“Can’t help it if you don’t like it, pussy. You can’t have everything your own way in this cold world.”
He found that he could make fairly good progress and keep to the middle of the stream. In places there were rocks where he could leap from one to the other for some distance. Again he would have to wade, at times nearly to his waist. The big cat followed him along the bank, snarling and at times giving its yell.
“There’s no use getting so mad about it, kitty,” he told him as he paused waist-deep in the water. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I didn’t ask you to come along. Why don’t you run along home if you don’t like it? I won’t be lonesome without you. In fact, I’d rather you would go.”
But for along time the cat evidenced no intention of giving up. Rex estimated that he had jumped and waded for all of two miles, and the cat seemed as determined as ever.
“Believe I’ll try taking the offensive,” he thought, as he came to a shallow place near the middle of the stream.
He stooped down and picked up a rock about the size of his fist, and with all the force he could muster, threw it. The rock caught the cat in the side and bowled it over. But it was up in a second, snarling and yelling.
“Take your base,” Rex shouted, as he stooped for another rock.
The cat was not more than seven feet away, and the second stone caught it square on the nose. Without a sound, save for a lone whine, the cat fell on its side and gave a few convulsive kicks and was still.
“Batter’s out,” Rex yelled, as he stood and watched the animal. “I really believe I’ve killed it,” he mused a moment later, as the cat gave no sign of life. “Now what do you know about that? Didn’t know I was that good, but I guess the old wing hasn’t forgot how it used to strike ’em out.”
Convinced after some moments of watching that the cat was really dead, he waded over and stood gazing at it.