“It isn’t much fun,” admitted Joe.
“You go over there, and tear down the pile of boxes,” suggested Blake, “and I’ll stand ready to pop at it when the beast comes out.”
“All right,” assented Joe.
One by one he took away the empty boxes, tossing them aside. He was soon down near the bottom of the pile.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything here,” he said.
“Oh, it’s in there, all right,” spoke Blake, confidently.
Hardly had the words left his lips than there was a scurry in one of the boxes, and a big, grayish animal ran out.
“There he goes!” cried Joe. “Pop him over! Get him!”
Blake did not answer, but he threw the rifle to his shoulder, took a quick aim, and pulled the trigger.
There was a sharp report, a little squeal, and then the animal, which had run out to seek new shelter, curled up near the edge of the raft—dead.