"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 ma.s.sive 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 down-stairs, 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 down-stairs.

"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 the 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."

"Up-stairs 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."