NICK BAGS HIS GAME.
"Whoop! I got him!"
That was certainly Nick shouting in an exultant strain; and as Jack glanced in the direction of the lean-to he saw the fat boy hunching his pudgy figure out, gun in hand—for the moon had not yet set in the west.
Then Jack caught the sound of something struggling in the brush close by. Not knowing what it might prove to be, he was in no hurry to jump over that way.
"What did you shoot at, Nick?" he demanded, as the excited boy scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and appeared anxious to renew the engagement; at the same time Jack made sure to lay hold on the other's gun, lest he open fire recklessly.
"I d—d—don't know for sure," stammered Nick; "but it looked awfully like a tiger."
"What?" exclaimed Jack, astonished. "Why, don't you know there isn't such an animal in North America?"
"Might have been a striped skunk, Jack?" suggested Josh, who had poked his head out from the cabin of the Comfort.
"Or a zebra escaped from a menagerie," Herb remarked.
"All right, have all the fun you want, fellows," said Nick, doggedly; "but all the same, whatever it was, I got it."