It was Tom Gordon's turn now to be frightened.
"What!" he exclaimed, almost leaping from his feet; "the tiger coming this
way! How do you know that?"
"I seed him! Ain't that enough? He started right up the road on a gallop,
with the blood dripping from his jaws!"
"But where is he now?"
"He went a little way, stopping now and then to swaller some one that
warn't quick 'nough to git out of his path; he went over the hill this
side of Briggsville, where you know we couldn't see him. By that time a
whole lot of the folks had guns, and started after him. Being on my way
home, I jined 'em. When we got to the top of the hill, old Tippo Sahib
couldn't be seen anywhere."
"Aren't you afeard to go home?"
"No, of course not," replied Jimmy, rapidly regaining courage; "I know how
to fix him if he comes after me."
"How's that?"
"All I've got to do is to stop short and look him right in the eye. A
chap mustn't tremble, but look hard and stern."
"Why didn't you do that, Jim, when he first broke out of his cage?"
"I hadn't time! I'll do it if I meet him agin. Remember, Tom, if you run
against him, you must fix your eyes on him and not wink. _That'll_ fetch
him every time."
"But s'posin' it doesn't?"
"If you should have to wink, and he comes for you, why all you've got to
do is to haul off with your foot and kick him awful hard under the jaw;
that'll fix him! But you mustn't be barefooted, or you'll hurt your toes.
And you must kick hard 'nough too," added the budding naturalist, "to
knock his jaw off. Then of course he can't bite."
The scheme was a brilliant one, perhaps; but young as was Tom Gordon, he
felt that the difficulty lay in its application.
"Gracious! Jim! the tiger is stirring up things, isn't he? We've got a gun
in the house, and if he visits us I think I'll try that."
"Do you know where to hit him?" asked Jim, who, having fully recovered his
wind, seemed at the same time to have regained a vast amount of curious
knowledge of natural history.
"I s'pose in the head is as good as any place."
"Don't you think of such a thing! He don't mind being hit in the head
more than you do getting hit by a spit-ball. You must aim for his tail!"
"How can that hurt him?" asked the amazed Tom.
"Why, I seed the balls that hit his head glance off and scoot up in the
air, like skipping stones over the water. A tiger uses his tail to balance
himself with. Shoot off his tail, and he loses his balance. Every time he
tries to walk, he tips over. Don't forget, Tom, if you shoot, to aim at
his tail, just where it is stuck onto his body. If you miss, look him in
the eye; and if that doesn't stop him, let drive with your foot under the
jaw, and don't forget to have your shoes on. Well, I must go home to tell
the folks to git ready," added Jim, loping off like an Indian starting on
a long journey.
Tom had caught the contagion of excitement, and the moment his friend left
he made a dash for the door of his home, bursting in upon his mother and
aunt with the astounding news just received from his playmate.
Strange women would they have been not to have been wrought up by the
alarming tidings. Brushing aside the chaff, there remained the wheat in
Jim's words to the effect that the tiger, one of the finest of his kind
ever seen in captivity, had broken out of his cage, injured, if not
killed, a number of people, and was in the immediate neighborhood, with
the prospect of paying a visit to this home.
"The gun is loaded," said the mother, turning slightly pale; "but I don't
think one of those animals will attempt to enter a house."
"I have read that in India," remarked her sister-in-law, "they follow the
natives into their houses, and tear down the structures in their fury."
"But their dwellings are made of light bamboo, and are frail structures."
"We may as well be on the right side," remarked the other, stepping
hastily to the door. But just before reaching it, the latch flew up, and
Jim Travers plunged in, falling on his hands and knees, the picture of
terror itself.
"Shut the door quick!" he gasped. "The tiger is coming; he's coming; he's
right behind me."
In a twinkling, Aunt Cynthia sprang forward, caught the latch, and slid
the heavy bar in place, while the mother hastened to the window.
