"Well, make your mind up on that score, for it hasn't—yet! Just look aloft a bit—right above where the thing is jumping about as if worrying something. What do you see astraddle that limb, eh?" asked Frank, triumphantly.
"Talk about your treed coons, why that's old Toby sitting up there, and hanging on for dear life."
"And that object in the camp is, I believe, a wildcat, worrying over our fine ham," remarked Frank, quietly raising the hammers of his shotgun.
CHAPTER XI
A NIGHT ALARM
"Oh! please don't shoot just yet; I'm nearly ready," exclaimed Will, who had been fumbling with trembling fingers at his camera while they were creeping closer.
"What do you want to do—shoot the cat with your machine?" whispered
Frank, the most accommodating fellow in the world.
"Yes, that's it. Don't you see, it would be the prize of the whole bunch? Can't you let me give a flash, and shoot afterwards?" begged the ardent photographer.
Frank could not refuse.
"It would be a dandy all right, with old Toby hanging there; but look sharp, for the cat hears us whispering, and is ready to get out."