The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  This time it was Jim Travers, who was panting from his running, and whose face was a picture of consternation, equal to that of Farmer MacDowell.

  “What’s the matter, Jim?” asked Tom as his schoolmate reached him.

  “O Tom, ain’t it awful?” gasped the new arrival, coming to a halt, still panting, and casting affrighted glances in the direction of Briggsville.

  “Ain’t what awful?”

  “Gracious! hain’t you heard the news? I thought everybody knowed it.”

  And the tired boy took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve across his steaming forehead, as though his expression of surprise at Tom’s ignorance communicated of itself the news to him. Tom, as may be supposed, was on needles; for, as yet, he had not received the first hint of the occurrence, which certainly must have been of a stirring nature.

  “Sam Harper, Jack Habersham, and Bill Dunham—all killed before any one could help ’em! Did you ever hear of anything like it?” continued Jim.

  “I haven’t heard of that yet. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jim; if you can’t tell me, why, shut up!”

  “So you hain’t heard the news? I forgot; it scared me almost to death. I thought everybody knowed it. I must hurry home.”

  And the bewildered youngster was on the point of dashing off again, after partially recovering his wind, when he seemed to awaken to the fact that he owed something in the way of enlightenment to his friend.

  “I forgot, Tom; but I did think you knowed it: guess you’re the only boy in a thousand miles that hain’t heard of it. Well, you see the way of it was this: there was the biggest crowd I ever seed at the circus,—don’t believe any other circus in the country ever had so many people there. Everything was going ’long all right, when what did Sam Harper do, but reach out with a stick and punch it in the eye of the tiger, Tippo Sahib? The minute he done it, the tiger let out a yell that you would have heerd a mile off, and, afore Sam could get out of the way, the tiger smashed right out of the cage and was among the people, chawing them up. He had his well eye on Sam, and crushed his head like an eggshell, with one bite! Then he made a sweep with his paw, and knocked Jack Habersham clean out the tent. He must have gone a hundred feet through the air, for he come down on top of the steeple, and is there yet with the spire sticking up through him. Then he hit Bill Dunham such a clip that he sailed out through the same hole in the tent that Jack passed through. When I left, Bill hadn’t been seed by anybody. Guess he hasn’t come down yet.

  “Then the tiger come for me!

  “I seen him make a spring, and ducked my head. He went clean over, and landed among the women and children, and begun chawing ’em up. Why, Tom, the sound of their bones cracking and snapping in his jaws was like the fire-crackers going off on the Fourth of July. Them as warn’t swallered or killed scattered right and left, and begun climbing trees, jumping through winders, and fastening the doors. All this time the tiger kept on chawing. He never took more than one bite at a man!”

  “Did you see him kill any one?” asked the scared Tom, somewhat confused by the tremendous narrative of his friend.

  “Did I see him kill any one? I should say I did. I seed him kill more than forty!”

  “Did he eat ’em all?”

  “Of course he did! That is, all but their boots and shoes. He don’t seem to like leather,” added Jim thoughtfully; “for I noticed that when the men were going down his throat, he kind of shet his jaws, so as to slip off their boots.”

  “Jim, he must be a big tiger to hold so many folks inside of him.”

  “Course he is! The biggest that was ever catched in Greenland! He didn’t not only swaller the men and boys and women that I’m telling you ’bout, but he took in horses, cows, dogs, and anything in his way. If I ain’t mistook, he swallered Mr. MacDowell’s two horses with him.”

  “No, he didn’t; for they went by a few minutes ago. But, Jim, what makes you in such a hurry?”

  “I’m trying to get away from Tippo Sahib,” replied the frightened lad, glancing furtively again toward the village.

  “Where’s the tiger now?”

  “He ain’t fur off, and,” added Jim, speaking the truth this time, “the tiger’s coming this way, and will soon be here.”

  CHAPTER II.

  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 t
hat 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 upstairs 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.

  CHAPTER III.

  The shot, however, was a poor one.

