Buster grew frantic with dread. He expected any moment to feel Loup’s powerful paw crushing down on his head, for right behind him he could hear the deep breathing of the Lynx. There was no hope—no escape!
“Thought you’d get away from me, Buster, didn’t you?” laughed Loup when within a few yards of the cub. “Ha! Ha! This is delicious sport! Now I’m going to duck you and half drown you, and then duck you again.”
“Oh, please, please—” gasped Buster, who was pretty well winded now. “Please let me go!”
For reply Loup laughed louder than ever. Then Buster thought of a trick. This time he made it up, for he had heard nothing in the bushes to make him think his mother was returning. But under the circumstances you can’t blame him for stretching the truth.
“Oh, Loup, there’s mother coming!” he cried. “I must go to her at once!”
Loup was not deceived this time. He took a cautious peep around him, and then splashed the water violently with his two front paws.
“You can’t deceive me that way the second time, Buster,” he said. “Your mother isn’t coming. I’m going to kill you, and then take you up on the bank and eat you.”
“But, Mr. Loup, I haven’t done anything to you. Won’t you let me go this time? I’ll promise to be your friend, and—”
“No!” roared the Lynx so loudly that the echo went ringing up and down the river.
He raised a great paw to grasp Buster, who to escape it dove under the water and disappeared for an instant; but he couldn’t stay there long, and when he reappeared there was the menacing paw raised to strike him.