A STRANGE ENCOUNTER.
Fred Ashman was standing near the edge of the Xingu, as will be
remembered, when his attention was diverted for the moment by a puma,
which came out of the wood, drank from the stream, and then, after a
brief pause, returned to his shelter.
All this while, the dull roar of the rapids was in the explorer's ears,
and he was eager to withdraw his attention from the beast and direct it
upon the opposite shore, where he was convinced something unusual was
going on.
The minute the beast disappeared, he looked across at the point that
had so interested him.
The question which he had asked himself some time before, was answered
by the sight of a small canoe that was stealing down the river, instead
of heading directly across to where he was standing. In this boat was
a single individual, using a paddle with the deftness of an American
Indian.
Here was something that needed attention, and, with the aid of the
brilliant moonlight. Ashman watched the craft and its occupant as
closely as if his own fate were wrapped up in its movements--a
supposition which it was not improbable was fact itself.
The savage moved slowly, as if sensible of the call for the utmost
care, went only a few rods down stream, when he turned out in the water
and aimed for the shore where the watcher was standing. He had gone
some distance below, and it was to be supposed that the force of the
current would carry him still farther, so that if he made a landing it
was likely to be far below.
But he who held the paddle was a master of that species of navigation,
and Ashman was surprised to observe that he was aiming at the very spot
where he was standing carefully concealed in the shadow. If nothing
interfered, they were sure of making a closer acquaintance.
The boat was about the middle of the river, when the white man was
struck by the immense size of the occupant. He was one of the largest
men he had ever seen, his weight sinking the canoe almost to its
gunwales.
"He must be the savage who hurled his javelin through our boat," was
the conclusion of the astonished Fred. "What a magnificent fellow he
is!"
The native sat so that his face was turned toward the young man, who
studied his countenance with the deepest interest.
He had the busy head, the large protruding eyes, and the dark, naked
skin of all his people. His enormous arms swung the paddle first on
one side of the boat and then on the other. As he did so, Fred saw the
play of the splendid muscle, which was like that of Hercules himself.
Rash would be that antagonist who engaged him in a hand-to-hand
struggle.
Nothing in the world was easier than for the explorer to extinguish the
life in that impressive specimen of physical manhood, without the least
risk to himself, and yet, although he knew him to be the most
formidable enemy of his people, he held no thought of doing him
harm--at least not at the present stage of his extraordinary business.
It was at this decidedly interesting juncture that a new element
obtruded itself. The sounds of guns, shouts and yells, in the
direction of the rapids left no doubt that his friends there were
having a lively time with the natives.
Ashman would have turned and made all haste thither, but for the
presence of this burly giant in front. Whatever was going on down
stream was with the full knowledge of him, and he was the one for the
white man to look after.
Had the latter been surprised by the sounds of conflict, he would have
ceased paddling or headed his boat up stream, but he merely glanced
toward the rapids, and continued dipping his paddle and propelling his
craft, as if it was his intention to step ashore and grasp the hand of
the astonished youth awaiting his arrival.
The passage occupied but a very few minutes. Just before the bank was
reached, he made one powerful sweep of the oar, which sent the prow far
up the shingle, and then leaped as lightly as a cat from the structure,
which bounded up as if relieved of several hundred pounds' weight.
Turning about, the giant stooped down and took a spear as long and
heavy as the one he had hurled nearly across the Xingu, through the
boat of the explorers.
It seemed that there was to be no end to the obtrusion of "side issues"
upon the little drama going on under Fred Ashman's eyes. It must have
been that the puma which had slaked its thirst at the Xingu's margin a
short time before, had become convinced that parties were near,
entitled to his attention.
While endeavoring to locate him, he probably caught sight of the
approaching native and concluded that he was the individual to whom he
should turn.
Be that as it may, the native had only time to pick up his ponderous
spear and face toward the wood, when the lion emerged from the
broadening band of shadow, and, with a low, threatening growl, advanced
upon him.
Like the cat species to which he belonged, he crouched so low while
walking, that his shoulders protruded above his back in large humps,
and his belly almost touched the ground. His long tail flirted angrily
from side to side, his jaws were parted, disclosing his sharp,
carnivorous teeth and blood-red tongue, while his eyes emitted a
phosphorescent glow that was like fire itself.
