Surprise followed. The death dealing compact of the flying cat did not come. For an instant Pant’s senses reeled. Then, like a flash, it came to him. The tiger had launched himself against the burro. Feeling the machete in his grasp, without reasoning as to the outcome, Pant sprang to battle.
It was well that he did. A strange thing had occurred. As the tiger sprang, the burro had reared upon his hind feet. In this way he had struck the great cat squarely in the head with his sharp hoofs. The blow had been a stunning one and as Pant entered the battle he found the jaguar just returning to consciousness. This task he never quite completed, for Pant’s machete, coming down with savage force, all but severed his head from his body.
“That settles you,” he muttered. “I’ve kept my promise.”
Then, overcome by nervous exhaustion, he settled down upon the damp earth.
As strength slowly returned he thought of his companion, the burro.
Creeping over to where he lay, he put a hand upon him. Then he lifted the animal’s head, to allow it to drop limply back.
“Neck broken,” he sighed. “Poor old fellow! You could save my life, but in that fleeting second you could not save your own.”
Rising, he gathered green leaves and covered the faithful creature’s body. Then, seizing the jaguar by its hind legs, he prepared to drag it to camp.
“Show ’em!” he muttered. “Guess this will satisfy ’em!”
Since the spot on the bank at which he had set his strange river trap was not far away, he dragged his burden in that direction.