At that moment there was a fearful, a horrible cry, that rent the air, a desperate shriek for assistance.
"The old squatter, and he is without arms," he cried; "the tigers have doubtless attacked him."
And he set spurs to his horse, which, neighing and smarting with pain, dashed in the desired direction.
In the centre of a clearing crossed by a narrow stream the squatter knelt behind his horse, haggard with terror.
Close to him, on the branch of a gigantic gumtree, was a mighty jaguar, licking his tongue before leaping.
"Save me," shrieked the agonised squatter.
"I will try," said Harry, dismounting, letting his horse loose, and then going close up to the trembling wretch.
The tiger had not moved. He was watching his victim with a feline glance.
"A noble beast," said the young man, with a smile; "I hope not to spoil his beautiful skin."
Suddenly a further grunting was heard in the thicket. The jaguar, without turning his head, responded in the same tone.