"Look out!" called Jim, clambering to his feet; "he'll spring right
through and chaw you up, quicker'n lightning."
But the brave parent not only threw up the window and bolted the shutters,
but did it coolly and deftly with each window, front and back, thus
shrouding the room in obscurity.
Tom climbed into a chair set in front of the fireplace, and took down the
loaded rifle, which he knew how to use as well as any boy of his years.
"Come, Jim, let's go up-stairs to my bedroom; maybe we can get a shot at
him."
At the top of the stairs the leader paused and turned about.
"Say, Jim, did you try to look in the tiger's eye?" he asked.
"Don't bother me with such foolish questions; I hadn't a chance."
"How was it?"
"Why, I hadn't got far from the house, when I heered a growl, and there
was the tiger in the field, looking over the fence at me."
"Seems to me that was just the chance you wanted, if he was looking at
you."
"I s'pose it was; but to own up, Tom, I didn't think of it. I was afeard
he would go for your folks. So I thought I would walk down and tell you."
"Did you walk all the way?"
"I may have hurried a little,--that is, a part of the way. I would have
turned round and let him have my foot under the jaw, but I was afeard my
shoe would give out."
Meanwhile, the two boys walked softly to the front window of Tom's
bedroom, and cautiously peered out.
"Sh! I b'lieve I see him," whispered the young host.
"Where?" asked his companion in the same guarded manner.
"Under the oak; he's standing still just now. There! he's creeping off
toward the woodshed."
"Yes, that's him! that's him! I know it. Hadn't you better let me take a
shot?"
"I can shoot as well as you."
Tom was right. He was looking upon the royal Bengal tiger and no mistake.
He had halted under a large oak, standing on the other side of the road,
and seemed to be debating with himself what he should do next.
The rattle of a coming wagon attracted his attention, and he crouched
down, as if preparing to spring upon the driver and his animals.
"Just watch him chaw up the horses and the man!" whispered Jim.
"If he means to do that, I'd better shoot," said Tom, setting down his gun
and silently raising the window.
"You can't do it now, for he's almost behind the tree."
"His head shows, and I guess that's better than his tail."
Tom rested the heavy barrel of the rifle on the window-sill, and knelt
down to make his aim sure. Before, however, he could obtain a good sight,
the old farmer came so nearly opposite that he was obliged to restrain
his fire through fear of hitting him or his horses.
The boys held their breath, certain of the awful occurrence at hand. But
the tiger just then seemed to be in a magnanimous mood. Possibly he was
satiated with what he had already devoured in the way of horses, men,
women, and children. Be that as it may, the farmer and his team never
suspected their peril, if, in point of fact, any peril threatened them.
The animals jogged along, with the man half asleep on the front seat, his
idle whip sloping over his shoulder. The king of the jungle made not the
least demonstration against them.
"That must be 'cause he isn't hungry," remarked Jim.
"Then I should think he would go away and leave us."
"Don't you understand? We're tender, and juicier than that old man."
"Jingo! if that's what he's after, I'm going to shoot."
Tom again sighted along the barrel; but at the moment his finger began
pressing the trigger, the beast rose to his feet and looked directly at
the house, as if trying to decide the best avenue of entering,--the door,
the windows, or possibly the chimney.
He formed a striking picture, this fearful king of the jungle, whose
terrific strength, as scientific tests have proven, is one-fifth greater
than that of the African lion. His massive head was erect; his eyes
shone, and his sinewy, graceful body, covered with its soft, velvety and
spotted fur was like the beauty of some deadly serpent. His long tail
slightly swayed from side to side, and, although the boys could not hear
it, they were sure he was growling in his anger.
Once his blood-red tongue was projected for an instant from his mouth, and
licked his jaws, as the cat species are fond of doing; and occasionally he
moved his head from side to side.
"He means to chaw us all up," said Jim. "Why don't you fire?"
At that instant Tom Gordon pressed the trigger.