However, to faint—to give up hope of escape—to helplessly await the closer approach of the beast whose eyes they saw, did not once enter Dorothy Dale’s mind.
She threw off Tavia’s clutching hands quickly, reached for some fuel, and threw it on the flickering campfire. Almost at once the flames burst out and mounted higher. Their glare revealed the immediate surroundings of the rude encampment, but nothing of the strange marauder but the glittering eyes was visible to the girls.
Dorothy was quite sure that while the fire burned brightly no wild animal would throw itself upon them. Wolves, she knew, were cowardly alone; only in the pack were they courageous enough to attack man. As for its being a bear—those eyes never belonged to Bruin. He would not remain still so long.
The unwinking nature of their observation forced Dorothy to determine that the eyes belonged to a member of the cat tribe. A panther? No more terrible beast, she was sure, roamed the Colorado wilderness.
Somewhere, when she was much younger, Dorothy had seen a picture in a book of African adventure, in which a huge lion was shown leaping over a line of fires around a hunter’s camp to get at the cattle. Ordinarily, she was sure, the cat tribe was much afraid of the flames, but suppose this individual that was watching her and Tavia was particularly hungry?
Would the miserable little blaze prevent the beast from leaping upon them? The same thought seemed to unlock the chains of Tavia’s speech, for she whispered:
“Throw on more wood, Dorothy. Make a big blaze.”
“But we haven’t so much wood,” objected Dorothy.
“Oh, do! Perhaps a big fire will drive it off.”
Dorothy recklessly heaped on more fuel. The flames leaped and crackled. But their light did not show the outlines of the enemy. It seemed to be crouching in the deep shadow at the edge of the forest. Nothing showed of the creature but those terrible eyes.