Then, of a sudden, Bess heard the big cat spit! "My goodness!" she shrieked, "what is that?"
Her cry was heard by Rhoda, at a distance. The Western girl knew that something untoward was taking place. She ran for her pony and leaped into the saddle.
"What is it?" she shouted to Bess, whom she could see from horseback.
"Nan's found a red calf—and he makes the queerest noise," declared the amazed Bess. "I'm afraid of that calf."
Walter ran to mount his pony, too. But Rhoda spurred directly toward the spot where Bess stood. Being in the saddle, she was so much higher than Nan's chum that she could see right over the brush clump. Immediately she beheld Nan and the crouching lion.
"Come back, Nan!" she called quickly. "Stoop!"
She snatched the rifle from under her knee. It leaped to her shoulder, and, standing up in her stirrups while her pony stood quivering and snorting, for he had smelled the puma, the girl of Rose Ranch took quick but unerring aim at the crouching, slate-colored body on the boulder.
The beast was about to spring. Indeed, he did leap into the air.
But that was the reflex of his muscles after the bullet from
Rhoda's rifle struck him.
She had come up so that her sight had been most deadly—right behind the fore shoulder. The ball entered there, split the beast's heart, and came out of his chest. He tumbled to the ground, kicking a bit, but quite dead before he landed.
"There!" exclaimed Rhoda, "I warrant that's the lion daddy was speaking to Steve about last night. He said it wasn't coyotes that killed all the strays. He had seen the tracks of this fellow in the hills."