He rose
cautiously upon his arm, saw a dark muzzle at the crevice, and
behind it a pair of yellow, gleaming eyes. He knew at once that
it was a panther, probably living in the swamp and drawn by the
food. It must be very hungry to dare thus the smell of man.
Henry's hand moved slowly to the end of a stick, the other end of
which was a glowing coal. Then he seized it and hurled it
directly at the inquisitive head.
The hot end of the stick struck squarely between the yellow eyes.
There was a yelp of pain, and the boy heard the rapid pad of the
big cat's feet as it fled into the swamp. Then he turned over on
his side, and laughed in genuine pleasure at what was to him a
true forest joke. He knew the panther would not come, at least
not while he was in the hut, and he calmly closed his eyes once
more. The old Henry was himself again.
He awoke in the morning to find that the cold rain was still
falling. It seemed to him that it had prepared to rain forever,
but he was resolved, nevertheless, now that he had food and the
strength that food brings, to begin the search for his comrades.
The islet in the swamp would serve as his base-nothing could be
better-and he would never cease until he found them or discovered
what had become of them.
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