“Shortly after the dog took his departure, I once more fell asleep—again awaking to find myself in the presence of an enemy—one more terrible than I had yet encountered.
“It was a jaguar.
“A conflict came off between us; but how it ended, or after what time, I am unable to tell. I leave that to my brave rescuer, Zeb Stump; who, I hope, will soon return to give an account of it—with much besides that is yet mysterious to me, as to yourselves.
“All I can remember since then is a series of incongruous dreams—painful phantasmagoria—mingled with pleasant visions—ah! some that were celestial—until the day before yesterday, when I awoke to find myself the inmate of a prison—with a charge of murder hanging over my head!
“Gentlemen of the jury! I have done.”
“Si non vero e ben trovato,” is the reflection of judge, jury, and spectators, as the prisoner completes his recital.
They may not express it in such well-turned phrase; but they feel it—one and all of them.
And not a few believe in the truth, and reject the thought of contrivance. The tale is too simple—too circumstantial—to have been contrived, and by a man whose brain is but just recovered from the confusion of fevered fancies.
It is altogether improbable he should have concocted such a story. So think the majority of those to whom it has been told.