He stayed perfectly rigid in the same position as when he had raised slightly on his elbow and first saw the eyes. The animal sniffed the air but never moved—keeping an attitude of being ready to spring in a second.
Westy could see by the head and shoulders that the animal was a good size; possibly a puma whose lair was in the haunted forest. What luck they escaped him there.
While these thoughts flashed through his mind he returned the stare, never letting his eyes stray an inch from that pair of veritable live coals. He concentrated every nerve and muscle, his own large dark eyes accentuated by their hollowness set in the thin white haggard face.
His arm was asleep and his body shook from the pressure on the nerve in his elbow, but still he stuck bravely. He was thankful that Rip was sleeping so quietly—his breathing could hardly be detected and Westy prayed that he wouldn’t move.
Finally the animal sniffed the air again and moved its head. It withdrew one paw—then the other and the head disappeared under the rock.
It wasn’t until Westy heard the heavy body on its thick padded feet plodding toward the forest that he finally relaxed—exhausted. He didn’t have the strength to look and make sure. The events of the last few days had used up too much vitality—he wanted sleep and didn’t care where the animal went.
When he awakened the sun was shining in his face and Rip’s old familiar cry was ringing in his ears.
“Water! Just—drop—water!”
It fairly made his heart ache to hear him and he sprang up. Rip was still warmly covered by the leaves, but his eyes looked without seeing anything.
“We’ll get water now, very soon! Do you hear? We have to go on a bit first.”