With that a huge jaguar loped into the open. He did not look around. He took a long, easy bound down to the water and began to lap.
Either Pepe or George jerked so violently as to make the boat lurch. They seemed to be stifling.
"Oh, Ken, don't miss!" whispered Hal.
Ken had the automatic over the log and in line. His teeth were shut tight, and he was cold and steady. He meant not to hurry.
The jaguar was a heavy, squat, muscular figure, not graceful and beautiful like the one Ken had crippled. Suddenly he raised his head and looked about. He had caught a scent.
It was then that Ken lowered the rifle till the sight covered the beast--lower yet to his huge paws, then still lower to the edge of the water. Ken meant to shoot low enough this time. Holding the rifle there, and holding it with all his strength, he pressed the trigger once--twice. The two shots rang out almost simultaneously. Ken expected to see this jaguar leap, but the beast crumpled up and sank in his tracks.
Then the boys yelled, and Ken echoed them. Pepe was wildly excited, and began to fumble with the oars.
"Wait! Wait, I tell you!" ordered Ken.
"Oh, Ken, you pegged him!" cried Hal. "He doesn't move. Let's go ashore. What did I tell you? It took me to find the tiger."
Ken watched with sharp eyes and held his rifle ready, but the huddled form on the sand never so much as twitched.