“Captain,” said he presently, when that worthy had inspected and admired the striped monster to his heart's content, “Captain, it strikes me as being somewhat of a rare thing to run against a fullblown tiger on an island like this. Don't you think so?”
“Ay, that it is,” assented the captain; “rare as sea-sarpents.”
“That explains it, then: the tiger-witch story, I mean. This chap's great size, and the fact that man-eaters aren't often met with on these little nutshell islands, have made him the terror of the whole community, you see. He's their witch, I'll be bound. Now.” he ran on, seeing the captain express his approval of this likely explanation by a series of emphatic nods, “now I'll tell you what I mean to do. Dear old Jack's a prisoner, and we're bound to get him out of limbo if we can. His captors—those native beggars—go in mortal terror of this beast here. Good! Why shouldn't Pug and I carry the creature's skin down to the village yonder—where Jack is, you know—use it to impersonate the witch-tiger, and terrify the niggers——”
He got no farther with his explanation, for the captain, having already grasped the idea, at this point grasped its originator by the hand, and cut in with: “Spike my guns, the wery identical thing, lad! Blow me, the lubberly swabs'll tumble into the jungle like a lot o' porpoises when they sees that 'ere tiger-skin a-hangin' on your recreant limbs. An' then hooray for Master Jack, says you! Why not? I axes.”
CHAPTER IX.—WAS IT JACK?
What a night it was! Overhead one glorious; maze of scintillating stars; in the jungle ebon: blackness, shot with the soft glow of myriad fireflies, that flashed their tiny lamps only to leave-the spot they had illumined more intensely black than before.
Don's surmise as to the spring path proved correct—it extended quite to the foot of the hill, where it merged almost imperceptibly into the scantier vegetation fringing the sea-shore. After a hard fight with the difficulties of the way—increased in no small degree by the dead weight of the tiger-skin—he and Puggles at length reached the limits of the jungle and paused for breath. The utmost caution was now necessary in order to avoid untimely discovery.
The moon was not yet up, and the cocoa-nut tope in which, but a stoned throw away, nestled the village that formed at once their destination and Jack's place of imprisonment, lay wrapped in gloom so impenetrable that not a single outline of tree or hut could be distinguished from where they stood. Excepting a faint glow, which at infrequent intervals flickered amid the lofty branches of the palm-trees, there was nothing to show that the spot was tenanted by any human being. This light—or, to speak more correctly, this reflection of a light—Don attributed to a fire in the village street.