Chapter XV: Out of the Wilderness

From his reputed royal ancestors, the lion and the panther, the leopard, or jaguar, as he is called in that region, had inherited a sinuous body, swift as a flash in movement, and a savage, feline face. A ray of sunlight, falling on the soft tones of his beautiful spotted skin, gave out a rich lustre. The smooth padded paws, under their velvet covering, were as strong as steel. His fierce, gray whiskers bristled at the whirring of the motor and his ears stood up straight like an angry cat's.

"The horn, the horn," whispered Mary in a choking voice, "it will frighten him."

Billie reached mechanically for the rubber bulb and squeezed it again and again. The honk-honk rang out in the forest like a cry for help, and the leopard shivered where he crouched as if this unmelodious music jarred on his nerves.

Suddenly with a flying leap, he landed in the branches of a tree beside the motor. Billie never knew how she had the presence of mind to start the car. She only knew that they were going as fast as possible on that encumbered path and that the leopard, not counting on this swiftly moving object, had jumped again, grazed the motor and landed just back of them.

Perhaps it was Mary's ear-piercing shriek which frightened him, or perhaps it was the red motor itself, which may have seemed to him a newly created animal with a whirring, bristling noise that made his nerves tingle. At any rate, instead of terrifying them again by jumping into the branches over their heads, he crept behind, half cautiously, but still ready to leap at the first opportunity.

"Keep up the horn, for heaven's sake, and make as much noise as you can," cried Elinor. "They can be frightened, I know, by loud noises."

Edward on his knees beside Billie, worked the horn until his fingers ached, and the girls gave Indian yells and hooted and yodeled until they were exhausted.

For fully five minutes they rolled over the carpet of pine needles along the trail and the leopard dropped farther and farther off, until finally he slunk into the bushes. The intervals of hooting and calling grew longer and longer, and at last they rested. Mary, only, kept watch, kneeling backwards in the seat in a prayerful attitude.

"We'll be out of this dreadful place in a moment now," Billie was saying, when suddenly, there was a blood-curdling shriek. A shot rang out in the stillness, and with a strange vibrant noise that sounded like the echo of the base string of a 'cello, the leopard jumped high into the air and fell backward in the path just behind them.

Billie, with a very white face indeed, stopped the car and turned to see who had saved their lives.

The leopard was still quivering in the death-throes when they reached him, but it had been a clean shot straight through his body and it was only a moment before he lay stiff and stark before them.

"But who killed him?" sobbed Nancy, quite unnerved now that the danger was past.

"Yes, who?" they asked each other.

But there was no one in sight. Whoever had done the deed had slipped quietly away without waiting to be thanked.

"Hello," called Edward, "come out, won't you?" and his voice echoed through the place and came back to them like some one else's.

"I wish we had some way to thank him," said Billie, "but as we haven't, let's be moving. The sooner we get out of this wood, the better. There's no telling what will happen next."

"Shall we take this beast along?" asked Edward with a tone of disgust in his voice, that brought to Billie's mind a remembrance of that evening, not long before, when he could not hide his terror of death and blood.

"No, no," put in Elinor, who had a strong sense of justice. "His skin should belong to the one who killed him. He isn't our trophy."

"I'm sure I don't want it," ejaculated Mary, jumping into the car. "Do hurry and let's be off."

Once more they were on their way. After a long interval of silence, Mary continued:

"This is like an enchanted wood in a fairy tale. It is full of goblins and elves, wicked fairies and poisonous snakes and wild beasts."

"I don't mean to interrupt your poetic train of thought," said Nancy, "but I'm certainly thankful at this moment that there is no smile on the face of that dead tiger."

They all laughed but Billie. The woods were thinning now and the relief from the strain of the last two hours made them light-headed.

"My beloved friends," exclaimed Billie finally, as the motor car slid into a real road, and the great wood bristled behind them, black and ominous, "oh my beloved friends, we are out of the wilderness at last. And it's no thanks to me that we've all escaped alive. It was wicked, wicked of me," she went on, choking to keep back her tears.

"What was wicked of you, Billie, dear?" asked Elinor, moved at the sight of her friend's remorse.

"Not to have followed Edward's advice and walked back the other way. It was wicked and stubborn of me. I can't forgive myself."

Not one of her friends had ever seen Billie so moved as she was now. Her gray eyes were filled with tears and her generous, finely shaped lips quivered painfully.

"Oh, Billie, dearest Billie," they cried, standing up and leaning over the seat while she bent her head to hide her tears, "don't blame yourself. It was everybody's fault. We agreed with you that it was right, didn't we?" they asked each other.

"Yes, yes," they cried, and Elinor especially pressed her cheek to her friend's shoulder. Billie seemed dearer to her now than ever before, and all the morning a little verse had been running through her head:

"Oh, blessings on that falling out
Which all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love
And kiss again with tears."

"Don't cry, Billie," said Edward. "I think we've had a great experience. Nobody was hurt and we did the things we started out to do. We've saved the Comet and we are on the road to Virginia's. Don't you recognize this place?"

"It is the same," replied Billie, comforted by the reassurance of her friends and smiling away her tears. "It's the very road we took that day when we came up from the lake."

Already they could see the avenue of pines and as they turned in, the sunlight gleamed quite cheerfully on the old white house at the far end.

"Virginia will have to go back with us," said Billie, "to show us the way home."

The place was as still as ever, when they drew up at the front door, but a certain inexplicable change had taken place. They could hardly tell what it was. Perhaps, that the front door was wide open and a big easy chair with a book and a newspaper stood on the gallery. They had not had time to get down, when Virginia herself appeared at the door and welcomed them as joyfully as if the very nicest thing in the world that could happen to her that morning was to see these new friends.

With a little cry of pleasure she ran out to meet them, her fluffy blonde hair blowing about her face like a pale gold halo.

"I am so glad to see you," she cried. "Won't you come in? Have you had a nice ride?"

Nice? They exchanged glances.

"Wait until you hear about our ride, Virginia," said Elinor. "Then you can judge for yourself how nice it was."

Billie was wondering which of the two Edwards Virginia thought was with them, when the young Southern girl turned to Edward Paxton and said in the most natural manner possible:

"I could almost have taken you for my brother in your chauffeur's clothes, Mr. Paxton. But not quite."

They stirred uneasily.

Did Virginia know that her brother had run away? Elinor was wondering; for Elinor had her own views on the subject of Edward's disappearance.

Billie hardly knew what to think. She had a bewildered feeling that Virginia perhaps knew all about what had happened, until Edward Paxton broke in with:

"Do you know when your brother is coming back, Miss l'Estrange?"

Virginia opened her eyes wide.

"When is your grandmother coming back?" she asked.

Edward shook his head. The young girl was too deep for him.

"Virginia," said Billie, "we've come to take you back with us to luncheon and to stay all night, too, if you will. I hope you can come."

"If Mamma can spare me, I should love to," she answered eagerly. "Will you come in while I find out?"

They preferred, however, to wait outside and the young girl flew into the house and upstairs as lightly as a thistledown on the breeze. Presently she was back again.

"I can go," she cried joyfully. "Mamma is feeling much better to-day and she would like so much to meet you four girls. You don't mind waiting, do you, Mr. Paxton? I would ask you up, too, but I'm afraid your likeness to my brother might excite her."

As they followed her into the enormous empty house, she added in a lower voice:

"Remember, Mamma knows nothing about our working, or--or anything. Be careful what you say."