“Wait till I give the word,” breathed the scout. “Let some of them pass. We want every shot to count.”
A few moments more they waited. Several figures passed on up the hill, dodging from rock to rock, but all converging toward the mouth of the cave where the fire now glowed dully. That they were the bandits, and not the redskins, Cody was sure. Suddenly he saw two of the prowlers approaching the forked tree. He nudged Danforth sharply.
The two outlaws in question were almost under the branching limbs of the tree when they heard what sounded like the scratching of claws on the rough bark. Both looked up, and beheld an uncertain but bulky figure lying along one branch. A sharp snarl seemed to come from it, and the two bandits sprang away.
“Curse you!” exclaimed the voice of Bennett, low but deadly in its temper. “What’s the matter?”
Two or three of the bandits ran together. They thought some attack had been made upon them.
“What is it?” repeated several in shrill whispers.
“A cougar!”
“A wildcat!”
“Get back to your stations!” commanded Bennett. “Do you want to spoil the whole thing? Such cursed foolishness over a blamed tomcat——”
He had approached the tree, and suddenly the animal on the limb seemed to gather itself for a spring, and there sounded upon the night air the shrill, blood-curdling yell of the dreaded panther!