“Hadn’t we better fire at it through the ponchos? Some one of us may hit it.”
Cypriano makes the suggestion.
“No,” dissents Gaspar, “we might all miss that way; and if we did, ’twould drive the tigre mad, and then—”
He is interrupted by another cry from the jaguar; this a fierce scream, showing the animal already maddened enough, or, at all events, madly impatient, and determined no longer to endure exclusion from the cave. For while still continuing that cry, it bounds up against the screen, plucking the knives from their places, tossing off the stones, and laying the entrance open. A gust of wind entering blows out the candle, and all is again darkness. But not silence; for there are noises close to where they stand, which they know must proceed from the jaguar, though different from its former utterances, and to them quite incomprehensible—a succession of growls, snorts, and coughs, as if the beast were being suffocated; while at the same time a heavy body seems to be tumbling and struggling over the floor of the cavern!
“By Saint Jago!” cries Gaspar, first to comprehend what it means, “the brute’s caught in our ponchos! He’s bagged—smothered up! Fire into him! Aim where you hear the noise. Tira!”
At the word, their three guns go off together; and then, to make sure, another shot additional from the double barrelled piece of Cypriano; Ludwig’s gun being the rifle that belonged to his father, found where the latter had fallen.
And sure work have their shots made of it. For as they stand in the darkness listening, they hear neither growl, nor snort, nor coughing; but, instead, only the wailing of wind and the rumbling of thunder.
“Dead as a door-nail!” pronounces Gaspar, feeling his way to where he had stuck the bit of bees’-wax, and once more setting it alight. Then returning towards the entrance, he sees that he has in everything rightly conjectured. For there, enveloped in the ponchos, with its claws stuck fast into the close-woven fabric of wool, lies the great spotted cat—not at full stretch, but doubled up into a shapeless lump, as it had worked itself in its efforts to get free! Though all their shots had hit it, some of the bullets passing through its body, a quivering throughout its frame tells that life is not yet extinct. But it is extinguished instantly after, by Gaspar laying hold of one of the knives, and giving el tigre the coup de grâce by a cut across its throat; as he does so, saying—
“That’s for your impudence—intruding yourself on three hungry travellers about sitting down to supper!”