"I hit him, for he jumped."
"But you only made him more angry; I am afraid we are not through with him
yet."
The rifle was of the old-fashioned, muzzle-loading kind, and Aunt Cynthia
gave what help she could to her nephew, as he began reloading it. From the
powder flask she poured a charge down the barrel, upon which Tom pressed
the conical bullet, wrapped about with a small bit of greased muslin. Then
he had only to place a percussion-cap on the tube, and he was ready for
business.
But before this stage of the proceedings was reached, something startling
happened.
Jim Travers paid no heed to what his young friend was doing. Stooping over
the burning wood in the fireplace, the flame of which was quite feeble,
because the day was mild, he began fanning it with his hat. He was thus
employed, and Tom was in the act of capping the rifle, when a crash
against the nearest shutter made the building tremble.
The startled inmates stared trembling in each other's faces.
"It's the tiger!" whispered Mrs. Gordon, uttering a truth that was
manifest to every one.
"He is determined to get at us," added Aunt Cynthia.
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