Having followed the trail two or three hundred yards into the jungle, they retraced their steps to higher ground, after the wiser Ted had resolutely rejected Hubert's wild proposal that they push on toward freedom, unprepared as they were and at whatever risk. It was now near noon and high time to turn their faces toward camp, for they had already begun to feel sharp hunger. But they were tired after the long and rough tramp, and Hubert insisted on at least a short rest. So they lay down on the soft billowy wiregrass in a high and dry spot inclosed on three sides by tall clumps of palmettos.
Their rest was short indeed, for Hubert had hardly stretched himself out, yawning, when Ted heard a rustle in the grass on their left. One searching glance revealed what appeared to be a wild-cat, crouched within a few feet of them. As the startled boys sprang to their feet, the cat's hair stood on end, its eyes flashed with rage and it displayed its glistening teeth, uttering a low guttural growl. The creature had evidently been surprised close to its lair, as otherwise it would likely have made off without show of fight; plainly its back—of dark brownish gray mottled with black—was up in more than a literal sense.
Ted caught up his gun and fired, but his hurried aim caused him to miss his mark even at such close quarters. Before he could shoot again the cat leaped upon him. The shock carried him to his knees, the now useless gun slipping from his grasp. As the bounding cat came down, its fore paws struck the boy's chest and clawed through his coat, the creature snarling furiously the while and blowing its hot breath into his face. Ted beheld its fiery eyes only a few inches from his own and his hands flew to its throat.
Exerting all his strength, he held the beast off, but could not prevent the tearing of his clothes and the painful clawing of his arms and body.
Hubert now came out of his first paralysis of surprise and fright. Getting out his pocket-knife and opening it as quickly as possible, he caught the cat by the tail and stabbed it twice in its stomach. Then, with a maddened snarl, the creature let go its hold on Ted, wrested its neck from Ted's grasp, and leaped upon Hubert.
"Grab him by the throat!" shouted Ted, staggering to his feet and reaching for his gun.
Luckily his eye fell on the bloody pocket-knife just dropped by Hubert and he snatched it up instead of the gun, which he now realized could not be used at such close quarters without risk of killing his cousin. A moment later the wild-cat was stabbed in its side; then again and yet again.
But Hubert was still exposed to the wounded animal's strong sharp claws which did not relax their hold. So Ted seized the cat's left fore-leg and pulled with all his might. The throat of the snarling beast, thus drawn partly away from its victim, was now exposed, and into it Ted drove the knife to the hilt.
It was all over after that. The cat ceased to struggle, became limp and dropped to the ground. The battle had been won, but at no small cost. Both boys were bleeding from several deep scratches and their coats were badly torn. As all this became painfully evident, Hubert found himself unable to keep a firm grip on his lachrymal ducts.
"I don't want to cry, Ted," he said, as he sat down heavily, drawing shuddering breaths and raining tears, "but I c-can't help it."