“He came up to the house about five minutes ago,” Mr. Cook explained. “I was inside, sitting by the fire, when I heard a terrific racket behind the house. All the dogs were barking at once. I went out to investigate and saw them scratching and jumping, trying to get out of the corral. Then I saw the cat. I raced back into the house, grabbed a gun and tried for a shot. I should have been more careful and taken a little time. But I was rattled. My first two shots were wild. The third one, though, got him. I’m positive of that.”
“Where was he when you hit him?” Hank asked.
“Right over there. Near the watering trough.”
“Let’s take a look.” Hank led the way over to the trough and crouched down to examine the ground. “This rain’s coming down so fast it’s hard to tell,” he muttered. He peered closely at the area around the trough and then straightened with a grunt of satisfaction. “You got him all right,” he said. “There’s a spill of fresh blood on the grass there.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t put him away,” Mr. Cook apologized. “I thought I was a better shot than that.”
“Don’t blame you a bit,” Hank replied. “What with the storm and all, this light’s tricky.” He turned to Sandy and Mike. “Well, you’ve got your lion hunt, boys. We’re going to get that cat.”
Sandy wheeled and started for the corral. “I’ll let the dogs out,” he said.
Hank threw out an arm to stop him. “Wait a minute. I don’t think we’ll use them. We already know where he is.” He spoke to Mr. Cook. “Where did you see him last?”
Mr. Cook pointed in the direction of the feeding shed. “He was headed that way.”
“All right,” Hank said. “We’ll each take one side of the building. Check your guns and make sure your safety’s off. As soon as you spot him, start pouring lead. If you’ve got a side shot, aim right behind his shoulder. If he’s coming at you head-on, blast him in the chest. Is that clear?”