“Look, Cliff,” whispered Nicky, directing his comrade’s attention toward a limb not far above their campfire. “See those two bright spots? Are they a jaguar’s eyes, do you think?”
Cliff moved his head upward very gently. Tom, likewise, stared.
“Don’t anybody move,” Tom whispered. “From where I am it looks too flat to be a cat. But it’s something.”
The tropical jungle was beginning to show its eyes: would it go further and show its teeth and claws? After three hours of darkness, with only the blazing fire for protection, the three chums were beginning to be a trifle nervous, and the eyes above them, discovered by Nicky, did not add to their ease.
“Listen!” Tom breathed, barely audibly. “Don’t shoot hastily, Cliff. Ease your rifle up till you can get a sight.”
“Try to make the first shot count!” begged Nicky softly.
“I will!” Cliff said; but his hands were trembling so much that he fumbled with the rifle and it clattered to the ground.
“I can’t—I—my muscles shake so!” Cliff said. “I’m not a coward, but the first shot is so important——”
“Tom,” Nicky breathed, “you’re closest. Can you reach the gun and steady yourself?”
Tom, rather shakily, answered. “Cliff can. Just wait, Cliff. He won’t jump straight down into the fire. He’ll wait till one of us goes off as far as the wood pile. There’s time to get steady. Wait a minute, Cliff, till you get set.”