From the back of the cave came a plaintive sound of mewing, as if there were a litter of kittens concealed there.
“Young ones, by the Blue Bells of Scotland!” exclaimed Mountain Jim. “Say, we’re mighty lucky that the old lioness didn’t attack us.”
“Why didn’t she?” asked Ralph.
“Dunno. There’s no accountin’ for the freaks of wild things. At one time they’d attack a battleship, at another time they’ll run like cotton-tails. But I reckon this old lioness is off looking for her mate.”
“And they will come back and attack us?”
“That ain’t worryin’ me. We’ve got good rifles, and cougars are mostly dumb cowards anyhow.”
“I hope these are,” said Ralph fervently, “although I’d like a shot at one, all right.”
They went to the back of the cave to look at the kittens. There were four of them, pretty little fluffy, fawn-colored creatures, whose eyes had apparently only just opened. They blinked as the lightning flashed and the thunder roared outside the cave.
But the two did not bend over the litter of lion cubs for long. The stench of decaying meat around the den was terrible. The carcasses of at least a dozen deer lay there, besides the bones of smaller creatures.
“The old man goes hunting and brings all that truck back,” said Mountain Jim as they sought the front of the cave where the air was fresher.