Spang!
Ken heard the bullet hit the boat.
"George--wait!" shouted Ken. "Don't shoot holes in the boat. You'll sink it."
Spang! Spang! Spang! Spang!
That was as much as George cared about such a possibility. He stood on the bank and worked the lever of his .32 with wild haste. Ken plainly heard the spat of the bullets, and the sound was that of lead in contact with wood. So he knew George was not hitting the jaguar.
"You'll ruin the boat!" roared Ken.
Pepe had worked up from the lower end of the branch, and as soon as he straddled it and hunched himself nearer shore the foliage rose out of the water, exposing the boat. George kept on shooting till his magazine was empty. Ken's position was too low for him to see the jaguar.
Then the boat swung loose from the branch and, drifting down, gradually approached the shore.
"Pull yourself together, George," called Ken. "Keep cool. Make sure of your aim. We've got him now."
"He's mine! He's mine! He's mine! Don't you dare shoot!" howled George. "I got him!"