Rob pressed his arm again as a sharp, piercing howl came from far-away over the river, here about four or five hundred yards across.
“That’s a lion,” said Shaddy quietly. “Strikes me they shout like that to scare the deer and things they live on into making a rush, and then they’re down upon ’em like a cat upon a mouse.”
“Lion? You mean a puma.”
“Means a South American lion, my lad.”
“There it is again,” whispered Rob in an awe-stricken voice, “only it’s a deeper tone, and sounds more savage.”
“That’s just what it is,” said Shaddy, “ever so much more savage. That wasn’t a lion; that was a tiger—well, jagger, as some calls ’em. Deal fiercer beasts than the lions.”
The cries were repeated and answered from a distance, while many other strange noises arose, to which the man could give no name.
“One would want half a dozen lives to be able to get at all of it, my lad,” said Shaddy quietly, “and there’s such lots of things that cheat you so.”
“Hist! There’s another splash,” whispered Rob.
“Ay; there’s no mistake about that, my lad. There it goes again, double one. It’s as plain as if you can see it, a big fish springing out of the water, turning over, and falling in again with a flop. You don’t think there’s no fish in the river now, do you?”