“Eemateena! Eemateena!” was the shout from the others. “The jaguar! the jaguar!” and for a few moments every man seemed panic-stricken. They even dropped their burdens, and hardly knowing what they were about would have hurried wildly back towards the river, had not Samaro and Tom, revolvers in hand, barred their progress. The terrible confusion that had ensued was fatal to the poor fellow, who had been attacked by the dreaded king of the wilderness. He might have been saved had Tom got to the front in time.
As it was, the beast dragged him at once into the depths of the forest. A few more piercing shrieks were heard, then it was evident that all was over. The jaguar, or tiger as he is generally called, must have been coming towards the river, and thus met the unhappy man in his path; for during a storm these animals will hardly ever go out of their way to attack either man or beast.
The storm ceased almost as suddenly as it had commenced, though the rain now came down in rushing torrents, and just an occasional flash of lightning shot athwart the inky gloom and served to reveal the pathway.
As soon as they reached the high ground or knoll they were safe. Here were a hundred pathways instead of one, and all led upwards. The top of the little hill was beaten hard with the feet of the tapirs, and probably peccaries, who for reasons best known to themselves must have assembled here at times. It was only a wonder none of these creatures were found here now; but their strange instincts had doubtless warned them to seek for higher grounds before the floods came down. It rained heavily for hours, then morning broke gray and uncertain over the hills, and about the same time down came the river “bore.”
Tom had never witnessed anything in life so appalling, and even Samaro himself confessed that such a quick and rapid “spate” was unusual. The roar of this immense wall of water could be heard for long minutes before it dashed round the bend of the stream, and came tumbling onwards carrying with it huge masses of rock and even soil that looked like islands in the midst of the murky flood. The bore must have been fully twenty feet in height, and the forest trees went down before it like hay before the mower’s scythe. The noise at first was deafening; but it gradually subsided, and before ten o’clock had entirely ceased. But at this time the whole valley looked like an immense inland sea or lake studded with little islands. One of these islands was the hill on which Tom and his men stood, and on which they were for a time as completely imprisoned and isolated as if the ground had been a rock in mid-ocean.
There were three days rain, and all this time the river, instead of going down, seemed gradually rising.
It rose, and rose, and rose, as slowly but as surely as fate itself, till the island was limited to little over the site of the tent.
Then the rain ceased for a time. But the clouds were very dark away towards the north, from which direction low muttering thunder was occasionally heard.
Was another storm brewing? If another bore came down the stream, though not even half as big as the last, the fate of the little expedition would be sealed, and its doom be swift indeed. All day long they watched the rising clouds. When the sun set at last, forked lightning darted here and there across the dark sky, with now and then streams of fire rushing downwards from zenith to nadir. These last were followed by tremendous peals of thunder, but still the rain kept off. No one thought of lying down to rest, and for hours and hours no one spoke.
All eyes were turned towards the north. They were like men waiting for death.