was one of those great cats, the tigers, as they call them here, the jaguars. He was prowling along in one of those big trees till he could see a monkey roosting, and then it was a leap like a cat at a rat, and he carried him off.”