"Tell you what," he grumbled. "I don't fancy this job a mite."
"You're not 'afraid to go home in the dark,' are you, Curly?" asked Ann, with scorn.
"Not going home just now," responded the boy, grinning. "But the woods aren't any place to be out in this time of night—unless you've got a dog and a gun. There! see that?"
"A cat, that's all," declared Ruth, who had seen the little black and white animal run across their track in the flickering and uncertain light of the lantern. "Here, kitty! kitty! Puss! puss! puss!"
"Hold on!" cried the excited Curly. "You needn't be so particular about calling that cat."
"Why not? It must be somebody's cat that's strayed," said Ruth.
"Ya-as. I guess it is. It's a pole-cat," growled Curly. "And if it came when you called it, you wouldn't like it so much, I guess."
"Oh, goodness!" gasped Ann. "Don't be so friendly with every strange animal you see, Ruth Fielding. A pole-cat!"
"Wish I had a gun!" exclaimed Curly. "I'd shoot that skunk."
"Glad you didn't then," said Ruth, promptly. "Poor little thing."