A distinct scratching sound came to the ears of Felix. He understood what must be the cause of this; the inmate of the dugout was about to vacate. Defying all other arguments, the cat had to succumb to that of smoke from the stink-weed.
Felix kept his eyes fixed on the top of that stumpy chimney, and his gunstock was already fast against his shoulder.
"There," exclaimed Tom, as something pushed up into view, and the form of a big bobcat was seen emerging.
It had just about all appeared in view, when the report of the Marlin sounded sharply through the neighboring woods, where perhaps a gun had not been fired for several years, so far as they knew.
"Back!" cried Tom, dragging at the arm of his comrade, as the monster cat came whirling down toward them, in such a mixed-up mess that it was impossible to say whether the animal were in its death throes, or making a savage leap at its tormentors, though in either case it was the safe policy to sheer off.
When the cat landed on the ground they both saw that it had received its death wound, and hence there was no need of a second shot from either of their guns.
"That settles him for good," remarked Tom, when, with a last spasmodic movement, the savage looking beast stiffened out. "Nice to have such a warm welcome, eh, when you get to your future snug home? Now to kick that weed out of doors in a big hurry, Felix."
"Go slow," warned the other.
"What for? Do you think there might be another inside? Not much. If one had to vacate, the other would have been on his heels. This was an old hermit cat, without any family, I guess; and a buster, too. Here goes, then."
With that he flung open the door. No growling greeted them, which was a pretty good indication that the shack had yielded up its entire quota of cats.