It was ridiculous to connect Ma Petterby’s story of the panther with this suspicion. That miserable little pony had given her nerves a jolt, that was all.
She glanced at Dorothy to see if she shared her uneasiness, but aside from a frown of concentration Dorothy displayed no anxiety. She was still talking to her pony and stroking his shining coat.
“I won’t look back into those woods. I won’t!” declared Tavia, and immediately did that very thing.
She shivered and started violently. Something had slunk behind the trees—something that padded on stealthy feet!
Tavia had caught but a glimpse of that shadowy bulk, but it had been enough to crystallize her fears. She wanted to cry out to Dorothy, to shout her a warning of the danger that threatened them. But she was afraid to raise her voice above a whisper, fearing that any sudden noise might precipitate a tragedy.
Dorothy, leading her pony gingerly a few steps behind Tavia, was blissfully unaware of any danger. And the worst of it was that Tavia herself could not be sure.
What was it that she had sensed slinking among the trees? She had seen something, but whether it was man or beast it was almost impossible to say.
The panther? That prowling, sinister beast? But it could not be! Panthers did not stalk their prey so long and patiently.
Again, against her will, she stole another glance into the shadows of the woods and glimpsed again that lurking form keeping always within the shelter of the trees.
There could be no doubt this time! This was no human being that followed them, but some great beast of the forest.