“Yes, that’s a bob-cat, all right enough, and a big one, too, I imagine,” cried Bill, excitedly. “We should have brought a gun. Might have known we’d run across one of these fellows before we quit,” he said.
There was a rustling of dried leaves, and before any one had time to move the bob-cat landed with a thump in the midst of them. Ed crashed into George in his frantic effort to get out of the way, and both of them fell in a heap. Ben made a vicious swing with his ax; but the bob-cat evaded him and went racing off with Moze in hot pursuit.
When the boys regained their feet, the trapper was some distance away with the lantern. Ben, who was crashing through some bushes to their left, called to them to follow the light. Not wishing to be lost in the inky woods, they hurried, pell-mell, after Bill and the sounds of fighting.
From the snarls and growls which they heard, the lads knew that Moze had once more brought the bob-cat to bay. Panting and excited, they at last bumped into the trapper, who was standing with the lantern held high above his head, pointing at some rocks which Ben was cautiously approaching, ax in hand.
There, among the rocks, the bob-cat faced them, driven to bay. With ears flattened, eyes glaring, and lips drawn back in an ugly snarl, it crouched before the dog. It kept up a constant low, rumbling growl, which was defiantly answered by Moze. The old hound knew too much to rush recklessly into close quarters, and contented himself with circling about the ugly cat and so holding its attention. The bob-cat was indeed, as Bill had judged, a large one. Neither Ed nor George had ever seen such a ferocious-looking wild animal before, and it seemed to grow in size and ugliness while they stared at it, squatting there in the glow of the lantern, its whole body quivering with rage.
It drew back as though to spring when the guide approached, and Bill called a warning. Ben cautiously retreated a few paces, and the bob-cat relaxed somewhat, growling so fiercely that the boys involuntarily moved several feet nearer Bill.
Moze rushed forward, but instantly jumped back when the watchful creature struck a savage blow at his head.
“Look out, old boy, you’ll get a clawing!” laughed Bill, warningly, to the enraged hound, which was jumping to and fro barely out of range of the sharp claws, bared and ready to repel his attack.
“I’ll stone him till he turns, and then you send Moze in, and I’ll take a chance with the ax,” Ben proposed.
“He’s big, and he’ll fight hard,” said Bill, dubiously.