"He sure did, Bob; but that was because he had already been stirred up by the fight with Spanish Joe. I reckon the cowboy must have give him a few jabs with that handy knife he owns. Anyhow, the panther was spoiling for a scrap, and didn't care a cent how many there were."
"That was before you gave him his finish with that fire-stick, Frank. Didn't that knock the old chap silly, though? Why, it took all the fight out of him, for a fact. He was the tame panther all right when he ran away, with his tail between his legs. Think he'll tackle us again?"
"No telling; but I don't believe the beast cares much for running against my torch again. It might pay for both of us, though, to keep on the watch," Frank replied, always on the side of caution.
"But I say, Frank, is the fact that he's private property going to make any difference; that is, do I shoot straight if I get the chance again?"
"Well, I say yes," answered the other. "Given half a chance and he'd maul us the worst way. No matter who's property he may be, I'd advise him to keep clear of Haywood and Archer. They're marked, dangerous—hands and claws off, but come along, Bob; let's be moving."
"Wait, there it comes again, Frank. Don't you think we'd better lie down till the worst is over?" ventured Bob, as he caught the opening notes of the mighty anvil chorus that would soon be in full blast.
"Well, now, perhaps that wouldn't be a bad idea, Bob. Suppose we do stretch out here, you facing one way and I another."
The two crouched there. Frank had thrust the torch into a crevice, for he wanted the use of both hands in gripping his rifle. If the wild beast guardian of the cave tried to attack them again, he felt that he would like to be in a position to shoot.
"Feel the wind, will you?" called Bob, as the sounds mounted higher and higher.
"I'm afraid our torch is going to be blown out," Frank replied, pointing to the flaring light, which was being hard pressed by the suction that seemed to rush through the cave, heading always toward the mouth.