“Down near the lake. It made a very odd sound.”
By this time all had reached for their guns and were coming forth from the shelter.
“Come with me, Link,” said old Runnell. “You others hang back a little. We’ll find out what it is that is prowling around. I don’t believe it’s a bear.”
With extreme caution Joel Runnell led the way in the direction Link had pointed out. The snow covered the rough rocks so that walking was extremely difficult.
Just as they were to pass from under some pine trees into the open there came a cat-like cry from a tree to their right. Wheeling around, the old hunter caught sight of two animals facing each other on a sloping tree limb. Each animal was rather larger than a good sized house cat and had a long, bushy tail and short, stout legs.
“What are they, cats?” whispered Link.
“No, pine martens,” returned the old hunter, in a low voice. “Get back and perhaps we’ll see some fun.”
He caught Link by the arm, and both drew back a few paces. Then the others were motioned to keep silent.
The two pine martens soon began to growl and spit at each other exactly as do two house cats when on a back fence to settle a long-standing dispute. They were so much in earnest that neither noted the approach of the hunters, although usually a pine marten is very shy and quick to detect danger.
“What a battle!” remarked Joe, when each had made a savage claw at the other. “You’d almost think they were two old Toms, wouldn’t you?”