Wild Kindred

by Jean M. Thompson

The season for the menagerie was drawing to its close, and they were about to go East for the winter. The glittering cages had been opened to the public for the last time in a small Western town, where the wondering boys and girls had taken their last look at Lhoks, the panther, and his wild companions. The last cage had been loaded upon the truck, and the long, heavy train started out upon its journey. Old King, the lion, had died, and most of the other animals showed only too plainly the effects of their long confinement and hard life. The tawny coat of poor Lhoks was shabbiest of all. It actually looked moth-eaten in places, and his sides showed plainly enough the scars which the sharp spike had made. His ribs were seen through his lean hide, for he had almost lost his appetite; he felt weak and discouraged. So he just lay stretched listlessly upon the floor of his cage, while the long train jolted and screamed its way across the flat country of the West. Fortunately, the cage of the panther had been placed in such a position that Lhoks soon discovered that by standing upon his hind legs he could actually peer out through his small, grated window at the country through which they journeyed. In this respect, he was more lucky than the others, for the gazelle and hyena cages had been placed with their small, ventilating windows pushed up against the other cages, so they could not look out.

For many days, whenever Lhoks chanced to look forth from his small window, they appeared to be passing over the same flat, uninteresting plain, although occasionally he caught a fleeting glimpse of forest and hills in the distance. At night he would lie flat gazing up longingly, managing to catch a peep at the little winking stars, and sometimes, when it was bright moonlight, he would grow very restless and unhappy, pacing up and down, howling dismally. How he hated the commotion and loud noises about the goods yards, when their train was shunted back and forth over points, creaking and squealing, with much loose rattling of rusty iron couplings, and yells from the railwaymen, who swung red-eyed lanterns, and ran swiftly and lightly over the tops of the cages.

Finally, after many weary days, for their train was a very slow one, Lhoks began to brighten up, for the air which now found its way into his close cage had begun to change and freshen; now he would stand at his small, barred window and sniff in long drafts of it with keen delight. Also, Lhoks saw that they had now left the disagreeable, flat country, and were speeding through wild forests, where giant spruce and pines grew dense and tall. Off in the distance there were glimpses of purple chains of mountains, and rolling, peaceful hills. From that time on, Lhoks became a changed animal; as by magic all his weariness appeared to vanish; he was once more himself, wild and alert. All night he would stand now at the window just breathing in the tonic of this fine, new air, the bracing odours which came from thousands of fragrant balsams and pines. For, although Lhoks did not suspect it, he happened to be passing, at that time, right through the very heart of his own home country, the land where perhaps even then his parents were still roving wild and free through the hidden jungles of the great North woods.

The long, snake-like train rumbled and screeched its way through the night, hooting and echoing through the deep mountain cuts, then gliding out over long moonlit stretches, where moist odours from the woods came in waves to poor Lhoks in his prison cage.

"Chuck, chuck, chuck-chuck, chuck," repeated the iron truck wheels, over and over again, almost like the rhythm of some tiresome song. Then, suddenly, on ahead, the great engine began to send forth hoot after hoot, strange alarm cries, whistlings and screechings which echoed through the silent forest. Lhoks instinctively knew something had happened, and leaped to his feet. The next moment the heavy truck, cages and all, had been tossed from the rails and lay a splintered mass at the foot of a deep cutting.

Something wonderful happened to Lhoks, the panther, for his cage had chanced to fall right side up, and one wall of it had actually fallen out; he was free—free at last. It took a few seconds for the poor wild thing to discover that he was a prisoner no longer, after spending so many long, hateful years in his close cage. But very soon all his old, wild nature asserted itself, and he made out that there were tall waving pines all about him, instead of walls and iron bars, and beneath a dense, black jungle of spruce—fine places to hide. Gathering up all his strength, with one long leap Lhoks, the captive, bounded off to his freedom and the shelter of the woods.

Of course, in the excitement which followed the wreck, no one thought of looking for the panther; for, as it happened, he was the only animal which had managed to escape alive. Lhoks could not travel so very fast at first, for he had a touch of rheumatism, and his legs were almost stiff from long confinement, while his usually sharp claws were quite worn off and dulled. So he skulked along the ground, hiding himself in some deep, wooded retreat far away from the shouts of the railwaymen. Having rested he finally began to take some interest in his appearance, groomed his roughened coat and sharpened his dull claws upon a log. Suddenly he realized that he was hungry. Oh, how delightedly did he quench his thirst at a beautiful, fern-grown pool. Then one day he discovered the trail of a lone wood-cutter and followed it for hours, because he began to feel lonely, and also was hungry. Perhaps he imagined that the man would feed him, as had his keeper. It was lucky for poor, trusting Lhoks that the man did not spy him, or he might have been shot, for the man would surely have supposed the panther was trailing him for its prey.

Lhoks forsook the man's trail finally, and that day he managed to catch a rabbit, which served him very well. For weeks so wandered the poor, solitary panther all alone over the wild forest trails. Each day fresh strength and courage came to him; already his tawny coat had lost its roughness; the new hair was coming in, filling the deep scars upon his sides with soft, fine fur. Suddenly he began to feel so very happy that for sheer playfulness, and because of his loneliness, he would play kittenishly, rolling and pawing about a round stone which he found; springing high in the air he would often chase his own shadow down the moonlit trails; occasionally, he would strive to gain some almost forgotten scent, then he would lift his black muzzle and utter a long, lonely yell—a cry in the night, once heard, never forgotten, this yell of a panther—just a pleading cry for his lost companions for whom he yearned.

Once Lhoks met with an encounter which he never forgot. He happened upon a round ball of curious appearance which lay right in his path, and feeling in a playful mood, he boldly jumped at the thing, tossing it about. Then suddenly the bundle unrolled itself, an ugly blunt snout appeared, and two sullen angry eyes glared at him insolently. Before he could back away, a prickly tail slapped him smartly right across his soft, black muzzle, and it was filled with quills. After that, Lhoks, the panther, never forgot how Unk-Wunk, the porcupine, looked when he rolled himself into a ball and went to sleep upon the trail. It became harder to find food down in the lowlands, so Lhoks took to the mountain passes, and thus it happened, one memorable day, he chanced upon a strangely familiar, alluring scent. For a day he trailed it, drawing gradually nearer and nearer, and as he found the scent keener, Lhoks began to feel greatly excited, filled with courage and hope, for he had stumbled across an old trail of one of his own kindred.