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!” “All right. But steady up, can’t you? Hit him once, anyway.” Apparently without aim George fired. Then, jerking the lever, he fired again. The boat drifted into overhanging vines. Once more Ken saw a yellow and black object, then a trembling trail of leaves. “He’s coming out below you. Look out,” yelled Ken. George disappeared. Ken saw no sign of the jaguar and heard no shot or shout from George. Pepe dropped from his branch to the bank and caught the boat. Ken called, and while Pepe rowed over to the island, he got into some clothes fit to hunt in. Then they hurried back across the channel to the bank. Ken found the trail of the jaguar, followed it up to the edge of the brush, and lost it in the weedy flat. George came out of a patch of bamboos. He looked white and shaky and wild with disappointment. “Oh, I had a dandy shot as he came out, but the blamed gun jammed again. Come on, we’ll get him. He’s all shot up. I bet I hit him ten times. He won’t get away.” Ken finally got George back to camp. The boat was half full of water, making it necessary to pull it out on the bank and turn it over. There were ten bullet-holes in it. “George, you hit the boat, anyway,” Ken said; “now we’ve a job on our hands.” Hal came puffing into camp. He was red of face, and the sweat stood out on his forehead. He had a small animal of some kind in a sack, and his legs were wet to his knees. “What was--all the--pegging about?” he asked, breathlessly. “I expected to find camp surrounded by Indians.” “Kid, it’s been pretty hot round here for a little. George and Pepe rounded up a tiger. Tell us about it, George,” said Ken. So while Ken began to whittle pegs to pound into the bullet-holes, George wiped his flushed, sweaty face and talked.