They walked for a few minutes longer and then suddenly, over their heads in a big tree, there was a rustling in the branches—a rustling not caused by the wind, for there was no hint of a breeze then.
“What’s that?” whispered Chot, ready with his gun.
“I don’t know,” answered Rick, as he, too, brought his weapon around. Uncle Tod had given the boys each a light shot gun, and they had learned to pick off small game in the woods, shooting, however, only enough for actual needs.
The lads stared up in the tree. The rustling of the branches continued and Ruddy, seeing that some business in which he ought to take an interest was afoot, stood at attention. Suddenly the dog growled and immediately there was a hiss above the boys’ heads as if an angry cat were there.
“Look!” whispered Chot, and Rick saw that his chum was pointing to two blazing, greenish, reddish spots of light; the eyes of some animal on which the moon reflected.
Chot raised his gun, but Rick said:
“Don’t shoot!”
“Why not?”
“It’s only a small bob cat and he won’t hurt us if we go away. Shooting will only wake up those men, and we haven’t found what we want yet.”
“But aren’t bob cats dangerous?”