But the lynxes seemed quite willing that the fun should begin then and there. As he retreated, they advanced, convinced, probably, that he was cowardly.
Thereupon, Diamond backed up against the rock, and picking up a stick, hurled it at them.
“Gr-r-r!”
Instead of frightening them, they came on faster than ever, uttering a sound that was nearer a growl than anything to which Diamond could liken it.
The young Virginian did not like the idea of turning about in an ignominious flight, so he climbed to the first shelf of the rocky ledge, feeling with his hands as he did so in hope of finding something that would be a valuable weapon.
“If I ever leave camp again without a rifle, I hope somebody will kick me!” he growled.
The loup-cerviers came up to the foot of the ledge and sat down like dogs, just as they had done before; and there remained, eying him hungrily, and evidently determined that he should not pass.
“This is decidedly unpleasant,” was his mental comment. “I guess I might as well call for help. If I’m kept here too long, that guide will have a chance to get back and declare that he hasn’t been away from camp a minute.”
Then he lifted his voice.
“Yee-ho-o!” he called, funneling his hands and sending the penetrating sound across the island like the blast of a bugle. “Yee-ho-o! Come over here, you fellows, and bring your guns with you!”