Warruk saw the avalanche of infuriated creatures sweeping toward him. In a moment he would be buried in the deluge of cloven hoofs and flashing tusks and torn to shreds. There was only one thing to do, so he leapt lightly to the trunk of the nearest tree and drew himself into the lower branches.

Before long the tree was surrounded by the enraged mob, rearing and plunging and vainly trying to climb in pursuit of its a.s.sailant. At the same time the animals squealed and grunted their hatred and threatened with gnashing teeth.

The siege lasted throughout the day; nor was it raised at nightfall. So far as Warruk was concerned, he crouched comfortably on the thick limb and interestedly observed the proceedings below, rather enjoying the impotent manifestations of the peccary herd; that is, he felt no misgivings so long as daylight lasted for the sun shone brightly and it was warm. But with darkness came a brisk wind that lashed the treetops into a madly waving, groaning tangle of spectral branches and brought a cold shudder to the besieged. There was no rain but the air was heavy with moisture from the saturated mould underneath and the chill penetrated to the very bones.

Warruk shivered. The cat tribe may endure neither excessive cold nor moisture and here was a combination of the two. The cub was rapidly growing numb and it was not long before that fact made itself felt.

Should his strength fail him he would be unable to retain his hold on the elevated perch and would plunge down into the midst of the merciless horde that awaited him.

He arose, stretched his limbs and peered down; the frantic host was still there in full number. Then he began pacing back and forth on the branch. The exercise restored the sluggish circulation of his blood and he felt he had a new lease on life. Ten feet above his head was a thicker though shorter limb; he clambered up the trunk to it but the moment one paw touched the new footing it gave way, struck other branches in its downward course and fell to the ground a good fifty feet from the base of the tree. When it landed with a crash, stunning several of the peccaries and injuring others which immediately announced the fact in loud screams, the remainder of the herd rushed to the spot and in a moment was converted into a struggling, frantic ma.s.s. The animals were crazed with excitement and bent on but one thing--the destruction of their enemy which supposedly had fallen into their clutches.

That was Warruk's one chance, provided by his timely though unintentional loosening of the decayed branch. He slid quickly down the side of the trunk opposite the struggling ma.s.s of animals and darted away.

The ensuing months of sunshine and balmy weather were pa.s.sing all too quickly in a succession of glorious days and starlit nights. Everywhere, in gra.s.sy pampa, forest island, reedy marsh and in the streams and lagoons, life teemed and the creatures were filled with the joyousness of living. Everyone was happy. What did it matter if myriads were doomed to die in the course of each twenty-four hours to provide food for the others? Was not it the plan of Nature that it should be so, from the very beginning? When an individual of any species lost its life there were others left to carry on the purpose of the kind and the survivors took no note of the fact that one of their number had vanished. There was no trace of dread or tragedy in the demeanor of any creature. Each unconsciously took his chance in the game of life just as civilized man takes his in mult.i.tudinous ways. If a bird narrowly escaped the talons of a hawk, even losing a fluff of feathers in the encounter, it did not remain indefinitely in dense cover, in fear and trembling; it soon forgot the experience and went about its affairs in the usual way, just as a man who barely escapes being struck by an automobile while crossing the street will not hesitate to again run the same risk at the very next corner. That is exactly as Nature intended it should be for, if either man or beast spent the time brooding over the many things that _could_ happen, life would be a perpetual torment and probably of short duration.

Warruk, the black Jaguar, lived with a measure of joyousness that was br.i.m.m.i.n.g over. He was thrilled with the vastness of his world and with the possibilities that arose each day. There were adventures and misadventures and he relished both, for each added to the sum total of the things he should know.

As the dry season advanced the water in the lagoons fell rapidly and some of the smaller ones dried up completely. Those of larger size shrank to narrow proportions, the water receding gradually under the onslaughts of the sunshine and drying wind.

The pools that lay in the center of the wide, sun-baked mudflats were the mecca of a host of things. They teemed with imprisoned fish. Ducks and other waterfowl swarmed to them. Jacanas, birds with wide-spreading toes, ran nimbly over the lily pads on the surface, seemingly skating across the water itself. And, crocodiles migrated from a distance to these havens of security and plenty.

There was no choice. The animals of the plains and forests that required water to sustain life were compelled to seek out the remaining pools to quench their thirst. Some of them came only at lengthy intervals. Others came not at all, for apparently they could subsist through the entire period of drouth without drinking. But the vast majority were forced to visit the lagoons frequently or perish.

And as it was, not a few of them lost their lives in the midst of plenty. The sun, however, shone just as brightly as if there were no note of tragedy; parrots screamed as usual; blackbirds trilled, frogs croaked and bellowed, and the turtles laid their eggs in the hot sand.

In other words, the procession of life moved on without taking note of those that dropped out along the way. It was neither more nor less than the enactment of an old, old drama.

