The cubs, excited and frightened by the uproar, joined in the chorus. They waddled around, getting in our hero’s way, and by their cries arousing the mother from her own distress.
She got upright, and seemed to spot Jack. Her advance, however, was clumsy and at fault, and the youth had time to get out of her way.
A second and a third rush she made at him. The last time one paw struck Jack’s coat sleeve and ripped it from place.
“This is getting serious,” murmured the lad. “Each time she comes swifter and surer. I must get out of here, now or never.”
Jack drove the cubs to their litter, and poked them with his foot. They set up a frantic uproar. This was just what he wanted. The mother flew towards her offspring.
The moment that she did so, Jack glided to the opposite wall of the cave.
He made a sharp run for the opening overhead, calculated poise and distance nicely, and landed with success.
He grabbed the rounding root. It held like iron, but his feet were dangling, and as he swayed there the big ocelot brushed by them on the hunt for the intruder.
Jack held firmly to the root and swung up his other hand. He caught at a higher tree root. Now he had a double hold.
He knew that the ocelot might come after him even up there, and lost no time in climbing from root to root. At last his head projected through the mesh of verdure into clear daylight. Jack lifted himself to solid ground and leaned against the tree trunk, out of breath and perspiring.