“It’s over there—I must have hit it hard, from the racket the thing keeps up! Be ready to cover him, Teddy, Amos; because my plaguey old gun’s jammed, and I can’t get it to work!”
“Don’t bother,” said Teddy, with a short, nervous laugh; “I guess you potted your first lynx all right, old fellow. He’s sure kicking his last, if I’m any judge of things. But don’t get too close, mind you; they’re nasty, treacherous beasts at the best. And he might give some of us a streaking with his last effort.”
“Oh!” shouted Dolph, with such an odd inflection of alarm in his voice that the others were naturally startled.
“What’s the matter now?” cried Teddy, whirling around toward the other.
“There’s another cat crawling along on the ground—by ginger! two of ’em! Why, the woods must be full of them! We’re going to be swamped with lynxes, boys; and this gun just won’t behave half-way decent,” and Dolph ended with a groan as he kept working away excitedly at the mechanism of his repeating weapon.
“Where? I see one!” cried Teddy, as he swung his gun around swiftly.
“Bang!”
“That’s the end of him; now show me the other cat, will you, Dolph? Bring ’em on as fast as you like; as long as my little Marlin’s got a single shell left, I’m good for any amount of game. Where’s the next victim?”
“Over yonder, crouching at the foot of that tree; don’t you see its eyes now, Teddy?” whooped the boy from Cincinnati.
“Shure I do; and that means I’m due for another victim. Watch me rool his hoop for him, will you, fellows?”