Chapter 3

The report of a gun blasted the silence of a dead Devonport

with startling abruptness.

It came from the direction of the launch, and in an instant

we three were running for the boat as fast as our legs would

carry us. As we came in sight of it we saw Delcarte a

hundred yards inland from the launch, leaning over something

which lay upon the ground. As we called to him he waved his

cap, and stooping, lifted a small deer for our inspection.

I was about to congratulate him on his trophy when we were

startled by a horrid, half-human, half-bestial scream a

little ahead and to the right of us. It seemed to come from

a clump of rank and tangled bush not far from where Delcarte

stood. It was a horrid, fearsome sound, the like of which

never had fallen upon my ears before.

We looked in the direction from which it came. The smile

had died from Delcarte's lips. Even at the distance we were

from him I saw his face go suddenly white, and he quickly

threw his rifle to his shoulder. At the same moment the

thing that had given tongue to the cry moved from the

concealing brushwood far enough for us, too, to see it.

Both Taylor and Snider gave little gasps of astonishment and

dismay.

"What is it, sir?" asked the latter.

The creature stood about the height of a tall man's waist,

and was long and gaunt and sinuous, with a tawny coat

striped with black, and with white throat and belly. In

conformation it was similar to a cat--a huge cat,

exaggerated colossal cat, with fiendish eyes and the most

devilish cast of countenance, as it wrinkled its bristling

snout and bared its great yellow fangs.

It was pacing, or rather, slinking, straight for Delcarte,

who had now leveled his rifle upon it.