Before long the boys had a dozen of the alligator’s eggs cooked hard. By the time they had finished this task, it was nearly dark, and after gathering a good supply of firewood they built up the blaze and lay down to discuss their plans for the morrow.
As night came on all manner of strange noises arose from the swamp, chief among them being the snorting bellow of the alligators. Suddenly, in a momentary lull, they heard, far off, a wild, long-drawn cry, that hushed their voices and set their hair creeping.
The shrieking wail, carrying an indescribable note of ferocity and menace, rose and fell, and then was gone, eclipsed by the nearer noises of the swamp, that now resumed their usual volume.
“What was that?” whispered Fred, as the boys gazed wide-eyed at each other.
“That was the cry of a cougar,” said Lee, his voice a trifle shaky.
“A cougar!” exclaimed Fred, “what’s that?”
“Its a kind of panther,” explained Lee. “There used to be a lot of them around here, but now there aren’t many left. What there are, though, are fierce enough to make up for that.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Bobby. “I hope that fellow doesn’t take it into his head to pay us a visit.”
“He wouldn’t be likely to come into the swamp this far,” said Lee, although there was not much conviction in his voice. “But we’ll have to be on our guard anyway. We’d better stand watches to-night and keep the fire going.”
“We’d probably have had to do that, anyhow,” said Fred. “Your Southern winters aren’t like the ones we’re used to up North, but just the same it’s pretty cold sleeping out at night without any blankets.”