  The bullet struck the tiger, wounding him slightly, but not enough to disable him. Naturally it added to the fury of the beast, and really increased the peril of the people within the humble home, against whom the brute seemed to have formed a strong and curious antipathy.

  He wheeled about, leaped the fence behind him, galloped a number of paces, and then paused abruptly, with his head up, and stared at the building, as if trying to learn the point whence the shot came, that he might punish the offenders.

  “Gracious!” exclaimed Jim Travers, “he’s going to jump up here and eat us up! Let’s run.”

  “Where’ll we run?” was the sensible question of Tom. “I’d load up again, but the powder and bullets are downstairs, and before I could do it he’d be on us, if he means to jump into this window.”

  The halt of the tiger was only momentary. He trotted round to the rear of the house, vanishing from sight for the moment.

  A brilliant idea struck Jim Travers.

  “I can do better than that, Tom,” he called out, clattering downstairs. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

  “Are you going to try to look him in the eye?” asked Tom, following after him, and scarcely less excited than he. “It won’t work.”

  But the other lad paid no attention to the inquiry, so flurried was he over his new scheme for frightening off the dreaded beast.

  The closing of the shutters on the lower floor, as we have explained, cast it in deep shadow. The mother had been so thorough in her work, that all the three rooms were thus obscured. Aunt Cynthia had lit a lamp, which sat on the table, and served to light up the interior.

  “What do you mean to do?” she asked of the boys, as they rushed into her presence.

  “I’m going to load the gun,” replied Tom. “I don’t know what Jim is driving at.”

  The women were naturally alarmed at the persistency of the wild animal in his demonstration against the dwelling. It did look as if he was bent on revenging himself for the hurt that had been inflicted. Many of the wild beasts of India, like the frightful cobra, often show great tenacity in attacking those from whom they have received injury.

  “If the tiger will go away, you had better leave him alone,” said Aunt Cynthia. “Your shot doesn’t seem to have hurt him at all.”

  “Yes, it did,” insisted Tom. “I hit him, for he jumped.”

  “But you only made him more angry; I am afraid we are not through with him yet.”

  The rifle was of the old-fashioned, muzzle-loading kind, and Aunt Cynthia gave what help she could to her nephew, as he began reloading it. From t
he powder flask she poured a charge down the barrel, upon which Tom pressed the conical bullet, wrapped about with a small bit of greased muslin. Then he had only to place a percussion-cap on the tube, and he was ready for business.

  But before this stage of the proceedings was reached, something startling happened.

  Jim Travers paid no heed to what his young friend was doing. Stooping over the burning wood in the fireplace, the flame of which was quite feeble, because the day was mild, he began fanning it with his hat. He was thus employed, and Tom was in the act of capping the rifle, when a crash against the nearest shutter made the building tremble.

  The startled inmates stared trembling in each other’s faces.

  “It’s the tiger!” whispered Mrs. Gordon, uttering a truth that was manifest to every one.

  “He is determined to get at us,” added Aunt Cynthia. “What shall we do?”

  “I’ll fetch him this time,” was the confident response of Tom, “if I can only get a fair aim.”

  “You had better let me have the gun,” said his mother, who was in a momentary panic.

  “Let me try it once more.”

  “But there is no chance here; it will not do to open the shutter: he will spring right in among us.”

  “Upstairs is the best place,” said Tom, hurrying up the steps again.

  Meanwhile, Jim Travers, who had been so terrified, displayed more coolness than any one in the house. Probably he felt so much confidence in his new scheme, that he was warranted in this self-possession.

  Like the rest, he was startled by the crash against the shutter. He rose to his feet, stared at the window, and, seeing that the beast had not broken through, stooped and resumed fanning the blaze with more vigor than ever. At this juncture Tom called from above,—

  “Where is he? I can’t see him.”

  He had peered from the front and rear windows without catching sight of the tiger. The reason was evident: the animal was so near the house that he could not be observed without raising the sash and thrusting out the head. It was well the lad was too prudent to do that.

  Afraid that their voices might rouse his anger, the mother stepped to the foot of the stairs and called to her boy,—