The Jungle Fugitives | Page 4

come in this direction. What is the matter, Dr. Everson?"
CHAPTER III.
YANKEE MARKSMANSHIP.
As Jack Everson was seated he faced the broad, sluggish Ganges, with
the low, green banks beyond. He was looking over the water, in the
rays of the declining sun, when he saw something that caused him to
rise hastily from his seat and peer earnestly across the river toward the
opposite shore. Observing his action, the doctor asked his question.
Both he and his daughter, rising to their feet, gazed in the same
direction. It was easy to see what had attracted the attention of their
guest. A party of horsemen, fully twenty, if not more, in number, had
approached the river and were now halted on the other side, looking
across in the direction of Dr. Marlowe's home, as if debating the
question of making it a visit.

"Let me get my glass," said Mary, starting toward the house, hardly a
hundred feet distant.
"Allow me to bring it," interrupted Jack. "It is on one of the chairs on
the veranda, and I want my rifle."
Taking the glass from him on his return, the young woman levelled it at
the group of horsemen on the other side.
"I cannot make out who they are," she said, passing the glass to her
father.
It took the parent but a few seconds to answer the question. One
sweeping glance told him.
"They are Ghoojurs," he remarked, with as much calmness as he could
assume.
"And who are Ghoojurs?" asked Jack Everson, less excited than his
friends.
"They belong to the nomadic tribes which originally occupied India,
and are among the worst wretches in the world. They are brigands and
robbers, who are to be dreaded at all times. Now, if the revolt has
broken out, they will be as merciless as tigers."
"It looks as if they intended to make us a visit, doctor?"
"Alas! there can be no earthly doubt of it."
"Let us hurry into the jungle," said Mary, her face paling with fear.
"We have not a minute to waste."
"The advice is good, but before acting on it I should like to make an
experiment."
During this brief interval Jack Everson had carefully examined his rifle
to assure himself that it was in good condition.

"Heavens, man!" exclaimed Dr. Marlowe, "you are not going to try a
shot at them?"
"That is my intention."
"They are a mile distant!"
"One of my medals was won for hitting a target at exactly that
distance," replied Jack, continuing his preparations.
"It is impossible that you should succeed."
"But not impossible that I should try, so please don't bother the man at
the wheel."
"They have ridden into the water," added the young woman, still
nervous and excited.
"Which will serve to shorten the distance somewhat."
"Why not wait until they are halfway across; or, better still, not wait at
all?" inquired the doctor.
Jack Everson made no reply, but, lying down on his back, he slightly
separated his raised knees, and, by crossing his ankles, made a rest for
the barrel of his rifle. The left arm was crooked under his head, so as to
serve as a pillow or support, leaving the hand to steady the stock of his
gun, while the right inclosed the trigger guard.
The horsemen, instead of riding side by side, were strung along in a
line, with the leader several paces in advance and mounted on a rather
large horse of a coal-black color. Directly behind him came one upon a
bay, while a little further back rode another on a white steed. There
could be no question that they were on their way to kill without mercy.
The situation was intensely trying to father and daughter. The whole
party of Ghoojurs had entered the Ganges and were steadily
approaching. The water was so shallow that it could be seen as it
splashed about the bodies of the riders, who were talking and laughing,

as if in anticipation of the enjoyment awaiting them. They preserved
their single file, like so many American Indians in crossing a stream,
and their last thought must have been of any possible danger that could
threaten them from the three on the further bank.
The situation was becoming unbearable when the rifle cracked with a
noise no louder than a Chinese cracker, and a faint puff of smoke
curled upward from the muzzle of the weapon. At the same moment the
Ghoojur at the front, on his black horse, flung up his arms and tumbled
sideways into the water, which splashed over his animal's head.
Frightened, the horse reared, pawed the air, and, whirling about,
galloped back to the bank, sending the water flying in showers from his
hoofs.
"Score me a bull's-eye!" called Jack