Out from the brush, with a light bound, there came a dark shape, lithe and crouched as it landed, then swiftly assuming a posture that made it look like a great, blackish cat, squatting on its haunches, its long tail lashing to and fro, switching the grass at either side.
Although few have seen the “black panther,” or “black jaguar” of the Central Americas, and some deny its existence, the chums, backed by the authority of many books they had read, recognized the true nature of the animal. It was a black panther, or a dark specimen of the jaguar species. Which it was did not matter. That it was there, on the path before them, did matter.
The animal remained quiet, except for its swishing tail. The Indian, eyes fixed on the beast, slowly, gradually crept backward to be closer to them. Evidently he knew nothing of the use of the rifle that Cliff held ready. He paid no heed to it, but carefully selected an arrow, and very deliberately fitted it to his huge bowstring. Slowly he sighted, drew the string taut, and loosed the missile.
With a snarling cry the huge cat leaped into the air, coming down on all-fours. Swiftly, almost anxiously, the Indian drew out another arrow—his first had only pierced the outer coat of the beast.
Before he could draw his string, the jaguar—or panther—leaped!
CHAPTER XXI
WHERE NO WHITE MEN GO
While the panther was still in midspring, the Indian flung his body sidewise to escape the leap. He struck against the rifle barrel, and the impact knocked the weapon out of Cliff’s hands.
Tom, quick as a cat himself, caught the rifle before it touched the ground: the panther’s leap had fallen short by several feet and with its eyes smouldering with hate, its red tongue playing about its snarling lips, teeth bared, it gathered swiftly for a second leap.
Nicky jumped to one side as the Indian threw himself away: but Tom, swiftly bringing the rifle to his shoulder, said to himself:
“Now be steady. This shot must save our lives.” And he said a quick, earnest little prayer in his mind.