“That the cat is a debil. I was stroking his back, and the ’lectricity was crackling, and the sparks flying plentifully when you, señor, came up. They think the chief is a great man to have a private debil.”
Tom laughed, and the subject dropped.
In the forests of Ecuador, by day as well as by night, there are all kinds of strange shrieks and sounds to be heard; but returning about sunset one evening towards his little camp, and just before leaving the woods, Tom heard a plaintive scream that caused him at once to pause and listen. Again and again it was repeated, and he hastened in the direction from which it came.
None too soon, for there on the top of a large spreading tree was his favourite and pet, and not five yards away a gigantic puma preparing to spring.
Up came the rifle. He hardly took aim, but nevertheless one minute afterwards the puma was stretched lifeless on the ground, and the cat was singing a song of victory on his master’s shoulder.
About a week after this, our hero had a very narrow escape from death by drowning. His company were on the march, when they came to an extremely rapid river that had to be crossed acrobatically. It was well for Tom that he was a sailor, for the rope bridge is very common in these wilds. This one looked rather insecure, for it stretched with each man till his feet were almost touching the torrent beneath. Package after package had been swung over in the loop attached to the rope, and man after man, in somewhat the same way adopted in saving life by a line from a wrecked ship to the shore. The dogs had been taken over, and then it came to Tom’s own turn—the cat, as usual on such occasions, clinging to his shoulder. When about half-way across there was an ominous crack; but still the rope held, and it was not until he was nearly at bank that it gave way suddenly and entirely, and the white chief was plunged into the boiling whirling rapids.
He struck out bravely though blindly. He could see nothing and hear nothing save the roaring of the water in his ears. How long he struggled he could not have told. It seemed like an age. He was giving up at last, when all at once the surging sound of the rapids ceased, and he found himself near the bank and in calm water. He caught at a tree-trunk that was floating slowly down stream, and held on till rescued by the Indians.
But where was Black Tom? Gone undoubtedly.
They did not travel much farther that day before the white chief called a halt, although it still wanted three hours to sunset.
The tent was erected, and the men soon built themselves shelters of palm and plantain leaves. The camp fires were lit, and dinner cooked and eaten. Then the men settled down for their long forenight’s chat and smoke, and as usual Samaro threw himself down beside his chief.