90 BIG GAME FIELDS 



thick cover, that savage, crafty and powerful 

 lord, the jaguar, was facing the pack. At this 

 ill-timed moment Jack leaped back, nearly 

 knocking me to the ground; his face went white. 

 "Shoot," he said, for he was carrying nothing but 

 the cutlass. I saw nothing to shoot at, but a 

 second glance revealed a coil of a dozen feet of 

 the most dreaded of all snakes the "bushmas- 

 ter." The treacherous-looking reptile appeared 

 so enraged at our intrusion that an attack seemed 

 almost certain. But in his moment of hesitancy 

 it was averted by giving him an undisputed right 

 of way and changing our course, for I did not 

 want to shoot at that moment, fearing that the 

 report might spoil my opportunity just ahead 

 for which I had come so far and which seemed al- 

 most within my grasp. 



The moments were precious now; the baleful 

 chorus of the hounds warned us the quarry was 

 within a stone's throw; yet we could see nothing. 

 Then my eye lit upon something that held me for 

 a long moment arrested, motionless. Close along 

 a bough, its ears flat against its neck, its tail 

 twitching, its lips drawn back from its yellow 

 fangs in a vicious snarl, lay the handsomest 

 jaguar I ever saw. From between their wide 

 lids his eyes blazed into mine, as I raised my gun 



