er from the storm, and no doubt as
much surprised as puzzled at the strange obstruction debarring entrance
to the cave--in all likelihood its lair.

They have stationed themselves in a line facing the screen, and with
guns cocked stand ready to fire at the beast, should it persist in its
intention to enter. But now, with the light shining upon the ponchos,
they see what appears to be its body pressing against these from the
outside, though quickly withdrawn, as if the creature recoiled from a
thing that awes while perplexing it.

"Hadn't we better fire at it through the ponchos? Some one of us may
hit it."

Cypriano makes the suggestion.

"No," dissents Gaspar, "we might all miss that way; and if we did,
'twould drive the _tigre_ mad, and then--"

He is interrupted by another cry from the jaguar; this a fierce scream,
showing the animal already maddened enough, or, at all events, madly
impatient, and determined no longer to endure exclusion from the cave.
For while still continuing that cry, it bounds up against the screen,
plucking the knives from their places, tossing off the stones, and
laying the entrance open. A gust of wind entering blows out the candle,
and all is again darkness. But not silence; for there are noises close
to where they stand, which they know must proceed from the jaguar,
though different from its former utterances, and to them quite
incomprehensible--a succession of growls, snorts, and coughs, as if the
beast were being suffocated; while at the same time a heavy body seems
to be tumbling and struggling over the floor of the cavern!

"By Saint Jago!" cries Gaspar, first to comprehend what it means, "the
brute's caught in our ponchos! He's bagged--smothered up! Fire into
him! Aim where you hear the noise. _Tira_!"

At the word, their three guns go off together; and then, to make sure,
another shot additional from the double barrelled piece of Cypriano;
Ludwig's gun being the rifle that belonged to his father, found where
the latter had fallen.

And sure work have their shots made of it. For as they stand in the
darkness listening, they hear neither growl, nor snort, nor coughing;
but, instead, only the wailing of wind and the rumbling of thunder.

"Dead as a door-nail!" pronounces Gaspar, feeling his way to where he
had stuck the bit of bees'-wax, and once more setting it alight. Then
returning towards the entrance, he sees that he has in everything
rightly conjectured. For t