“If we only had a gun,” whispered Dorothy, with longing.
“We’d be afraid to shoot at it,” gasped Tavia.
“Not I! I’d try to make a bullseye.”
“Can’t we try to scare it off in some way?”
“Let’s scream—both together!” cried Dorothy Dale. “Now!”
If fear-inspired shrieks ever issued from feminine throats, the abandoned yell of Tavia was a triumphant specimen. Nor was Dorothy far behind in the piercing quality of her cry.
It is doubtful if any mountain lion in all the wild places of the West could have equalled the quality of the girls’ yells. And——
“The nasty beast never so much as winked an eye!” Tavia gasped, horrified.
Dorothy was fully as much amazed as her chum. There was something uncanny about the twinkling, glistening spots. She had never heard of any creature with such unwinking eyes—save a serpent. And surely these eyes did not belong to any reptile.
She threw more fuel on the fire. Again the flames leaped up. The heap of wood they had gathered was fast being diminished. Dorothy looked at her watch. Only half-past ten! The beast had been watching them—she was sure—for an hour.