HUNTING THE JAGUAR 75 



my strength sufficiently to move on again. Walk- 

 ing over to the gnarly roots of a giant tree, I sat 

 down to "take stock" of my chances. "A man 

 should never give up until he is quite dead," I 

 would say slowly, which seemed to have a slightly 

 stimulating effect. Taking a deep breath, I sent 

 a long, loud call chasing through the jungle, and 

 when it ceased it struck me that it had something 

 of the tone in it that reminded me of a lone wolf 

 bewailing the loss of his mate. I then listened 

 intently, straining my ears to catch the slightest 

 sound. Suddenly a heavy, hissing breath close 

 behind me made me whip around with a sensation 

 of the hair rising on my scalp. Not more than 

 a few paces away was coiled a huge boa constric- 

 tor in the low branch of a tree, with his head 

 protruding too unpleasantly near, and eyeing me 

 wdth a pair of cold, unwinking, malignant eyes. 

 A forked, colorless, flickering tongue added to 

 his heinous appearance. Fickle fate seemed piti- 

 lessly and endlessly whimsical. What would hap- 

 pen next? 



The deadly contents of the shotgun flew out 

 and quite demolished his whole head. And then 

 slowly his great coils unwound, and gracefully 

 even in death, they slid to the ground until the tail 

 finally came down with a flip. I couldn't help 



