The Adventures of Kathlyn

Winnie turned sharply around the corner of the bungalow toward the

empty animal cages, to attract her father and at the same time rouse

some of the keepers. Seeing the door of an empty cage open, and that

it was approached by a broad runway, she flew to it, entered and

slammed the door and held it. The cat, now hot with the lust to kill,

threw himself against the bars, snarling and spitting.

Kathlyn called out to him sharply, and fearlessly approached him. She

began talking in a monotone. His ears went flat against his head, but

he submitted to her touch because invariably it soothed him, and

because he sensed some undefinable power whenever his gaze met hers.

She snapped the leash on his collar just as her father came running up,

pale and disturbed. He ran to the door and opened it.

"Winnie, you poor little kitten," he said, taking her in his arms, "how

many times have I told you never to take that dog about when Kit's

leopard is off the leash?"

"I didn't think," she sobbed.

"No. Kit here and I must always do your thinking for you. Ahmed!"

"Yes, Sahib," answered the head keeper.

"See if you can stop that racket over there. Sadie may lose her litter

if it keeps up."

The lean brown Mohammedan trotted away in obedience to his orders. He

knew how to stop captive lions from roaring. He knew how to send

terror to their hearts. As he ran he began to hiss softly.

Colonel Hare, with his arm about Winnie, walked toward the bungalow.

"Lock your pet up, Kit," he called over his shoulder, "and come in to

tea."

Kathlyn spoke soothingly to the leopard, scratched his head behind the

ears, and shortly a low satisfied rumble stirred his throat, and his

tail no longer slashed about. She led him to his own cage, never

ceasing to talk, locked the door, then turned and walked thoughtfully

toward the bungalow.

She was wondering what this gift was that put awe into the eyes of the

native keepers on her father's wild animal farm and temporary peace in

the hearts of the savage beasts. She realized that she possessed it,

but it was beyond analysis. Often some wild-eyed keeper would burst in

upon her. Some newly captive lion or tiger was killing itself from

mere passion, and wouldn't the Mem-sahib come at once and talk to it?

There was a kind of pity in her heart for these poor wild things, and

perhaps they perceived this pity, which was fearless.

"She gets a little from me, I suppose," Colonel Hare had once answered

to a query, "for I've always had a way with four footed things. But I

think Ahmed is right. Kathlyn is heaven born. I've seen the night

when Brocken would be tame beside the pandemonium round-about. Yet

half an hour after Kit starts the rounds everything quiets down. The

gods are in it."