“Not if you leave ’em alone, Uncle Tod told me. And we’ll leave this one alone.”
Ruddy had now seen the lithe form of the lynx stretched out on a tree branch overhead. It was not a large animal—in fact not much larger than some overgrown house cat. Of course it was more dangerous if cornered, but, as Rick had observed, it would not needlessly attack them if not molested.
Ruddy growled as if eager for the fray; but Rick knew even a large setter dog is no match for a small bob cat, and he ordered Ruddy away. The lynx continued to snarl as it glared at those it evidently regarded as its enemies, and remained in watchful readiness on the branch as Chot and Rick went on their way.
“I’d like to have taken a pop at him,” said Chot regretfully.
“So’d I,” admitted Rick. “But shot guns aren’t much good against a lynx—not little shot guns like ours. And, anyhow, we don’t want to stir up those men.”
Chot agreed to this, and they kept on up along the river.
“’Tisn’t so much a lost river now,” observed Chot as the stream murmured beside them.
“No, but it’s lost as far as Uncle Tod is concerned,” remarked Rick. “That is until he can shift it back—if he can.”
The boys made a turn in the trail and suddenly became aware of a slightly different sound made by the water. It was a splashing noise, as though a cascade were not far away.
“What do you imagine that is?” asked Chot.