Chapter Twenty Seven.
Between Torrent and Tiger.
Having dragged the dead beast out of their ponchos, they are about to re-adjust these as before, when it strikes them there is no longer any need for closing the cave’s mouth. The first blast of the tormenta having blown over, the dust borne upon it is now in less volume; while the wind, rushing direct down the ravine, carries everything along with it—only an occasional whiff seeking entrance into the cave.
“For the matter of our being blinded,” remarks the gaucho in perceiving this, “we needn’t trouble about shutting the door again. Though if I’m not greatly out in my reckoning, there’s something else may need keeping out—a thing more dangerous than dust.”
“What thing?” he is asked.
“Another tigre. I never knew one of these spotted beauties to be about alone. They always hunt in couples; and where there’s a female, the male is sure to be with her. As you see, it’s the lady we’ve closed accounts with, and for certain the gentleman isn’t far-off. Out in that storm, he’ll be in the same way making for this snug shelter. So we may look for his worship to present himself at any moment.”
Ludwig and Cypriano turn their eyes towards the entrance, as though they expected even then to behold the dreaded intruder.
“To keep him out,” pursues Gaspar in a more serious vein, “’twill be no use putting up the ponchos. We can’t trust to the old Tom entangling himself, as did his esposa. That was all an accident. And yet we’re not safe if we leave the entrance open. As we’ve got to stay here all night, and sleep here, we daren’t close an eye so long as he’s ranging about. Instead, we’d have to lie awake, and on the alert.”
“Why can’t we wall it up with those stones?” Cypriano thus interrogates, pointing to some scattered boulders lying about the cave—large blocks that have broken off from its roof, and fallen upon the floor.