“We were up there a piece, round the bend. I saw a black squirrel and went ashore to get him. But I couldn’t find him, and in kicking round in the brush I came into a kind of trail or runway. Then I ran plumb into that darned jaguar. I was so scared I couldn’t remember my gun. But the cat turned and ran. It was lucky he didn’t make at me. When I saw him run I got back my courage. I called for Pepe to row down-stream and keep a lookout. Then I got into the flat. I must have come down a good ways before I saw him. I shot, and he dodged back into the brush again. I fired into the moving bushes where he was. And pretty soon I ventured to get in on the bank, where I had a better chance. I guess it was about that time that I heard you yell. Then it all happened. You hit him! Didn’t you hear him scream? What a jump he made! If it hadn’t been so terrible when your hammerless kicked Pepe overboard, I would have died laughing. Then I was paralyzed when the jaguar swam for the boat. He was hurt, for the water was bloody. Things came off quick, I tell you. Like a monkey Pepe scrambled into the tree. When I got my gun loaded the jaguar was crouched down in the bottom of the boat watching Pepe. Then I began to shoot. I can’t realize he got away from us. What was the reason you didn’t knock him?” “Well, you see, George, there were two good reasons,” Ken replied. “The first was that at that time I was busy dodging bullets from your rifle. And the second was that you threatened my life if I killed your jaguar.” “Did I get as nutty as that? But it was pretty warm there for a little.... Say, was he a big one? My eyes were so hazy I didn’t see him clear.” “He wasn’t big, not half as big as the one I lost yesterday. Yours was a long, wiry beast, like a panther, and mean-looking.” Pepe sat on the bank, and while he nursed his bruises he smoked. Once he made a speech that was untranslatable, but Hal gave it an interpretation which was probably near correct. “That’s right, Pepe. Pretty punk tiger-hunters--mucho punk!” *XVIII* *WATCHING A RUNWAY* “I’ll tell you what, fellows,” said Hal. “I know where we _can_ get a tiger.” “We’ll get one in the neck if we don’t watch out,” replied George. Ken thought that Hal looked very frank and earnest, and honest and eager, but there was never any telling about him. “Where?” he asked, skeptically. “Down along the river. You know I’ve been setting traps all along. There’s a flat sand-bar for a good piece down. I came to a little gully full of big tracks, big as my two hands. And fresh!” “Honest Injun, kid?” queried Ken. “Hope to die if I’m lyin’,” replied Hal. “I want to see somebody kill a tiger. Now let’s go down there in the boat and wait for one to come to drink. There’s a big log with driftwood lodged on it. We can hide behind that.”