Ruth Fielding on Cliff Island | Page 7

Probably, Ruth told herself before the evening was half over, "Rival's Circus and Menagerie" had moved on with all its beasts.
Uncle Jabez, however, got down the double-barreled shotgun, cleaned and oiled it, and slipped in two cartridges loaded with big shot.
"I ain't aimin' to lose my pigs if I can help it," he said.
As the evening dragged by, they all forgot the panther scare. Jerry had fallen asleep after supper without recourse to the medicine Dr. Davison had left. As usual, Uncle Jabez was poring over his daybook and counting the cash in the japanned money box.
Ruth was deep in her text books. One does forget so much between June and September! Aunt Alvirah was busily sewing some ruffled garment for "her pretty."
Suddenly a quick, stern voice spoke out of the guest room down the hall.
"Quick! bring that gun!"
"Hul-lo!" murmured Uncle Jabez, looking up.
"That poor boy's delirious," declared Aunt Alvirah.
But Ruth jumped up and ran lightly to the room where Jerry Sheming lay.
"What is it?" she gasped, peering at the flushed face that was raised from the pillow.
"That cat!" muttered Jerry.
"Oh, you're dreaming!" declared Ruth, trying to laugh.
"I ain't lived in the woods for nothin'," snapped the young fellow. "I never see that black panther in her native wilds, o' course; but I've tracked other kinds o' cats. And one of the tribe is 'round here----There! hear that?"
One of the horses in the stable squealed suddenly--a scream of fear. Then a cow bellowed.
Uncle Jabez came with a rush, in his stocking feet, with the heavy shotgun in his hand.
"What's up?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"I am!" exclaimed Jerry, swinging his legs out of bed, despite the pain it caused him. "Put out that light, Miss Ruth."
Aunt Alvirah hobbled in, groaning, "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!"
Uncle Jabez softly raised the sash where the blind was missing.
"I saw her eyes," gasped Jerry, much excited. He reached out a grasping hand. "Gimme that gun, sir, unless you are a good shot. I don't often miss."
"You take it," muttered Uncle Jabez, thrusting the gun into the young fellow's hand. "My--my eyes ain't what they once was."
"Send the women folk back. If she leaps in at the winder----"
Suddenly he raised the gun to his shoulder. It was so dark in the room they all saw the crouching creature on the lawn outside. It was headed for the open window, and its eyes gleamed like yellow coals.
In a moment the gun spoke--one long tongue of flame, followed by the other, flashed into the night. There was a yowl, a struggle on the grass outside, and then----
"You're something of a shot, you be, young feller!" boomed out Jabez Potter's rough voice. "I was some mistaken in you. Ah! it hurt ye, eh?" and he proceeded to lift the suffering Jerry back into bed as tenderly as he would have handled Ruth herself.
They did not go out to see the dead panther until daybreak. Then they learned that the pair of lions had already been caught by their owners.
CHAPTER IV
ON THE WAY TO BRIARWOOD
If anything had been needed to interest Ruth Fielding deeply in the young fellow who had been injured at the scene of the railroad wreck, the occurrence that evening at the Red Mill would have provided it.
It was not enough for her to make a veritable hero of him to Helen, and Jane Ann, and Tom, when they came over from Outlook the following morning. When the girl of the Red Mill was really interested in anything or anybody, she gave her whole-souled attention to it.
She could not be satisfied with Jerry Sheming's brief account of his life with his half-crazed uncle on some distant place called Cliff Island, and the domestic tragedy that seemed to be the cause of the old man's final incarceration in a madhouse.
"Tell me all about yourself--do," she pleaded with Jerry, who was to remain in bed for several days (Uncle Jabez insisted on it himself, too!), for the injured leg must be rested. "Didn't you live anywhere else but in the woods?"
"That's right, Miss," he said, slowly. "I got a little schooling on the mainland; but it warn't much. Uncle Pete used to guide around parties of city men who wanted to fish and hunt. At the last I did most of the guidin'. He said he could trust me, for I hated liquor as bad as him. My dad was killed by it.
"Uncle Pete was a mite cracked over it, maybe. But he was good enough to me until Rufus Blent came rummagin' round. Somehow he got Uncle Pete to ragin'."
"Who is this Rufus Blent?" asked Ruth, curiously.
"He's a real estate man. He lives at Logwood. That's the landin' at the east end o' the lake."
"What lake?"
"Tallahaska. You've heard tell on't?" he asked.
"Yes. But I was never there,