“Poor dead beast,” he murmured. “Maybe I can get a pop at the other creature; and if I get close enough, and put two charges of shot into it at short range, and in the right spot, I may kill it. I’m going to try, anyhow.” He little knew the danger he was running, for he had had, as yet, no view of the creature upon which he was creeping.
As he walked forward he stepped on a dead branch, concealed by the snow, and it broke with his weight, a sharp snap sounding in the still forest. Instantly the crunching of bones ceased, there was a slight movement where the fight had taken place, and a savage growl resounded.
“I’m in for it now,” mused Frank. “I’ve got to see it through. I can’t run, but I don’t like that growl.”
He stood still for a moment, hoping the beast would show itself. Then he advanced a few more steps.
As he got to one side of the concealing bushes he saw a curious sight. A big, lithe, tawny creature, with ears laid back, and with flashing eyes, was crouched down over some smaller animal, savagely regarding the boy. It had been rending and tearing the smaller creature, and, at a glance Frank saw that it was a fox. It had been the whines and barking of the fox that he had heard, and the groans had come when death followed the stroke of the sharp claws of the wildcat, for it was that savage and tawny beast that now glared at Frank—a wildcat disturbed at its meal.
Frank saw before him one of the tragedies of the forest. The fox had been preying on a wild turkey, as was evidenced by the half-consumed carcass, and the feathers scattered all about. Then along had come the wildcat, intent on a meal, had crept upon the feasting fox, had leaped down from a tree, and, with the quickness of light, had given the death stroke. Now Frank had come, the fourth factor in the woodland tragedy.
For a moment the lad stood regarding the savage creature, whose blazing eyes never left his face. Then, as cautiously as he could, Frank brought his gun to bear. Oh, how he wished he had his rifle now, for well he knew that more than a charge of small shot was needed to kill the big cat.
“But if I can give her both barrels at once, right in the eyes, maybe it will do for her,” he mused quickly.
Once more came the menacing growl, and the cat crouched for a spring. From her jaws dripped foam and blood. Frank raised his gun, and took quick aim. He pulled both triggers together, and the recoil nearly sent him over backwards. But he recovered his balance with an effort, and gazed through the smoke at the crouching creature.
To his horror, instead of seeing her stretched out dead, or writhing in the final struggle, the lad saw the big, tawny body bounding over the snow toward him. On she came, growling and snarling, and Frank saw that he had fired too high, and that with the small shot he had only succeeded in slightly wounding the wildcat on top of the head. The creature’s eyes had escaped, and, now with the yellow orbs blazing with deadly hate and anger, she leaped forward as though to serve the lad as she had served the fox.