Meantime the Unknown had not come back again. Often Spilett and Herbert had searched the forest in the neighborhood of Granite House without finding any trace of him, and all began to be seriously alarmed at his prolonged absence. Undoubtedly the former savage of Tabor Island would not find it difficult to live in the forests of the Far West, which were so rich in game; but was it not to be feared that he would resume his former habits, and that his independence would revive in him his brutish instincts? Smith alone, by a sort of presentiment, persisted in saying that the fugitive would return. “Yes, he will come back,” he repeated with a confidence in which his companions could not share. “When this poor creature was on Tabor Island, he knew he was alone, but here, he knows that his kindred await him. Since he half-spoke of his past life, he will return to tell us everything, and on that day he will be ours.” The event proved the correctness of Cyrus Smith’s reasoning. On the 3d of December, Herbert had gone to the southern shore of the lake, to fish, and, since the dangerous animals never showed themselves in this part of the island, he had gone unarmed. Pencroff and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, while Smith and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys making soda, the supply of soap being low. Suddenly sharp cries of help were heard by Neb and Pencroff, who summoned the others, and all rushed towards the lake. But before them, the Unknown, whose presence in the neighborhood had not been suspected, leapt over Glycerine Creek and bounded along the opposite bank. There, Herbert stood facing a powerful jaguar, like the one which had been killed at Reptile End. Taken by surprise, he stood with his back against a tree, and the animal, crouching on his haunches, was about to spring upon him, when the Unknown, with no other arm than his knife, threw himself on the brute, which turned upon its new adversary. The struggle was short. This man, whose strength and agility was prodigious, seized the jaguar by the throat in a vice-like grip, and, not heeding the claws of the beast tearing his flesh, he thrust his knife into its heart. The jaguar fell, and the Unknown was about turning to go away, when the colonists came up, and Herbert, catching hold of him, exclaimed:— “No, no, you must not leave us!” Smith walked towards the man, who frowned at his approach. The blood was flowing from a wound in his shoulder, but he did not heed it. “My friend,” said Smith, “we are in your debt. You have risked your life to save our boy.” “My life,” murmured the Unknown; “what is it worth? less than nothing.” “You are wounded?” “That does not matter.” “Will you not shake hands with me?” asked Herbert. But on the lad’s seeking to take his hand, the Unknown folded his arms, his chest heaved, and he looked about as if he wished to escape; but, making a violent effort at self-control, and in a gruff voice:—