And Then Mother Appeared

Pedro and I explored the upper river of the jungle, leaving our newly adopted jaguar cub in his stockade to howl or doze, whichever he preferred. And that evening we found him sleeping, curled up tightly on my jacket, while in a branch above two spider monkeys watched him curiously. They fled at our approach, and as he awakened I opened another can of milk and repeated the laborious task with the eyedropper. But it was getting easier. We were both learning the trick of it, and soon his tan stomach was round and full of milk, and he crept close to the fire and slept. It is my last real memory of the little chap, curled there in happy contentment, the reddish, flickering firelight on his spotted fur, the tufted ears thrust forward and the long tail moving nervously as he slept. Very carefully I lifted him, jacket and all, and laid him down within his stockade, then tiptoed back to the fire.

Evidently he hadn't wakened, for no sound came, and, breathing more easily, I rolled a cigarette of Pedro's strong Mexican tobacco. For a time we sat there watching the flames. Slowly, as daylight died, the dark jungle shadows crept closer, and high up, lured by the campfire, two vampire bats whirred back and forth, peering with evil, unblinking eyes down upon us. Not even a night bird called, not a ghost of a breeze among the treetops. A great peace, the evening jungle peace, held that entire silent world. Then suddenly the spell snapped. A roar, deep and insistent, rumbled from out a palm thicket beyond the clearing, and a dead branch cracked. Again the jungle night shook with that deep, far-reaching call of a full-grown jaguar, and even the graying embers of the fire seemed to flicker.

In the next second, in the smallest fraction of a second, the same thought came to Pedro and to me—"The mother jaguar!" Together we dashed toward the stockade. If we could only get our hands over the kitten's mouth before he uttered a cry! Almost we were in time—not quite. For as we reached over the low barrier my awakened captive raised his head and sent answering back through the jungle his thin, wailing, and helpless cry. We stood motionless. Pedro's lips had drawn back in a grimace of consternation, but even before we could turn the bellowing, triumphant roar of the aroused mother ripped its way toward us and we heard the tearing of palm leaves as though a heavy body moved swiftly through them.

I caught a glint of yellow on the edge of the clearing, heard again the wild, defiant, deepthroated roar, and dived in ignominious flight for the lean-to. I never knew anything the size of a .45 automatic could be so hard to find…