Warruk drank after each kill. Sometimes that was daily; more often two or three days elapsed between gorges. But, the feast completed, he was always seized with a burning thirst and to quench it he was forced to visit the lagoons as occasion required.

By this time his mastery of the pantenal country was pretty well established. And when his supremacy was disputed it was invariably by some inhabitant of the denser growth where the advantage lay with the other creature. In the open country there was no need for apprehension.

So far as the water was concerned he did not even surmise that possible danger might lurk in the stagnant depths.

The cub had eaten heavily of venison, having surprised a fawn in the tall gra.s.s while its mother had gone to the nearest water-hole, a full two miles away, to drink. And later, to quench his own thirst, he leisurely made his way to the margin of the river, further on, for the murky water of the lagoon was not to his liking.

A wide trail led to the edge of the stream, cut deep by the hoofs of tapirs, peccaries and other animals. Below, the water eddied lazily, as in a deep pool, before swirling away hurriedly further down.

After a casual survey of his surroundings the Jaguar stooped and began lapping up the warm but satisfying liquid. Something flashed dark beneath his nose and he drew back with a start; the action, sudden and violent, mired his forefeet deeply in the soft mud. Before he could recover his balance the long snout of a crocodile was thrust above the surface; the jaws opened, revealing rows of gleaming, peg-like teeth, and they closed again almost instantly with Warruk's left paw in their clasp.

The cub was no match for the great, powerful reptile, and before he could even attempt to offer resistance he had been dragged beneath the surface. The sudden plunge bewildered him, but only for an instant. Then he began struggling, frantically, the three free feet, with claws unsheathed groping blindly for a foothold. At first they encountered nothing but the unresisting water; and then one hindfoot grazed the crocodile's back, but the tough hide turned the sharp claws aside. The fact that there _was_ a footing somewhere within reach changed despair to hope. If he could but obtain a firm hold to brace his body there might be the possibility of resisting his a.s.sailant which was rapidly backing further and further from the bank. Again his feet groped blindly in the darkness; again they encountered something besides the swirling water but this time the claws held fast then sank deeper as he pushed with all his might, slid slowly downward and once more were free.

Warruk had not the strength left to make another effort. There was no need for it for his claws had rent into ribbons the less tough hide of the crocodile's throat.

Painful though this injury must have been it was not enough to deter the villainous reptile from its purpose. On the contrary, it seemed to increase its speed. Other marauders, however, had been attracted to the scene of the combat, first by the struggle that they sensed from a distance and now by the blood that flowed freely from the lacerated throat of the crocodile. They were no other than the _piranhas_ or cannibal fish. In legion they came until the water seemed packed with a solid ma.s.s of the ravenous creatures, crazed by the taste of blood and struggling so frantically to reach the source from which it came that they forced one another above the surface of the water.

Those nearest the crocodile ripped and cut at the wound with their triangular, razor-sharp teeth. And the great saurian soon understood that it was doomed unless it immediately sought refuge on the land where the fish could not follow. It rose to the surface and with powerful strokes of its feet and tail made for the bank.

But the frenzied horde was all about it, enveloping it as in a heavy cloak that dragged steadily downward. And all of the time there was the merciless tearing and slashing of keen-edged teeth attacking from all sides and in unbroken files. It was over in an incredibly short time--a few minutes at most. With its head nearly severed from its body the crocodile rolled on its side and sank slowly to the bottom.

As for Warruk, the vise-like jaws had opened at the first onslaught of the _piranhas_ to snap at its a.s.sailants in frantic efforts at defense and retaliation; and thus freed, he rose to the surface and succeeded in swimming to the land with scarcely enough strength remaining to draw himself up. Luckily the fish did not attack him; they centered all their energy on the crocodile because the great gashes inflicted by his sharp claws rendered the heretofore invulnerable reptile an easy victim; for, once the tough hide had been penetrated the opening could be enlarged without trouble.

For a long time the cub lay as in a stupor. In fact, not until darkness fell did he arouse himself sufficiently to rise unsteadily to his feet and to limp away from the bank of the treacherous river.

CHAPTER VI

THE CRUELTY OF TUMWAH.

It was the seventh year since the great drought. Choflo, headman, sorcerer and oracle of the Cantanas, scanned the bra.s.sy sky and smote his breast with clenched fists.

"Tumwah is angry," he muttered to the members of the tribe who were huddled in a cowering group several paces to his rear. "The heavens tell me so; the curling leaves whisper the sickening message. Yesterday I saw the nest of a partridge; where there should have been four eggs there were six, for in this manner the knowing bird provides against the coming destruction, hoping that of the larger brood some one will survive. Five of her young may die but one will remain to carry on her species."

"And today," Oomah, youngest but most fearless of the hunters panted, "I pursued a she-pig in the forest. Three young were running at her heels instead of two."

