The Black Phantom

by Leo E. Miller

Two weeks later Warruk reached the margin of the great river that wound its sluggish way through a strip of forested country hugging its banks. But, mighty stream though it was, it had not been spared the wrath of Tumwah’s onslaught. Where ordinarily a wide expanse of water greeted the eye, stretching in a ruffled, brown sheet to the dimly outlined fringe of palms on the distant bank, there was now a series of sun-baked sandbars several miles wide and many, many miles long. The river, still of imposing width, flowed through a channel in the center of the sandy wastes but bore little resemblance to its former awe-inspiring grandeur.

Flocks of gulls and skimmers flew shrieking and wheeling in masses overhead or ran excitedly over the sand. Crocodiles, too, were in evidence, for here there were water and food so there was not the need to bury themselves in the mud and in a semi-conscious condition await the coming of a friendlier season, as did their fellows in the inland country.

It was indeed a new and strange world veiled with an impenetrable air of mystery and romance.

At night the stars glimmered with an uncanny brightness. The vast sandbanks, heretofore peopled only by the shrieking birds and rows of crocodiles, assumed a different and even more animated appearance. For, with nightfall turtles in legion forsook their abode on the muddy river-bottom and sought the hot sand to lay their eggs. The shuffle of their feet and the scraping of their heavy shells was audible some distance away in a muffled conglomeration of sounds. They moved rather rapidly for such cumbersome creatures and made quickly for the highest points in the sandy wastes where with much effort a hole was scooped and the eggs deposited; then the excavation was neatly filled. The turtles hurried back to the water to remain in the depths of the muddy river until the following year.

Warruk looked in amazement at the seething mass of life.

“Ca-urgh, ca-urgh, ca-urgh, urgh, urgh, urgh,” a gruff, coughing roar pierced the still night air from near the deep channel and Warruk’s muscles tensed as he listened to the sound. It was the voice of one of his kind. An instant later his own voice rang loud and sharp in answer to the challenge and he started across the crumbling sand toward the water. In the distance a dark form loomed up, motionless as a statue and Warruk too stopped the moment he beheld the stranger. Then the latter raised his head skyward and again the roar, savage, spiteful and bespeaking rage shattered the air. What right had this newcomer to intrude on his hunting-ground?

Warruk noted the smaller size of the resentful one; also that his coat was, of course, spotted. He listened patiently until the roar had ended. Then, with a mighty bellow he strode slowly toward his challenger.

The latter stood his ground for a moment. But suddenly he perceived the color of the intruder and that one look was all that was required. Without taking a second he dashed to the river, plunged into the water and swam for the other side. Members of his tribe, of his own spotted color he feared not and was ready to battle with at any time. But, when the apparition of a black individual appeared he retreated frantically, relinquishing his choice feeding-ground without a show of resentment or any desire to question the newcomer’s status.

So it had been always. The other jaguars shunned Warruk because they feared him. And being thus made an outcast intensified the black one’s naturally savage and truculent disposition.

Warruk hurled a bellow of ridicule after the fugitive and then turned his attention to the food bedecking the sand.