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Through Forest and Stream: The Quest of the Quetzal, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 8. A Lucky Escape |
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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. A LUCKY ESCAPE For a few minutes, or a few moments, I cannot tell which, I lay there half stunned. Then I began to think that I should be torn to pieces and devoured, and my next vivid thought took the form of a question--Will it hurt much? This set me wondering whether I was already badly injured, and as I had read that people who are seriously hurt do not feel pain at the time, I took it for granted that I was in a very sad state. But all the same I did not feel torn by the creature's claws, nor yet as if its teeth had been driven into the back of my neck, though I supposed that they had been. What I did feel was that the puma was heavy, soft, and very hot. "Then I can't be hurt," I reasoned with myself at last, "or I should feel the pain now," and with this I began to think it was time to do something; but I hesitated about beginning, for I could make no use of my discharged gun. There was my knife, though, if I could get it out from its sheath in my belt, and feeling that, if it were to come to a struggle, my empty hands would be no match for the puma's teeth and claws, I began to steal my fingers towards my belt. I stopped directly, though, for at the first movement there was a deep shuddering growl at the nape of my neck, and it seemed to run down my spine and out at the tips of my fingers and toes. It was just as if the puma were saying-- "You just lie still, or I'll bite." That must have been the meaning, for I lay quite still with the great heat drops tickling my face and running in the roots of my hair, while the puma crouched upon my back so that I could feel its shape exactly. "What can I do?" I said to myself, and then I remembered the old story about the traveller and the bear--how he shammed death, and the bear left him. That was what I felt that I must do, and I lay perfectly still in the hope that the puma would leave me, though it seemed quite to approve of its couch, and lay close, breathing steadily, so that I felt the rise and fall of its breast against my back. Just when I was beginning to feel faint with the heat and excitement, a thrill ran through me, for from somewhere close at hand, but invisible to me in the position I occupied, I heard Pete's voice-- "Oh, Master Nat, Master Nat! Are you killed?" "No," I cried; but I said no more, for there was a savage growl, a snap, and I felt myself seized at the back of the neck and shaken, but the puma had only seized the collar of my loose jacket, so that I was unhurt still. "What shall I do, Master Nat?" cried Pete. The puma loosed its hold of the collar of my jacket, and I felt it raise its head as if looking in the direction of Pete, and it growled fiercely again. "Shoot, Pete, shoot!" I cried, feeling that at all risks I must speak. The puma's teeth gripped my collar again, and I could fell its claws glide out of their sheaths like a cat's and press upon my shoulders, giving me a warning of what the beast could do. But its attention was taken off directly by Pete's voice, and it raised its head again and growled at him as if daring him to approach and rob it of its prey. For Pete cried in a despairing tone-- "I dursn't shoot, Master Nat, I dursn't shoot. I aren't clever with a gun, and I should hit you." I knew this was quite true, and that under the circumstances I dared not have fired, so I lay perfectly still, trying to think out what to do, for the animal seemed determined not to leave me, and I began to grow giddy as well as faint. Then I started, for there was a rustling of the grass and a sharp crack, as if Pete had trodden upon a dead twig. The puma growled again furiously, and then as I started, seized my collar tight in its teeth and shook me, for the sharp report of the gun Pete carried rang out, followed by that of a second barrel, when I heard the loud whirr of wings, and felt sure that three or four more specimens of the lovely orange-tinted birds I sought had been scared into flight. But the firing in the air had not scared the puma, which lowered its head again and seized my collar, clinging tightly, and working its claws in and out of their sheaths. "It's no good, Master Nat," cried Pete; "it don't frighten him a bit. Shall I run back and tell the doctor?" "No," I said softly, so as not to irritate the puma; "you could not get back till after dark, and I should be dead before then." "What shall I do then, Master Nat? What shall I do? I want to save you, but I'm such a coward. I don't care, though; he shall have my knife into him if I die for it! Ah, I know!" he cried exultingly, "Whoo--hoo--oo--oo--oo!" To my astonishment and delight, just as I was nearly fainting, the puma gave a furious growl and a tremendous bound, leaving me free, and as I struggled to my feet, panting and exhausted, I caught sight of Pete twenty yards away in the act of picking up his straw hat, with which he returned to me, grinning with delight. "That done it," he cried. "He couldn't understand it a bit, I sent my old hat skimming at him, and I say, he did cut away. I say, you aren't much hurt, are you, sir?" "N-no," I said hesitatingly, "I think not. Look at my neck and shoulder. See if they bleed." "Yes," cried Pete excitedly, "he's got hold of you at the back o' the neck and ragged you. Where's your hankychy?" I turned deathly sick with horror as I drew out my handkerchief and gave it to him; and then I felt ashamed of myself, for Pete burst out laughing. "He aren't touched your neck, Master Nat," he cried, "on'y got hold of the collar of your jacket and chawed it a bit. I say, who'd ha' thought an old straw hat was better than a gun!" "Can we get some water?" I said hoarsely. "Yes, there's some trickles down into a bit of a pool yonder, where I found my hat. Come on." A few minutes later I was bathing my hands and face, after we had lain down and drunk heartily of the sweet, cool, clear water, to rise up refreshed, and as the puma had disappeared, feeling as if the danger through which we had passed was very far away. "How d'yer feel now, Master Nat?" asked Pete. "Oh, better; much better," I said quickly. "Good job he didn't begin eating of you, ain't it, sir?" "Yes, Pete, a very good job," I said heartily. "Then let's go on and shoot some more of them yaller birds." I shook my head as I held out one hand, which was trembling. "I don't think I could hit a bird now, Pete, after that upset." "Oh, yes, you could, sir," he cried. "Let's go on; and I say, if you see my gentleman again, you pepper him, and he won't come near us any more." "I don't know, Pete," I said thoughtfully; "the pain might make it more vicious. Let's get back to the boat. I feel as if I've done quite enough for one day." I finished reloading my gun as I spoke, so as to be ready for emergencies, and turned to retrace our steps to the rocky descent to the stream, when Pete touched my arm. "Coming back here to drink," he whispered. I forgot all about the shock and nervousness the next moment, as I saw the flutter of approaching wings, and directly after my gun rang out with two reports, while as the smoke floated away, Pete triumphantly ran to where a couple of the orange birds had fallen. "I say, Master Nat," he said, "you can shoot. Wish I could do that. You seem just to hold the gun up and it's done. I knew you could. They are beauties. Something better worth taking back than we had before." The birds' plumage was carefully smoothed, and without further adventure we reached the top of the vast rocky wall and descended to the stream, where we had another refreshing draught close to the mouth of the natural arch through which the water flowed, and then tramped back to the boat, reaching it at sundown, where my uncle was, as I had said, in ecstasies with the beautiful birds we had brought. I was as pleased, but just then I thought more of the pleasant roast-bird supper and the coffee that awaited us, and paid more attention to these than anything else. Over the supper, though, I related our experience with the pumas, and my uncle looked serious. "You got off well, Nat," he said. "They are not dangerous beasts, though, unless attacked and hurt. I'd give them as wide a berth in future as I could. I'm thankful that you had such an escape." _ |
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