"The signs do not lie," Choflo returned. "Look! See how the sand in the islands and on the riverbank is cracking! Tumwah is angry. Soon his fiery breath will sweep the green earth, parching the vegetation, searing our flesh and leaving death and destruction in its wake. Long days of suffering are coming."

No one spoke. But the Indians looked heavenward with terror in their eyes and trembled more violently than before.

"We must try to ward off the catastrophe; and failing in that, we must prepare for the worst. Let the corrals be well stocked with turtles and fill the calabashes with the oil of their eggs. A sacrifice must be made to Tumwah. Tonight, a crocodile shall be killed and eaten in his honor.

Everyone must partake of it. And if the G.o.d of Drought be pleased with the offering a sign from heaven will show itself. If it displeases him--woe to all living things that walk the earth."

The group dissolved itself. The people silently went to their shelters of palm-leaves dotting the sandbar that extended far out into the river.

Warruk, the Jaguar, was no longer a cub. Four seasons of rain had come and gone since his advent into the world in the hollow cottonwood in the windfall. The erstwhile kitten, playing in the entrance to the cavity that had proved an irresistible attraction to Myla, the monkey, and to her sorrow, had grown into a creature of great size and powerful build, capable of more than holding his own with any other denizen of the jungle. Seen from a distance his coat was of a glossy, jet black color; but a close inspection would have revealed a regular pattern of rosettes similar to that marking the coats of his tawny brethren. The spots were very faint, however, like the watermarks on paper.

In the forest he reigned supreme, fearing nothing but feared by all; the same was true in the pantenales. Where the interlocking branches of the trees formed a canopy that shut out the moonlight he moved like a specter in the blackness. In the open country his shadowy form was equally inconspicuous. Quick and terrible were his attacks. Like an avalanche he descended upon his victims, seemingly from nowhere, but with a violence and ferocity that bore down and crushed and rent all at the same time, and with a suddenness that prevented escape or resistance.

So far Warruk had not ventured into the lower regions of the pantenal country--that vast world of marshlands, swampy forest islands and pampas bordering the great river compared to which the streams he had been accustomed to frequent in the upper reaches were but rippling brooks.

Suma, his mother, had warned him against the region below her own well-defined hunting grounds. Once, exactly seven years before, while the world writhed and baked in the throes of the last great drought she had been compelled to venture into the unknown land. The streams and lagoons had dried; those of the animals that did not perish outright migrated, and Suma had followed the living stream as a matter of self-preservation for, without food and water, life could not be sustained. But the venture had proved painful in at least one respect for men dwelt along the border of the master river, and in the very first encounter with them Suma had suffered the loss of one ear--neatly shorn from her head by the broad, bamboo blade of a Cantana arrow. She was glad to escape even with such sacrifice; but she never forgot the injury. The haunts of the man-creatures were avoided thereafter, as well as their trails and everything else that savored of them. This dread she had tried to impart to her offspring.

In the height of his powers, Warruk was ready to ignore the warning.

Then, too, the sun now shone with an unusual brilliancy; fiery tongues from the sky seemed to lap up the water in the lakes and marshes, leaving nothing but vast areas of cracked and peeling mudflats sprinkled with brown, withered reeds that were a pitiful reminder of the waving expanses of green where the red-headed blackbirds had trilled their cheery song.

The drying-up process was gradual, yet swift. The crocodiles sensed its coming and buried themselves deep in the mud to aestivate until the coming of the rainy season; also the lung-fishes, queer little creatures resembling tadpoles, which could live week after week under the hard crust with only a pinhole in the surface through which to breathe.

As the water receded, the finny tribe proper imprisoned in the landlocked bodies became more and more crowded. They struggled in frantic ma.s.ses, churning up the mud from the bottom so that the liquid in which they swam was thick and black. The smaller ones attacked one another savagely tearing at fin and tail; and the larger devoured their mutilated remains in the mad struggle to prolong life. But there came the day of complete annihilation when there was not water enough left to support the survivors; they slid feebly through the mire, threw themselves clear of it onto the sun-baked mudflats surrounding it, and then died.

The hordes that perished were numberless. And the stench of the decaying ma.s.ses that dotted the country for hundreds upon hundreds of miles hung over the pantenales like a pall.

Tumwah was indeed angry! His fiery breath had indeed swept the green earth, parching and devastating it. And Warruk, even if the urge to explore and to conquer new fields were not impelling him, fled the scenes of desolation and guided by instinct made for the broad river where food and water must be abundant.

Both by day and by night he travelled, stopping for a short rest only during the early morning hours. Nor was he alone. Others of the larger creatures, terrified, hungry and thirsty were heading in the same direction, and of them he took a heavy toll.

The first sight of green trees fringing the horizon beyond the seemingly endless expanse of brown came as a blessed relief. Upon reaching it, Warruk found it a veritable oasis in the desert. The vanguard of the unusual migration had already reached the spot and it teemed with life.