“Get behind the bamboos!” he called, and as they hurriedly obeyed, he caught up a stone and flung it in at the crouching beast.
He heard the missile strike with a soft thud that told him he had not missed his mark, and he swung up his club in both hands. Given half a chance, he would smash the skull of the female leopard as he had crushed her blinded mate. . . . . One moment after another passed, and he stood poised for the shock, tense and scowling. . . . . Not so much as a snarl came from within. The truth flashed upon him.
“Smothered!” he yelled.
The others saw him dart in through the hole. A moment later two limp grayish bodies were flung out into the open. Immediately after, Blake reappeared, dragging the body of the mother leopard.
“It’s all right; they’re dead!” cried Winthrope, and he ran forward to look at the bodies.
Miss Leslie followed, hardly less curious.
“Are they all dead, Mr. Blake?” she inquired.
“Wiped out–whole family. The old cat stayed by her kittens, and all smothered together–lucky for us! Get busy with those bamboos, Win. I’m going to have these skins, and the sooner we get the cub meat hung up and curing, the better for us.”
“Leopard meat again!” rejoined Winthrope.
“Spring leopard, young and tender! What more could you ask? Get a move on you.”