If he puffed and wheezed occasionally that was no more than might be expected. Every time Andy glanced over his shoulder on missing these familiar sounds, a faint fear oppressing him that the other had fallen out of line, he discovered the stout chum in motion not far back of his heels.
“Bully for Tubby; he’s all right!” Andy was saying to himself, for really he had a deep and abiding affection for the good-natured one, even though addicted to “rubbing it in” occasionally, when an evil spirit moved him to play practical jokes.
Then it happened!
Donald came to a sudden halt, and uttered a low but disgusted grunt.
“What’s the matter; lost the trail?” whispered Rob, for that was the first and most natural explanation that appealed to him.
“We’re in hard luck, I ken!” muttered the pilot of the expedition.
“In what way?” demanded Rob.
“It’s a muckle sair job, wi’ that awfu’ creature barrin’ the way. If ye look, Rab, ye can see his yellow eyes gleamin’ up yonder in the tree. The beastie is crouchin’ on a lower limb, and right o’er the trail. He will nae let us pass by, I fear me.”
All of them heard what Donald said, and every pair of eyes was immediately turned toward the place just ahead that he indicated. Sure enough something glowed in the semi-darkness, something that seemed like twin spots of phosphorus, about eight feet or so from the ground, and in conjunction with the lower limb of the big, bushy hemlock.
Even Tubby knew that only the orbs of the feline or cat species could display such glaring eyes in the night-time.