Where Duty Called Part 8

Trembling lest his shot had only served to add to the volcano of ferocity burning in the brute's form, Ronie would have failed to retreat quickly enough to escape its claws had not Jack's ringing voice warned him of his danger. The next moment his companion was beside him.

"You fixed the creature," declared Jack, "but it dies hard. Give it plenty of room, lad, we can afford to."

Then, in silence they watched the dying struggles of the brute, as it beat earth and s.p.a.ce with its lacerated body, now groveling in the dust, now bounding upward in blind endeavor to reach an enemy it could not see, each moment growing weaker, until it lay at last quite still, scarcely less terrible to look upon in death than it had been in life.

"Your shot saved us," said Jack, frankly. "It was well done, lad, exceedingly well done, and it alone has saved us from the claws of the jaguar."

CHAPTER IX.

THE MYSTERY OF THE PHOTOGRAPH.

"It seemed as if I could not miss, Jack; but I do not care to go through that ordeal again."

"Nor I, Ronie. But now that we are safe, let's look after the chap over our heads. It must be he needs our aid bad enough. I never saw one in just such a predicament."

The hapless man had ceased his outcries, and was trying to find out what had taken place underneath him, and as to what bearing it would have upon his fate. Seeing no other way to reach him, Ronie immediately climbed the tree holding him. His weight, added to that of the other's, caused the sapling to bend so that Jack was soon able to reach the poor fellow by standing under him.

"A little lower, lad, and I shall be able to get him. His feet are caught in the tree's bootjack, but I--there! I have got him free and clear. Look out that the tree doesn't hang you up."

Jack quickly laid the man upon the ground, and began to straighten out his limp limbs.

"Has he fainted?" asked Ronie, quickly joining him by springing from the tree to the earth, leaving the sapling to leap back into its normal position with a force that cut the air like a lash.

"He is overcome by his experience. But he'll soon come out all right, as I do not see that he has been injured more than a few scratches.

Looks like a tolerable sort of a fellow for a South American. Got a little of the native blood in him mixed up with the Spanish. He belongs to the common cla.s.s."

The man was a person of middle age, of slight figure, but wiry build.

He presented a somewhat warlike nature by the armament he carried about his body. This consisted of a pair of heavy pistols, a huge knife, and inside his stout jacket a pair Of smaller pistols were to be seen. He also had fastened about his waist by a belt a good stock of cartridges, evidently for the firearm Ronie had picked up. Certainly it had not been for a lack of means of defense that he had fared so roughly in his meeting with the jaguar.

It seemed like a long time to our friends before he opened his eyes and revived enough to seek a sitting posture. Then he rubbed his head, stared stupidly about, and tried to regain his feet, giving expression to his surprise in Spanish. Both Jack and Ronie were able to converse in that language, and Jack at once a.s.sured him of his safety at that moment.

He was profuse in his thanks, though somewhat reticent in regard to himself. He had climbed a tree near the sapling, but somehow had lost his footing and fallen into the topmost branches of the latter.

Lodging between the branches of this his weight had brought it and him into the positions in which they had been found. The jaguar had come along, and discovering him began at once its attempted attack. That was what Jack and Ronie made out of his disjointed account.

"I do not know what to make of him," said Jack, aside in English. "He is either afraid of us, or he is a rogue. Probably both. I will see if I can find out where we are."

Then, addressing the Venezuelan, he said:

"How far is it to the nearest town?"

"You mean San Carlos, senor?"

"_Si, senor_," replied Jack, at a hazard.

"Have you friends at San Carlos?" asked the other, without answering the question propounded him.

"I hope so, senor."

This reply seemed to stagger him for a moment, but he managed to recover in a moment, when he said:

"How long have you been in this country, Senor Americanos?"

"Since sunrise," was the reply, which gave the other a second surprise.

"I do not understand, senor."

Thinking nothing could be gained by withholding all of the truth from him, Jack soon explained how they had been lost overboard from a vessel in the gulf, picked up by another, and then left ash.o.r.e among strangers in a strange land. He did not consider it necessary or advisable to enter into descriptions of the ships they had recently left. If his account aroused at first some suspicion in the mind of the Venezuelan, Jack's honesty of tone quickly dispelled this, and the other said:

"You have been unfortunate, senors. There are many ships upon the sea at this time who do not care to pick up strangers. No doubt the craft was one of Castro's spies. They are looking far and wide for the _Libertador_, but they cannot find her," he concluded, showing evident pleasure at the thought. Then he asked, as if a new thought had come suddenly to him:

"What do they say of us in the Great Republic?"

"The sympathy of the United States is ever with the down-trodden,"

replied Jack, cautiously. "But we are not able to say just how our nation looks upon the revolution here, except that it will see fair play, for you must remember it has been nearly a year since we left home."

The other showed his disappointment at this, but soon asked:

"Have you friends in this country?"

"If we were at Caracas we might find them."

At this the man shook his head.

"It would be worth more than your lives to get to Caracas at this time.

The 'Sons of Liberty' are looking sharp after the dogs of Castro."

"This man is one of the insurgents," was the thought which came simultaneously to Jack and Ronie. Then the latter asked:

"You said we were near to San Carlos. Is this town held by Castro or by the followers of Matos?"

"You prove yourself a stranger, senor, by your words. San Carlos holds the blackest spot on fair Venezuela, the dungeon that keeps in captive chains the n.o.ble El Mocho."

"You mean General Hernandez, senor? I have heard of him. But I thought he was once friendly to Castro."

"So he was, senor, until the tyrant abused the common people, then El Mocho led his gallant followers against Castro, was betrayed by a cowardly dog, and now he lies at San Carlos a captive."

"Do you live near here?"

"_Si, senor._" Then he added, with a curve of his lips, which gave an ugly-looking smile: "When I am at home. I was going hither when I met with this little adventure, which would have ended the warfare of Manuel Marlin for the freedom of poor Venezuela. If you will come with me the hospitality of my humble home is at your disposal."

"I do not think we can do any better than to go with him," said Jack, aside to Ronie, "providing we keep our eyes and ears open."

Ronie was about to signify his a.s.sent, when an object nearly buried in the crumpled foliage and torn up earth where the jaguar had made its stand, caught his attention. It was about the size of an ordinary postal card, and at first glance looked like a piece of cardboard. But Ronie had discovered on the other side a portrait, which prompted him to pick up the photograph, as it proved to be.

It was crumpled and soiled, but hastily brushing as much of the dirt from it as he could, he gazed earnestly at the sweet, womanly face pictured before him. As he gazed the color left his countenance, his hand shook so it threatened to drop the card, while he exclaimed in a husky voice: