"Yes, it's the beast, all right. But I can't say for sure whether he's
down on his back, or crouching for a spring. Careful, not so fast,
Andy." And Frank kept covering the object with his rifle as foot by foot
they kept on.
"He's lying on his side! He's a dead duck, all right!" sang out Andy,
waving his fire vigorously to and fro.
"You're right, he's stone dead!" observed the other, a touch of natural
pride in his voice; for it was no mean feat to kill so ferocious a beast
as a jaguar, after seeing only his two eyes shining in the darkness
beyond the fire-light.
Frank stooped down, and catching hold of one of the dead animal's hind
legs, started dragging it toward the fire.
"Hold on there," said Andy; "don't tell me we're going to have a steak
off that old cat? I can stand for a good deal, but I'd go hungry a long
time before I'd eat any of _him_!"
"Don't worry about that," laughed Frank. "But think what a bully old
rug his hide will make some day. I'm going to try and take it off, if I
can, while you're getting breakfast in the morning. It's worth while."
Andy looked as though he doubted the ability of his chum to accomplish
the feat; but then he was counting without his host; for when the chance
came Frank deftly removed the pelt, and kept it for a reminder of his
hazardous shot.
Andy insisted on taking his turn at playing guard, when he found out
what time it was.
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