They just stood there about fifteen or twenty feet off, staring. Even Harry Donnelle stood stark still, staring. “What’s the matter?” I said. “Are you afraid of a poor calf? Come down in the front row; I won’t let him hurt you.”
Then Harry came nearer, but the other fellows stood over near the spring house, so they could scoot inside, I suppose. The Safety First Patrol!
Harry Donnelle just looked and then he said, “By—the—great—horn—spoon! It’s a leopard.”
“I thought maybe it was a nanny goat,” I said.
He just shook his head and looked at the animal all over and said, “Jumping Christopher! That’s a leopard, as sure as you live.”
“Well, if you insist,” I said.
“I never heard of a leopard on the North American Continent,” he said, shaking his head.
“I guess he swam over, hey?” I said.
“Jingoes, I hate to shoot him,” he said.
By now all the bold, brave, heroic Silver Foxes began coming closer to get a good pike at the leopard. Every time the animal stirred, they’d back away again. Once the leopard stood up and pulled against the rope and rubbed his paw over his face, and gee whiz, you should have seen that bunch scatter. Dorry Benton went scooting into the well house.