When he found that he was not going to make his fortune in the mine, “Uncle Sam,” as Mr. Turman was familiarly known for miles around, desired to move to Jimtown or some other settlement in the valley; but Aunt Sarah Jane had been cured of rheumatism in this high and dry altitude, and she was afraid it would come back if they moved below. So they continued to live on the mountain peak in their cabin of slabs and rude timbers made warmer in winter with banks of sod and straw heaped close and high around the foundation.
It was a picturesque place, with everything crude but neat, clean, and comfortable. The boys always enjoyed going up there. The view was wide and magnificent. Several towns were visible, nestled here and there in the valleys or on the hillsides. At night their lights shone prettily in the deep-down distance. On one occasion while some of the boys were on the peak, they witnessed a storm several hundred feet below them and marveled at the novelty of looking down upon banks of clouds with lightning flashing among them.
So the Boy Scouts had much of interest before them when one fine morning early in September they set out in a body to climb Porcupine Hill. The ascent began over a slowly rising ridge of ground that ran along the base of the mountain, then led directly up the steep incline for some distance, and finally lost itself in a winding trail that curved among and about rocks and bushes and projecting cliffs. The climb, because of its winding nature, was much longer than a straight course would have been, so that nearly two hours were spent between the base and peak.
The boys were equipped with luncheons, water canteens, hike-sticks, a few cameras and field-glasses. For climbing footgear, they wore heavy Swiss hob-nailed shoes and gaiters. Their clothes were of strong, coarse material that would stand much wear and resist the tearing pulls of shrubbery and briars.
Aunt Sarah Jane was delighted to see them. It was the first time all the Scouts of the school had been up there together. At noon she brought out some tablecloths and spread them on the grass and invited the boys to prepare their dinner picnic style. Hal and Byron took the burro belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Turman and rode halfway down the southern side to a neighbor’s well and filled two large canvas bottles with water. These they hung over the burro’s shoulders by a strap connecting them and then began their journey back up to the peak.
The mountain was thickly wooded on this side, but the surface was rough, and the trail consequently very winding. Only one of the boys rode at a time on the return trip; when one became tired, the one on the burro dismounted and permitted the other to ride.
In this manner they had gone half of the return distance, when suddenly something happened that added a new sensation to their mountain experiences. Just as they were rounding a bluff in a sparsely wooded spot, a dark object darted across their path, causing the burro to give a jump so sudden as to throw Byron from its back.
Like an arrow from a bow, the slow and sleepy beast shot up the side of the mountain, leaving the boys to the tender mercies of the cause of its fright. At first the two Scouts were only astonished, for they could not imagine any more dangerous animal in that locality than a wildcat. There were said to be a few of these in the mountains, but they were shy and fled at the sight of man.
This beast, however, was larger than a wildcat and did not seem to be disposed to run at the sight of the boys. It was a slender long-limbed, cat-like animal, with reddish-gray fur. After springing across the path, the beast turned and seemed to hesitate, as if not knowing whether to pursue the burro or to direct its attention toward the boys.
“What is it?” Byron asked as he clung tremblingly to his companion. He had been severely shaken by his fall, but not seriously injured.