Part 18 (1/2)

”But I hope I just happen on the old pirate again while we're up in this neck of the woods,” observed the persistent Steve. ”I'd just like to look along the barrels of my gun at the varmint, as Jim calls him.”

”Yes, Steve, and he said he had an idea this was the same old cat that gave him a peck of trouble last winter, stealing some of the animals that were in his traps, but always avoiding getting caught himself.”

”Why, Uncle Jim even tried to poison the thief, but nary a bite would the cat take of the doctored meat,” Steve went on. ”I hope this is the same tough old customer and that I sight him when I've got my gun along, that's all.”

”We've got there, Steve. I can see the very tree where we hung up the balance of the little buck we knocked over.”

Steve could not but note how Max persistently gave him an equal share in the credit of killing the deer. It warmed his heart toward such a generous chum. But, then, that was always the way with Max Hastings.

”Let's go a little slow, Steve,” he continued; ”we can't see the deer, because of the leaves that still hang on to the oak.”

Silently then they advanced.

And just as they arrived at a spot where they could see the hanging carca.s.s, again did they hear that ferocious snarl as on the preceding night. Steve instantly threw his gun up to his shoulder, and at the same instant he heard Max at his elbow saying:

”Steady, Steve, steady! Look out, he's going to jump.”

CHAPTER XII.

THE END OF A THIEF.

The wildcat had evidently found the hanging carca.s.s not a great while before. At the time the three boys approached he had been regaling himself as he clung to the upper part of the dangling buck.

Being only half satisfied he seemed angry at being disturbed in his meal.

The boys happened to be ”down the wind” from him, and this would explain how it was they came upon him apparently unawares. But when a wildcat is in a frightfully bad humor he does not run off very easily, and this one, according to what Uncle Jim had said, was unusually bold. He had proved this by approaching the cabin of the trapper on the preceding night.

Crouching there on the swaying carca.s.s of the deer, and with his chops all b.l.o.o.d.y from his recent meal which they had disturbed, the bobcat presented a truly terrifying appearance.

His short ears were laid back close to his head, his yellow eyes glowed as though they were b.a.l.l.s of phosph.o.r.escence, and the hair on his back seemed to stand up on end.

Max had his gun in readiness, too.

He was not going to take any more chances than were necessary. Steve seemed to be all ready to fire, and he knew the other to be a pretty good shot. But, then, who could wholly depend upon such an excitable fellow?

Then the cat sprang!

Max heard Toby utter a shout of warning that was swallowed up in a tremendous roar close to his ears. Max sprang aside, and he thought he saw Steve doing the same sort of stunt. Toby was already safe behind the friendly trunk of a tree.

To the relief of Max the leaping cat seemed to crumple up in the air. It turned completely over, as though by the impact of something that had struck it. And when it reached the ground it lay even beyond the hanging venison.

”Wow!” came from Steve.

He was scrambling to his feet, having dropped his gun. There was a look of mingled satisfaction, surprise, and pain upon his face.

”What's the matter?” asked Max, noticing how the other was rubbing his right shoulder where the b.u.t.t of his shotgun had rested.

”Hurts like fun!” replied Steve, making a wry face.

”You mean it kicked, don't you, Steve?”