At a glance, both boys see what they are. They have not been brought up in a country where bull-fighting, as in all Spanish America, is the principal pastime, without having become acquainted with most matters relating to it. And what Gaspar has brought before their eyes are some torterillas, or spitting-devils, used, along with the banderillas for rousing the fury of the bull while being goaded by the picadores round the arena, before the matador makes his final assault. Gaspar, who in early life has played picador himself in the bull-fights of San Rosario, knows how to manufacture all the implements pertaining to the funcion de toros, and has usually kept a stock of torterillas on hand, chiefly for the amusement of the Tovas youths, who were accustomed to visit the estancia.
Often, while dwelling at Assuncion, had he witnessed the wonder and delight with which the savages who came there regarded all sorts of fireworks; and it had occurred to him that, in the event of their encountering strange Indians, some “spitting-devils” might prove of service. So, at starting out on their present expedition, just as with the bit of wax candle, he had tossed a packet of them into his saddle-bags.
He does not give this explanation till afterwards. Now there is no time for talking; he must act, and instantly. But how he intends acting, or what he means to do with the torterillas, neither of his youthful comrades can tell or guess.
They are not kept long in ignorance. Snatching the candle from Cypriano, who has been carrying it—with this in one hand and a torterilla in the other—he moves off in the direction of the ledge, where luckily the jaguar still lies astretch. Possibly the reports of the guns have cowed it to keeping its place. Whether or no, it has kept it without
change of attitude or position; though at intervals giving utterance to long low growls, with an occasional bark between.
Advancing cautiously, and in silence, the gaucho gets within six paces of it. This he deems near enough for his purpose; which, by this time, the others comprehend. It is to cast the torterilla at the tiger, and, if possible, get the barbed point to penetrate the creature’s skin, and there stick.
He makes the attempt, and succeeds. First having put the primed end into the candle’s flame, and set the fuse on fire, he launches the “Devil” with such sure aim, that it is seen to fix itself in the jaguar’s back, just over the right shoulder.
The brute, feeling the sting, starts to its feet with an angry scream; this instantly changing to a cry of affright, as the caked powder catches fire, and fizzing up, envelopes it in a shower of sparks. Not a second longer stays it on the ledge, but bounding off makes for the cave’s mouth, as if Satan himself had taken hold of its tail. So sudden and unexpected is its retreat, that Ludwig and Cypriano, to get out of the way, go tumbling over the stones; while Gaspar comes nigh doing the same; in the scramble dropping the candle, and of course extinguishing it. But the light goes out only with the jaguar itself; the brute bounding on with the sparks like the tail of a comet streaming behind, illumining the whole cavern, and causing the stalactites to glitter and sparkle, as if its roof were frosted with real diamonds!
In an instant after, all is darkness; simultaneously with the light going out, a sound reaching their ears, as of some solid body, falling heavily upon water—which they know to be the tiger plunging into the stream. That puts out the “spitting-devil,” and no doubt along with it, or soon after, the life of the animal it had so affrighted; for even the king of American beasts could not escape being drowned in that foaming, seething flood.