Perhaps it was not stalking them with the desire to attack. Perhaps, as she had read often of the wild inhabitants of the forest, it was following them out of curiosity. Sometimes, she recollected, trappers and hunters had been forced to endure this sinister, silent companionship for considerable distances until the beast tired and left them for more interesting company.
But she shuddered at the thought that the animal, with the instinct of its kind, might soon realize that they were unprotected—had not even a gun between them. Then——
If she had only dared to pause long enough to mount her pony—to urge Dorothy to do so—they might still have a chance of escape. The ponies were swift and used to the broken trail. They might outstrip their pursuer or baffle it perhaps by the noise and confusion of their flight.
But she dared not pause, even for an instant. Dared call no warning to Dorothy which would almost certainly precipitate an attack by that lurking antagonist.
She cast another glance over her shoulder and felt her heart jump sickeningly as she saw the panther had gained upon them.
It was a panther. She could see the long slim body, not so bulky as the lion or tiger but almost as large, weaving its way, snake-like, through the dense foliage, jewel-like eyes greedily sinister, tail fairly touching the ground.
Dorothy intercepted that look of horror and cried out in fright.
“What is it, Tavia? Did you see something? Did you—” her voice trailed off into silence, for she also had seen.
The face she turned back to the watching Tavia was drawn and white with terror. She said nothing, but quickened her pace by slow degrees until she was close behind Tavia on the narrow trail. The ponies now were dancing in terror, trying to break away.
“What are we going to do?”