"Now, Preble, I'm going to walk up to that Lynx and get a close photo. If he jumps for me, and he may, there is nothing can save my beauty but you and that gun."
Preble with characteristic loquacity says, "Go ahead."
Then I stopped and began slowly approaching the desperate creature we held at bay. His eyes were glaring green, his ears were back, his small bobtail kept twitching from side to side, and his growls grew harder and hissier, as I neared him. At 15 feet he gathered his legs under him as for a spring, and I pressed the button getting, No. 3.
Then did the demon of ambition enter into my heart and lead me into peril. That Lynx at bay was starving and desperate. He might spring at me, but I believed that if he did he never would reach me alive. I knew my man—this nerved me—and I said to him: "I'm not satisfied; I want him to fill the finder. Are you ready?"
"Yep."
So I crouched lower and came still nearer, and at 12 feet made No. 4. For some strange reason, now the Lynx seemed less angry than he had been.
"He didn't fill the finder; I'll try again," was my next. Then on my knees I crawled up, watching the finder till it was full of Lynx. I glanced at the beast; he was but 8 feet away. I focused and fired.
And now, oh, wonder! that Lynx no longer seemed annoyed; he had ceased growling and simply looked bored.
Seeing it was over, Preble says, "Now where does he go? To the
Museum?"
"No, indeed!" was the reply. "He surely has earned his keep; turn him loose. It's back to the woods for him." We stood aside; he saw his chance and dashed for the tall timber. As he went I fired the last film, getting No. 6; and so far as I know that Lynx is alive and well and going yet.