“I’m with you on that,” Mr. Frankland announced; “but before we proceed, I propose we arm ourselves against a possible encounter.”
“How?” Mr. Porter asked.
“With clubs. Four of us ought to beat off a panther with good strong heavy sticks.”
“It’s a wise precaution,” the doctor approved. “Let’s get busy.”
They proceeded to a near-by thicket and there found a number of young trees that suited their purpose admirably. Like the Boy Scouts, they too were supplied with large sharp jackknives, and in ten minutes each was armed with a club that seemed formidable enough to break the skull of a lion.
Then they turned again toward the cataract, advancing close to it and flashing their lanterns over the big tumble of water and the adjoining piles of rocks. But they discovered nothing that suggested an explanation of the mystery. The screams continued to come, seemingly from the fall, but it was ridiculous to believe that any living being, human or beast, could exist in that flood and, with clear, strong lungs, emit such wailing sounds of distress.
For fifteen minutes they watched and listened, while the cries continued to come at intervals of a minute or two. Finally, since the examination of the fall and the rocks near it produced no result, Dr. Byrd began to give all his attention to the cries themselves.
After close and careful listening he was certain he could distinguish a feature in the cries that had not attracted his notice before. He strained every nerve in order to catch the sounds more distinctly. Observing his attitude as he leaned forward and put his hand cup-shaped behind his ear, the other men followed his example and soon they too were certain they could make out a single word uttered by a human voice.
“Help!”
It seemed to come more clearly now and was repeated several times in rapid succession. The eager listeners turned to each other and nodded their heads significantly; then they listened again as the call was repeated. But only the one word could they make out.