In the tiger's lair

by Leo E. Miller

A few additional plunges of the sword-like teeth and the tiger that now was underneath lay still. Then the victor arose, shook himself, and calmly walked away a few paces, faced the centre of the crater and announced his supremacy with an ear-splitting roar. But was it really the proclaiming of the winning of a battle with one of his own kind, or did the thunderous voice convey a challenge? Looking in the direction toward which the brute had turned, the two on the ledge understood the situation in a flash. In front of the terrible creature, and not fifty yards away, stood a man.

For a moment the tiger stood still, as if planning its strategy, then it advanced with measured steps, moving its head from side to side and growling the while. But the man did not stir; he had taken an arrow from a pack that he carried slung over one shoulder, and was fitting it, without haste, to his bow.

Ted and Stanley stared in horror. Who was the man who had dared venture into the crater, alone and at night, and who now calmly faced the most powerful as well as most savage of all the earth’s living creatures, armed with but a bow and a handful of arrows? Surely, he must be demented, for any man in his right senses would know that such weapons were of little avail against such an adversary.

At five paces from its victim the tiger stopped. It crouched low. The head was resting between the forepaws; the tail, which was short and thick, twitched nervously from side to side. Was the great beast surprised and puzzled by the audacity of the mancreature? Or was it preparing for the spring?

The man, without haste, raised his bow, grasping the tough wooden arc and the shaft of the arrow with his left hand while with his right he began steadily and firmly to draw back the cord. The upper part of his body was bare, and there was the rippling play of powerful muscles in arms and shoulders straining to the limit of endurance.

Crack! The arrow fell to the ground and the bow straightened with a twang. The string had snapped under the terrific strain. The weapon was useless. But the man was not dismayed by the misfortune. He threw it from him and calmly drew a short sword from his belt; then he crouched forward to await the onslaught of the tiger.

Stanley sprang to his gun and Ted was not long in following his action.

“We must save him,” the former shrieked.

A string of shots rattled forth in quick succession as pointed tongues of flame leaped from the muzzle of the gun. Another followed immediately and the gunners took their eyes from the sights and anxiously looked for the result of the fusillade. Some of the bullets had found their mark. The great beast was rolling on its back, clawing the air with frantic and convulsive movements, and tearing at its own shoulders and sides. Screams of pain came from its throat. But its struggles did not last long. It lay still save for an occasional moan and quiver, then even these signs of life stopped.

“Run! Run for your life!” Stanley shouted to the man. “There may be another one near by. Come this way. There is a ladder at the foot of the cliff.”