He strained his ears for a sound, but heard none. He strove to make out a bulk in the dark, but saw nothing. Could it be a tiger or mountain lion, jaguar or spotted leopard? Or was it the black leopard from Asia? A fresh chill ran down Johnny’s spine at thought of this creature. Other great cats had paced their cages, growled, snarled; the black leopard, smaller than any, but muscular, sharp clawed, keen fanged, with glowering eyes, had lurked in the corner of his cage and gloomed at those who passed. It was this animal that Johnny feared the most.
If he but had a light! At once he thought of his small electric torch. Grasping it in his left hand, he leveled it at the spot where the burning eye had been, and gripping the clasp knife in his right, threw on the button.
As the shaft of light flashed across the canvas, he stared for a second, then his hand trembled with surprise and excitement.
“Panther Eye, as I live!” he exclaimed. “You old rascal! What are you doing here?”
The former companion, for it was not a great cat, but a man, and none other than Panther Eye, fellow free-lance in many a previous adventure, stared at him through large smoked glasses, a smile playing over his lips.
“Johnny Thompson, I’ll be bound! Some luck to you. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for something.”
“Same here, Johnny.”
“And I’ll stay with this circus until I find it,” said Johnny.
“Same here, Johnny. Shake on it.”