“I know it; but it’s the only chance we have of getting him without a gun.” And Ben stooped and picked up several stones. “Now then, boys, look out for trouble!” he warned, preparing to hurl one of the stones.
“Hold on till I get a club,” urged Bill, searching about for a weapon. “Here, Ed, you hold the lantern, and, mind you, keep the light on him!”
Ben threw a stone, which struck the bob-cat full in the side. With an enraged snarl it turned to run, but Moze was upon it the same instant. He fastened his teeth in one of its rear legs. The cat whirled and struck before the dog could jump aside, and its long, sharp claws inflicted a nasty gash in the top of his head. With a howl of mingled rage and pain Moze bounded to one side, and Ben let go another rock, but in his eagerness he missed the mark entirely.
Then he shouted a warning, for the bob-cat drew back as the second missile sped past its head, and, gathering its powerful feet beneath it, sprang directly at Ed and the lantern. As the startled boy turned to run it struck him in the middle of his back and sent him pitching forward on his face.
Instantly Moze rushed in, and Bill ran forward yelling, club in hand. Then ensued some terrific fighting in the dark, for the lantern had been smashed against a rock when Ed fell. Snarls, growls, yells, and blows resounded from the blackness as Bill, Moze, and the bob-cat fought over the prostrate body of Ed, who prudently lay face downward, afraid to move.
Luckily, Moze closed with the bob-cat before it had a chance to inflict injury on the lad. And then, seeing the danger the boy was in, Bill rushed into the fray with his club, and the cat was too hard pressed to turn its attention to the boy underneath. But he was in a risky place, for the combatants rolled back and forth over his body, and several times he felt sharp scratches on his neck and shoulders as Moze and the bob-cat struck and snapped at each other. Then he heard Bill’s club descend with a loud whack, and at the same time the trapper called to him to roll out of the way, which he lost no time in doing.
Moze had been getting the worst of the fighting; but once Ed was out of the way, Ben went to the aid of Bill, and with club and ax they soon killed the bob-cat, but not before the trapper had been severely clawed on his legs and arms. Moze was bleeding from a dozen wounds, and Ben told George to gather sticks that they might build a fire and nurse the injured.
Bill’s wounds were painful, but not deep, and he made light of them when Ben offered to help him. Ed had by some miracle escaped with a slight gash in one shoulder and a few minor claw-marks across his back. The guide bound up his shoulder, and then turned to poor Moze. The old dog was lying down, quietly licking his injuries. There was little they could do for him at the time, so they all sat by the fire to rest before moving toward the cabin.
Ben stretched out the body of the bob-cat; it measured over four feet, and the guide claimed it would weigh between thirty and forty pounds. It bore the marks of Moze’s mauling, and Ed went over and petted the hound affectionately for having so gallantly gone to his rescue.
“That’s a powerful big bob-cat,” said Bill, gazing down at the mottled gray body stretched out at his feet.