“What were you trying to hit?”
“A bobcat, Sam.”
“Bobcat? Where?”
“I don’t see—oh, look! There she is, just slipping around that stump! Look out, Sam! Beat it!”
With a yell, Sam turned and fled, leaving Hugh again face to face with the creature.
Reckless defiance of danger, a foolhardy lust for battle, now seized Hugh; and all else was forgotten: his comrades, the game they were playing, the record he hoped to make. Here was a far more exciting game, matching his quickness, his steadiness of nerve, with the fierce instincts of that denizen of the forest. Unarmed, he might lay her low with a stone or his hunting knife.
Grasping another stone somewhat heavier than the first, in his right hand, he took careful aim. The next moment, the stone whizzed through the air, there was a blood-curdling screech, and a furry body hurtled across the intervening space, straight toward him. In mid-air, however, it seemed to waver; then it fell headlong to the ground, with a thump, kicking up a shower of dry leaves and clods. By a miracle, Hugh’s well-directed missile had struck the cat on the ribs, breaking them; and she had not had time to check her leap, which had inflicted internal injuries.
Hugh was trembling now with the reaction of excitement. He could scarcely believe that he had taken such a slim chance.
“What a fool I was, what a fool!” he gasped, looking down on the dying wildcat. “I ought to have had more sense than to take such a risk. I’m sorry I killed her! I’m sorry and ashamed. Poor thing! I must put her out of misery; it is all I can do now. Oh, I won’t forget this for many a day! What a blind-lucky fool I was!”
“Yes, you were,” said a deep voice beside him.