The White Crystals: Being an Account of the Adventures of Two Boys

by Howard Roger Garis

The thing, whatever it was, kept up its short, angry snarls, and Roger could hear the sharp claws tearing at the bark of the fallen log. He gazed at the two circles of greenish-red fire in a sort of fascination.

Just then the whole forest seemed to be flooded with a soft light that stole in among the trees and sifted down through the leaves. It was the moon that had risen high enough above the hills to give its illumination to the scene. By the glowing beams Roger could make out the animal about fifteen feet from him, crouching low on a fallen tree. It was a beast perhaps two feet long, with a tail that swished from side to side, and it had little short ears that seemed pointed toward him, to catch the sound of any movement he might make. He could see the paws with which the wild-cat, for such he knew it must be, held its position on the log, by digging the knife-like claws into the soft bark. He could see the little chips and slivers fly off, while the growls changed to a half-whining cry.

For a moment the boy looked about in desperation, seeking which way to flee. Off to the left he seemed to observe a little larger opening between the trees than anywhere else. He sprang toward it with a bound.

Ere he had gone a dozen steps, stumbling in the half darkness over sticks and stones, the wild-cat turned quickly, and with a light leap was before him, waiting, waiting, waiting. The boy stopped short with a shudder. He was very much afraid. Though the beast was not large, and though it did not impress him half as much as did the tigers and lions he had seen in Central Park, yet there was something terrifying in the calm way it faced him.

It appeared to know there was nothing between itself and the defenceless boy, and that no help was at hand. Though the beast was not half as big as Roger, he knew the sharp claws and sharper teeth would cause death, if once the animal got up courage enough to attack him. That this was its intention the boy had no doubt, though he was sure the wild-cats to be found in the mountains about Cardiff were more a danger and menace to chickens and lambs than to human beings. The brutes were usually too cowardly to attack man. But perhaps the night, the smallness of the boy and his apparent terror had made the cat devoid of fear. At any rate, it seemed to Roger to be ugly and bold enough to spring at him any minute.

Foiled in his plan to escape, the boy returned to the log where he had been sitting. This was close against a big tree, and he felt that, with his back to this, he was, in some measure, protected; at least from an attack in the rear. As he retraced his steps the cat kept pace with him, until both boy and beast were in the same relative positions they had first occupied.

Roger now saw that it was to be a battle between himself and the wild-cat, and he nerved himself for the fight. Had he dared, he would have turned and run, but he seemed to see the cat come bounding after him, with big leaps and jumps, and crouching for a final spring upon his back. Then he recalled, with a shudder, what he had read of the terrible tearing power of the claws of these animals. So there was but one thing to do with any hope of success. That was to stand and fight off the beast as long as possible. But what weapons had he? He hurriedly felt in his pockets and all he could find was a small knife, which he knew would be of little use when it came to close quarters. A stick, a club, or a stone would be of more service. Yes, that would be better; a club, so Roger stooped down, and while he kept his eyes fastened on the cat he groped about on the ground with his hands to see what was there. He felt his fingers close over a stout cudgel, and he rose, grasping it firmly, and stood with his feet braced for the shock. He was less frightened now that he had some sort of a weapon, poor as it was, and he knew he could meet the attack on more even terms.

And it was high time he had thus prepared, for the cat now crouched lower than before on the log and its claws worked more quickly, as Roger could see by the light of the moon, which had risen higher.

He noticed the short ears pointed forward on the ugly head and the parted lips disclosed the sharp white teeth. There was a convulsive tremor of the lithe body, and then, from the opened mouth came a cry so dismal, so weird and terrifying to the boy that he shivered in fear, and felt his heart go thumping away under his ribs. The next instant the wild-cat launched itself forward with a spring, straight at the boyish figure that stood ready to meet it.

With a quick motion Roger lifted the short, heavy club, and then, as he saw the beast directly in front of him, he gave a half turn, so that the animal would sail past to the left. At the same time he brought the stick down with all his force, aiming at the ugly head. He missed this spot, but struck just behind it, as the brute passed him, and so close was the cat that the claws in its nearest hind leg caught the lower part of the boy's coat and tore it as if a sharp knife had cut it. The brute landed some five feet beyond Roger, letting out a mingled howl of pain and rage.