The more knowing animals heeded the warning so plainly written in the mutilated bodies of their brethren; in the snarls of rage and in the screams of terror of the doomed victims; and in the roars of triumph that followed each notable kill. To them, all these signs were superfluous, for had they not witnessed the coming of Siluk, the Storm-God, and had they not known of the thing that portended? But such is the nature of the wild things that they are loath to change the established order of their lives until forced to do so. So, not until death walked boldly in their midst, and struck—no one could tell when and where—did they profit by their superior intelligence. Then the more timid ones among their number moved to safe quarters far from the windfall, while the others redoubled their vigilance and dared not venture many paces from the protection of their burrows and shelters.
So far, the inhabitants of the treetops had not been molested. Largest among them were the howling monkeys. Secretly, they feared Suma and hated her with all the vehemence of their intractable natures. In secret also, they followed her movements whenever possible, dogging her steps and gazing with furtive eyes upon her acts of violence. But they were careful to keep to the higher branches and to view the jungle tragedies from the safety of their lofty perches. So long as the Jaguar hunted openly and made no efforts to conceal her movements, they had nothing to fear. It was later, when the great cat called into play all the resources and artifices at her command that their hour would strike. But like the other foolish wild folk, they looked upon that time as something belonging to the indistinct future and not until the lesson should be brought home to them, swiftly and terribly, would they profit by it.
In her turn, Suma hated the monkey tribe. She had frequent glimpses of the dark forms slinking through the branches high above her head, but gave no indication of the fact. At the present time she could not hope successfully to wage war upon them in their arboreal fastness. But it would not always be so. Other days were coming and then the monkey band would be given their lesson and punished for their presumption.
The bird flocks swept through the forest in quest of their livelihood with as much clamor as ever. To them Suma meant nothing; the majority of them had never seen her—did not even know that such a creature existed. The jays, quarrelsome and noisy as are their relatives of the temperate zone, occasionally saw the spotted hunter as she passed where the undergrowth was more open, and sent up a loud chatter that apprised all the other wild things of her whereabouts. And while realizing her impotence to deal with them, Suma could never quite check the growl that swelled in her throat nor stay the lips that drew back until the gleaming, white fangs were exposed to view. Then, with a sheepish look as if heartily ashamed of having noticed the pests at all, she hastened to thicker cover and quickly lost herself to her tormentors.
And so the days, and the nights too, passed swiftly, each with its complement of thunder and of rain, and of intimidation and destruction; but at last Suma was satisfied. The region had been cleared of everything that might disturb the tranquillity of the weeks to come. That had been her first care, her first duty prompted by an instinct that made her merciless in its execution. Her abode was safe from disturbance. She could come and go as she chose, serene in the knowledge that not a living thing remained in the vicinity to trouble her, or, if any remained they were cowed to the point where they dared not make their presence known. Then she retired to the cavity in the great cottonwood and for three days and three nights the jungle saw her not.
The deluge thundered and beat upon the drooping vegetation with a sound so monotonous that Suma grew accustomed to it and did not notice its existence. But the chamber in the giant tree trunk remained dry and comfortable, a little world apart from its mournful surroundings. And scarcely had she entered upon her voluntary retirement when a swarm of craneflies took up its station at the entrance. These latter were slender, almost wasplike insects with lacy wings and long, thread-like legs, that whirled and danced with the mad joyousness of life, the mass of swirling creatures seemingly spinning a net of sheerest gossamer that curtained the interior from the prying eyes of the wrens and ant birds hopping inquisitively through the crevices of the windfall.