126 BIG GAME FIELDS 



save for the chirping of crickets or the croaking 

 of a wakeful frog, all was as still and appar- 

 ently as deserted as the grave. The great vam- 

 pire, that spirit of the waste, cast spectral shad- 

 ows here and there as he wove delicate mazes 

 against the moon's white face. A slender shaft 

 of moonlight fell dreamily over a huge mass of 

 rocks, and at the foot of the ridge where the 

 vegetation grew rankest a sleek, tawny jaguar 

 stretched himself in the mouth of his lair. He 

 rumbled a hoarse growl out over the night scene 

 that struck all other creatures dumb with fear. 

 Hunger pricked at his gaunt sides and urged 

 him out into the jungle below ; for not in five long 

 days had he tasted food, the result of an ill- 

 advised attack upon a great bull out on the edge 

 of the Pampas, ten miles to the west. But the 

 long gash in his flank had now nearly healed, and 

 despite his stiffness he slipped noiselessly, cau- 

 tiously down toward the pitchy canopy of the 

 jungle. 



The pools looked up into the night sky like 

 dark, tranquil eyes, wide open and motionless, 

 reflecting the crisp stars and the young moon. 

 At the margin of one of these little, lonely pools 

 the jaguar crouched and slaked his thirst; then, 

 still gazing intently into the inky water which 



