"They'd be fine to have mounted, but they'll be awfully in the way while we're hunting. What do you think, Mr. Wilder?" And Tom appealed to him as to their proper disposal.
"They will be awkward to carry, that's a fact," assented the ranchman. "If you want them very much, though, we can leave them here and then stop on our way home. They'll be safe enough till we get back."
Readily Tom agreed, and he and Horace were just stooping to pick up one end of the hide, containing the deer meat, when Horace let out a cry.
"Oh, what's that thing up by my buck?"
"It looks like a tiger," exclaimed Tom, and then added: "But you don't have tigers out here, do you?"
"No. That's a mountain lion, which is almost the same thing, though," answered Mr. Wilder. "Now's your chance to show your marksmanship, Horace. Take a good aim and see if you can't knock him over."
No urging did his son need. Raising his rifle to position, the lad squinted along the barrel carefully and then fired.
Above the report of the shot rang out an ear-splitting howl, and the mountain Hon turned to face the direction of the sound.
"Give him another, son. You hit him, but not in a vital spot," said his father.
Again Horace aimed and fired, this time with better success, for the lion dropped in its tracks.