The boys shouted.
"Not satisfied with trying to kill the poor beast, now you want to eat him," jeered Ned Rector. "Why, Stacy Brown, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. No, I never heard of any one with an appetite so difficult to satisfy that he was willing to eat cats——"
"Yes; but this isn't a real cat," protested Stacy.
"You would have found him real enough if he had fastened one of those ugly claws in your flesh," laughed Tad.
"Eat him, by all means, then," advised Ned. "Eat him raw. I wouldn't even stop to cook the beast if I were in your place."
Walter and Stacy picked up the dead animal, carrying it along through the bushes, all talking loudly, the boys—though they would have been slow to admit the fact—casting envious glances at the fat boy and his trophy. Chunky told himself he would have something to write to the folks back East that would make them open their eyes.
The boys, after having reached the camp, stretched the cat out on a flat rock. And now that the animal lay in the full light of day, the sight of its ugly, beetling brow, thin, cruel lips and powerful teeth made each of the three boys feel rather thankful that he had not had the luck to come face to face with it over in the bushes.
As for Chunky, he sat down beside the cat to enjoy the proud sense of victory, gazing down at the trophy with fascinated eyes. Deep down in his heart, he wondered how he ever had had the courage to attack it. But, of course, Chunky confided nothing of this to his companions.
"Congratulating yourself, eh!" laughed Ned Rector.
Chunky glanced up at him solemnly.