apapiu/simple_text_files · Datasets at Hugging Face

At first, as a matter of curiosity, they restrained him, and as it was near camping time for the night, the Professor suggested that it would be well to make camp close to the tree which had harbored the orang family.

After a good supper the Baby nestled up in the mattress, and was sound asleep in fifteen minutes. When the boys arranged the mattresses for the night, Baby did not seem at all disturbed, and he slept peacefully until morning.

After breakfast no effort was made to deprive the Baby of its liberty, but no attempt was made on his part to leave the wagon. He relished the honey and the other delicacies, all of which were undoubtedly, a surprise to him.

The parent orangs were in sight on the trees beyond, but made no demonstrations, although they saw the young one crawling and swinging on and around the wagon.

You may be sure that the petting Baby got was enough to spoil any infant. Probably, the parents saw the affection lavished on it, or knew that it was not curtailed of its liberty.

When they again set out on the march Baby kept a firm hold on the mattress, or lazily swung from the cross bars of the wagon top. It was having the time of its life.

Before noon of the next day, Baby began to act strangely. It would jump first to one side, then to the other. Harry, who was in the lead, was called up, and the wagon stopped. The antics of Baby looked like fear. Before Harry reached the wagon the Professor and George heard a shot, and the next moment something struck the canvas top and rolled to the ground. It was up in an instant and sprang to the back of one of the yaks, before the Professor, who was driving, could realize what was happening.

George was off the wagon in an instant, and seeing the strange animal on the back of the yak, drew his gun, and two shots rang out almost at the same instant.

When Harry turned back, at the call of the Professor, he saw the animal in the tree, which was then alongside of the wagon, and without waiting to give a warning, had shot at it, the bullet going through its forelegs. The result was it fell, striking the wagon, rolled over, and then sprang to the back of the yak. George's nimbleness in jumping from the wagon, and running around, enabled him to get in a shot at the same time the Professor fired. Both of their shots took effect, and it rolled to the ground.

"What is it?" asked George.

"A wildcat; no wonder the poor Baby was frightened!"

"How did Baby, inside of the wagon, know of the cat?"

"The wildcat is the mortal enemy of the orang-outan. While they fear to encounter the grown animals, they will attack the young, and the orangs seem to have the instinct of danger from that source born in them."

The Baby's nerves were unstrung with the din of the guns, and it was an hour before he could be calmed down. The wildcat was skinned, and it was days before the orang could be reconciled to the sight of the pelt or the smell of the animal.

"That is an instinct in certain animals. Nature has provided them with warnings of danger when their enemies are near."

"What a short tail the cat has," remarked George; "so unlike the tame cat."

"That, and the head, which is much larger and flatter than the common cat, as well as the shorter legs, show the distinguishing differences. Its color, as this one is, uniformly grayish-brown, with stripes running around the body, is a peculiarity found in the tame species, known as the 'tiger-cat,' to which they are the most closely allied."

Before nightfall fairly level ground was reached, and this being the third day, they judged their location was fully sixty miles due west of the Cataract. Far to the south and southeast the mountains could be distinctly seen, but the Professor did not think the ranges were very high.

In the far west the cloudy aspect of the sky prevented them from judging of the character of the land, but it had the appearance of mountains, as well.

"How far away are the mountains in the south, do you think?" asked the Professor.

"I estimate them at about five miles," was George's response.

"What is your idea, Harry?"

"I don't think George is far out of the way."

"Would you be surprised if I should put it at twenty-five miles, or more?"

"What makes you think so?"

"Appearances are always deceptive when you have nothing intervening to measure by."

"Is that the reason distances on water are always so deceptive?"

"Yes; have you ever noticed that you can judge distances better if the intervening landscape is rolling?"

"I think that is true in my case. But there is another thing I have noticed: When I am standing on the ground and looking up at an object, it never seems as far as when I am up there looking down: Why is that so?"

"That is simply the effect of habit, or familiarity. You are accustomed to look up at objects. The perspective, the altitude, and the appearance of the heights are natural things to you; but, when you are above, things below you have an entirely different perspective outline. Their arrangement is unfamiliar. Probably that is one of the reasons why we should always look upwardly in life, and not downwardly."

"But," inquired Harry, "is that the reason why some people, when at an elevation, like a tall building, or on a high precipice, say they feel like jumping down?"

"That is a species of paralysis, growing out of a sense of insecurity. It is purely an unnatural sensation, that temporarily disorganizes the nervous system. I knew a man who, whenever placed in such a position, could not speak."

They were now on what might be called the table land of the island. A broad plateau, with frequent groves, and any quantity of young trees scattered about everywhere, gave a most pleasing view. During the fourth day of the journey occasional little streams, flowing to the north, were crossed, and in the forenoon they had to halt for two hours and camp during the heaviest rainstorm which had fallen since they came to the island.

On the fifth day a broad river was sighted, flowing to the north, and before noon the banks were reached. Its width barred their further progress, unless a raft could be made large enough to take the team across. This was considered a hazardous task, and the distance from home was too great to take the risk. It was a larger stream than South River.

Chapter II

The Mysterious Lights

The usual rate of travel did not average two and a half miles an hour, and while the first and second days were vigorous ones, they were not so much disposed to hurry up now, and were taking the trip more leisurely, thus giving more time to the examination of trees and plants and flowers, and to investigating the geological formation of the country. The new river was not, in all probability, more than seventy miles from the Cataract home.

Beyond, fully a day's march, was the mountain chain -- not a high range, but an elevation which showed a broken skyline. The mountains below the South River did not now seem so formidable; and directly to the south they could see no ranges or hill elevations. To the north the sea might be ten or fifty miles away. The river flowed past them at the rate of about two miles an hour.

That evening, while sitting on the bank, Harry had an idea. "We made a mistake in calling our home river the West River. Let us call this the West, and rename our stream the Cataract River."

"Very well; as George does not object, the Geographical Society will please take notice, and make the change."

George was of the impression that to settle the question of the direction they should take in their future explorations, was the most important thing to determine.

An entire day was spent in and about the vicinity of the river. New plants and shrubbery of various kinds were constantly sought for and examined -- they fished and hunted; and on the morning of the third day it was decided to move on.

"We have not yet sighted any original inhabitants, and have found no signs of people living here; nevertheless, we had traces of a fire thirty or forty miles east of here. That is what puzzles me."

"I am in favor of following this stream to the north," was Harry's conclusion, "unless we make a raft and cross the river."

Harry's view finally prevailed, and at noon of that day they camped at the mouth of a little stream which flowed into the West River. Beyond was a forest, and on the opposite side of the West River the wood had all along been dense. At that point the trees did not come down to the stream, and there was considerable lowland between the river and the forest.

The Professor and George wandered up the banks of the little stream on a prospecting tour, as had been their constant practice. When they returned Harry knew something unusual had occurred from the excited appearance of George.

"What is it? Any animals?"

"No; only this." And George held up an arrow made of flint. The wooden portion of the arrow was really of good workmanship, and of hard, stiff wood.