He saw that no help of any kind whatever was at hand. He knew that the camp of the men who had come with him must be near. He raised his voice to a desperate pitch.
He let out a series of the most piercing yells. But his heart sank, as from the neighboring jungle there instantly arose a mocking imitation from the throats of several parrots.
They drowned out his cries for help. Jack shuddered as the shifting sands wound about his waist. He drew up his tingling fingers with a shock as the mass swept them in ominous, warning contact.
“It is the last of me,” thought Jack, as tears of despair came to his eyes. “Jenny and the folks will never know my fate!”
Jack looked up at the dark sky, sick at heart, but trying to resign himself to the terrible fate that hung over him.
His glance shifted to the tree. He instinctively dodged his head to one side as he did so. Something spirited was happening there.
The ocelot had got a clutch on the main tree trunk, now. As it let go of the dangling limb, however, this parted under the strain.
Its small end struck the ground, and it swung out, coming for Jack and threatened to crush him.
The limb fell with a crash, the big end just reaching the west side of the ravine. Its centre grazed our hero’s shoulder.
“I am saved!” cried Jack.