In the first place their automatics would seem but trivial instruments when used against such a monster, said to have the nine lives of a cat; and often known to still be in fighting trim after receiving a volley of lead from powerful modern sporting rifles.
Then again if they were forced to fire, even though lucky enough to down their hairy enemy, the sound of the discharges was certain to be heard by those in hiding, and would serve to turn the entire settlement out searching for the cause of the rattling sounds.
“Hot-diggetty-dig! did yeou ever see sech a buster o’ a bar?” Perk was gasping, as he stared aghast; “an’ the tarnel beast’s startin’ to move this way, as sure as shootin’, Jack!”
“We’ve just got to clear out!” came the ultimatum from Jack.
That was easy to say, but what chance would they have against such a powerful beast, evidently with some reason to hate all two-legged bipeds, having possibly at some time in the past been severely wounded by such a creature, and holding a vendetta against all the clan. He could break through the worst tangle with ease, while they must be held up, and their progress impeded frightfully.
Jack hit a brilliant idea almost on the instant.
“Follow me, Perk!” he shrilled, tersely; “we’ve got to climb a tree! Let’s go, partner!”
“Which tree?” Perk demanded, as he kept close at the other’s heels.
“Over this way—got limbs low down—silver-tips can’t climb a tree, I’ve heard. Hurry—hurry!”
There was indeed need of haste, for they could distinctly hear the smashing advance of the big brute; also catch the growling as he pursued the fleeing pair who had dared invade his private hunting patch.