HUNTING THE JAGUAR 71 



the deserted vista from the very end of the nude 

 Mora log. 



He came on slowly for a step or two, then 

 stopped short in the middle of a pace, seemingly 

 to listen, as if something had arrested his atten- 

 tion. Not a breath stirred, the silence was com- 

 plete; even the merciless mosquitoes seemed to 

 pause in their murmurings. While his majesty 

 was thus occupied he deliberately stared up into 

 my tree with two unspeakably sinister, evil eyes 

 no, not eyes two bits of cold steel that pene- 

 trated through to one's very backbone. Slowly 

 he sank down to a crouch ; suddenly his ears were 

 gone, flattened; then, wrinkling his fastidious 

 nostrils, that grinning mask displayed a splendid 

 set of glistening, cruel fangs that spelled hate 

 and death. Whether it was just I that caused 

 him to display such a hateful loathing, or the idea 

 that I had come to rob him of his rightful prey, 

 was a question to dwell on later. He seemed 

 about to dispel the idea that his race retired be- 

 fore man; and yet I felt certain, in spite of all 

 his apparent willingness to do battle, he would 

 not come on another inch. And just herein lies 

 the rub. 



I had been persuaded, against my better judg- 

 ment, that a shotgun loaded with buckshot was 



