By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War, G. A. Henty [100 books to read in a lifetime .TXT] 📗

“You take the one to the left,” Mr. Goodenough whispered; “Now!”

They fired together. Two tremendous roars were heard. One of the leopards immediately bounded away. The other rolled over and over, and then, recovering its feet, followed its companion, Mr. Goodenough firing his second barrel after him.

“I'm afraid you missed altogether, Frank,” he said.

“I don't think so, sir. I fancied I saw the flash of the shell as it struck him, but where, I have not the remotest idea. I could not make him out clear enough. It was merely a dim shape, and I fired as well as I could at the middle of it.

“Shall we go back to the camp now?” Frank asked.

“Yes, we can safely do so. You can tell by the sound of the roars that they are already some distance away. There is little chance of their returning tonight. In the morning we will follow them. There is sure to be blood, and the natives will have no difficulty in tracking them.”

The rest of the night passed quietly, although roars and howling could be heard from time to time in the distance.

Early in the morning they started with the Houssas.

“We must be careful today,” Mr. Goodenough said, “for a wounded leopard is a really formidable beast.”

There was no difficulty in taking up the traces.

“One of them at least must be hard hit,” Mr. Goodenough remarked; “there are traces of blood every yard.”

They had gone but a short distance when one of the Houssas gave a sudden exclamation, and pointed to something lying at the edge of a clump of bushes.

“Leopard,” he said.

“Yes, there is one of them, sure enough. I think it's dead, but we cannot be too cautious. Advance very carefully, Frank, keeping ready to fire instantly.”

They moved forward slowly in a body, but their precaution was unnecessary. There was no movement in the spotted, tawny skin as they advanced, and when they came close they could see that the leopard was really dead. He had been hit by two bullets. The first had struck his shoulder and exploded there, inflicting so terrible a wound that it was wonderful he had been able to move afterwards. The other had struck him on the back, near the tail, and had burst inside him. Frank on seeing the nature of the wounds was astonished at the tenacity of life shown by the animal.

“I wonder whether I hit the other,” he said.

“I have no doubt at all about it,” Mr. Goodenough answered, “although I did not think so before. It seemed to me that I only heard the howls of one animal in the night, and thought it was the one I had hit. But as this fellow must have died at once, it is clear that the cries were made by the other.”

A sharp search was now set up for the tracks of the other leopard, the Houssas going back to the tree and taking it up anew. They soon found traces of blood in a line diverging from that followed by the other animal. For an hour they followed this, great care being required, as at times no spots of blood could be seen for a considerable distance. At last they seemed to lose it altogether. Mr. Goodenough and Frank stood together, while the Houssas, scattered round, were hunting like well trained dogs for a sign. Suddenly there was a sharp roar, and from the bough of a tree close by a great body sprang through the air and alighted within a yard of Frank. The latter, in his surprise, sprang back, stumbled and fell, but in an instant the report of the two barrels of Mr. Goodenough's rifle rang out. In a moment Frank was on his feet again ready to fire. The leopard, however, lay dead, its skull almost blown off.

“You have had another narrow escape,” Mr. Goodenough said. “I see that your ball last night broke one of his hind legs. That spoilt his spring. Had it not been for that he would undoubtedly have reached you, and a blow with his paw, given with all his weight and impetus, would probably have killed you on the spot. We ought not to have stood near a tree strong enough to bear him when in pursuit of a wounded leopard. They will always take to trees if they can, and you see this was a very suitable one for him. This bough on which he was lying starts from the trunk only about four feet from the ground, so that even with his broken leg he was able to get upon it without difficulty. Well, thank God, you've not been hurt, my boy. It will teach us both to be more careful in future.”

That afternoon Frank was down with his second attack of fever, a much more severe one than the first had been. Mr. Goodenough's favorite remedy had its effect of producing profuse perspiration, but two or three hours afterwards the hot fit again came on, and for the next four days Frank lay half delirious, at one time consumed with heat, and the next shivering as if plunged into ice water. Copious doses of quinine, however, gradually overcame the fever, and on the fifth day he was convalescent. It was, nevertheless, another week before he was sufficiently recovered to be able to resume his hunting expeditions. They again shifted their camp, and this time traveled for three weeks, making short journeys, and halting early so as to give half a day from each camping place for their work.

Frank was one day out as usual with one of the Houssas. He had killed several birds when he saw a butterfly, of a species which he had not before met with, flitting across a gleam of sunshine which streamed in through a rift in the trees. He told his Houssa to wait where he was in charge of the two guns and birds, and started off with his net in pursuit of the butterfly. The creature fluttered away with Frank in full pursuit. Hither and thither it flitted, seemingly taking an impish delight in tantalizing Frank, settling on a spot where a gleam of sunlight streamed upon the bark of a tree, till Frank had stolen up within a couple of paces of it, and then darting away again at a pace which defied Frank's best attempts to keep up with it until it chose to play with him again. Intent only upon his chase Frank thought of nothing else. At last, with a shout of triumph, he inclosed the creature in his net, shook it into the wide pickle bottle, containing a sponge soaked with chloroform, and then, after tightly fitting in the stopper, he looked around. He uttered an exclamation of dismay as he did so. He saw by the bands of light the sun was already setting, and knew that he must have been for upwards of an hour in chase of the butterfly. He had not the slightest idea of the direction in which he had come. He had, he knew, run up hill and down, but whether he had been traveling in a circle or going straight in one direction, he had not the least idea. He might be within a hundred yards of the spot where he had left the Houssa. He might be three or four miles away.

He at once drew out his revolver, which he always carried strapped to his belt, and discharged the six chambers, waiting for half a minute between each shot, and listening intently for an answer