He was a formidable antagonist, and as Ashman observed his movements
and ugly appearance, he felt like pumping a half dozen bullets into his
lank, muscular body.
But he experienced the natural interest of a sportsman in an impending
fight, and was curious to see how the huge native would acquit himself
in the struggle at hand.
He was not kept long in doubt. The savage observed the puma the moment
his head emerged from the shadow into the moonlight, and he instantly
prepared himself to meet him.
Little preparation, however, was necessary, for he carried but the
single weapon and that had only to be grasped in his right hand.
The warrior might have leaped into his craft and escaped by paddling
out in the river, where he could drive the boat at a faster pace than
the beast could swim, but he did nothing of the kind.
He neither advanced nor retreated, but, standing just in front of the
prow, he rested on his right leg; with the left foot thrown forward,
and the tremendous javelin balanced over his right shoulder.
His pose was admirable, and even in that thrilling moment compelled the
admiration of the single spectator, who was strongly of the opinion
that the puma, to put it mildly, was committing an error of judgment.
There may have been some strange, instinctive knowledge which
penetrated the brain of the beast before he reached the assailing
point, and which compelled him to stop. The individual whom he had
selected as his victim was not to be crushed at a single effort, as he
was accustomed to bring down the llamas, antelope, and other animals of
the wilderness. No; there was something in that pose, the demeanor and
the flash of the midnight eyes which forced the fierce creature to
pause, when on the very death line, as it may be termed.
But if the native was defiant, the puma had no purpose of retreating
from before such a powerful enemy. In his blind ferocity, he would
have assailed him, could it have been impressed upon him that his own
destruction would be the inevitable result.
The lank jaws were still parted and dripped foam, as the lion continued
his cavernous growls, while his ears lying flat on his head in the
manner peculiar to the feline species, the bristling spine and the
lashing of the tail gave the beast the appearance of a bundle of
concentrated fury, as indeed he was.
Fred Ashman was struck almost breathless by what followed.
He observed the curious, twitching movement of the puma's legs as they
were gathered closer under his body, and which is always a sure
evidence that the animal is about to make his decisive leap upon his
victim. The native must have read the movement aright, for the hand
over his shoulder was suddenly thrown back and instantly forward again,
as his javelin left his grasp with terrific force and the suddenness of
lightning.
But inconceivably quick as was the action, the puma dodged the missile,
which entered the earth just behind him, and driven with such
tremendous force was buried half its length in the ground.
Almost at the same instant the body of the lion rose in air and shot
forward as if driven from the throat of a Parrott gun.
But if the brute was quick, so was the man, who dropped downward
without moving his feet, and allowed his assailant to pass over his
head and land directly in the canoe, where for a single second only he
was partly hidden from sight.
Hardly had he landed, when the warrior darted forward several paces to
where his javelin projected from the ground, seized it with both hands
and wrenched it free. Whirling about, he confronted the beast once
more, as he was gathering himself for a second leap.
The savage learned wisdom from what had just occurred, and instead of
allowing the weapon to leave his hand, held it with an immovable grip
and awaited the renewal of the attack.
The puma seemed also to have absorbed some instruction from his
failure, and instead of leaping at once, began a stealthy advance,
coming over the side of the canoe with the gliding motion of a serpent,
and evidently wishing to get so near that his victim could not escape
again by the means he used before.
Suddenly the native, still holding the javelin with both hands, stepped
forward a single pace. This placed him in the strongest possible
position, and, with one appalling thrust, he drove the spear for a
distance of two feet into the chest of the puma, instantly snatching it
forth again, moving back a couple of feet, and holding himself ready
for any assault from the brute.
No need of any virus on the point of _that_ weapon, for it had cloven
the heart of the lion in twain, and he went down without a single
groan, as dead as dead could be.
The native stepped to the river, washed the blood from the weapon and
then turned about to resume his advance toward the wood.
As he did so, he found himself face to face with a white man, who,
stepping from the shadow, held his Winchester leveled at him in an
exceedingly suggestive fashion.
If Fred Ashman had been astonished before, what words shall describe
his amazement when the dusky Hercules, calmly staring at him for a
moment, said in unmistakable English, "_I surrender_."