Perhaps it was this thought that made him lose his balance. At any rate, almost before he realized it, he had toppled out of his seat and into the water. For an instant he floundered, then struck out, under water, to get as far away as he could. He did not stop to reason that the animal, whatever it was, would hardly attack him in the water; he merely wanted to get away.
Then suddenly he stopped and came to his feet. His hand had struck something solid. It felt not unlike the branch of a tree or a stick—or a rifle barrel. It was standing straight up in the water. For a second he groped about, then struck it again. With a feeling of triumph he grasped it and gave a tug that freed it from the mud. It was the rifle.
Then he looked toward the bridge. There, its teeth bared in a snarl, was the mountain lion of the day before. It was not crouched, but stood there, its head going from side to side in an impatient shake, its tail beating the bridge floor angrily. But for an instant only it remained so.
With an alert turn of the head it directed its attention to the cave. It had heard something. Bad heard the same sound; it was Hal coming out, and Bad stood as if paralyzed.
“Stay in the cave!” he yelled, suddenly regaining command of his voice.
“I’m coming,” came the indistinct reply. “Did you find the gun?”
“Stay in the cave! The lion’s on the bridge!”
“I can’t understand you.” Bad had difficulty in hearing the words, broken by the irregularity of the passage and drowned by the noise of the falls. “I’m coming fast as I can—my lantern’s out.”
“Oh-h—” groaned Bad, “what shall I do? Don’t come out!” he shrieked again. There was no reply. The lion had not stirred, crouching expectantly at the opening. When Hal appeared, it would spring—and Bad shuddered at the thought.
But the gun! Suddenly he remembered that. He looked at the breech; it was unrusted. He threw a shell into place; then he thought of the barrel. One glance told him it was choked with mud.