ing
utterance to long low growls, with an occasional bark between.

Advancing cautiously, and in silence, the gaucho gets within six paces
of it. This he deems near enough for his purpose; which, by this time,
the others comprehend. It is to cast the _torterilla_ at the tiger,
and, if possible, get the barbed point to penetrate the creature's skin,
and there stick.

He makes the attempt, and succeeds. First having put the primed end
into the candle's flame, and set the fuse on fire, he launches the
"Devil" with such sure aim, that it is seen to fix itself in the
jaguar's back, just over the right shoulder.

The brute, feeling the sting, starts to its feet with an angry scream;
this instantly changing to a cry of affright, as the caked powder
catches fire, and fizzing up, envelopes it in a shower of sparks. Not a
second longer stays it on the ledge, but bounding off makes for the
cave's mouth, as if Satan himself had taken hold of its tail. So sudden
and unexpected is its retreat, that Ludwig and Cypriano, to get out of
the way, go tumbling over the stones; while Gaspar comes nigh doing the
same; in the scramble dropping the candle, and of course extinguishing
it. But the light goes out only with the jaguar itself; the brute
bounding on with the sparks like the tail of a comet streaming behind,
illumining the whole cavern, and causing the stalactites to glitter and
sparkle, as if its roof were frosted with real diamonds!

In an instant after, all is darkness; simultaneously with the light
going out, a sound reaching their ears, as of some solid body, falling
heavily upon water--which they know to be the tiger plunging into the
stream. That puts out the "spitting-devil," and no doubt along with it,
or soon after, the life of the animal it had so affrighted; for even the
king of American beasts could not escape being drowned in that foaming,
seething flood.

Soon as satisfied that the enemy is _hors de combat_, and the coast
clear, Gaspar gropes about for the candle, and finding, once more lights
it. Then in his usual fashion, winding up with some quaint remark, he
says:--

"No more caterwauling to-night, I fancy, unless the kittens be about
too. If they be, it'll give us a bit of sport, drowning them. Now,
_senoritos_! I think we may sit down to supper, without fear of being
again baulked of our _mate_ and mutton."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A ROCK-BOUND SLEEPING ROOM.

As the darkness, due to the s