“That’s sensible,” agrees Bill. “I’m with yuh.”
Bill attempts to find out things, but we don’t talk much, and it’s dark when we climbs off at Mighty’s place. We hikes right over to the woodshed. Bill lights a match and looks inside, drops the match and don’t stop running for a hundred yards. Me and Chuck gallops with him for a ways, sort of sympathetic-like.
“Bobcats!” whistles Bill. “Shed’s full of ’em!”
Yuh never can tell what kind of a pet a nut like Mighty is liable to have, so we ain’t surprised a lot.
“I ain’t afraid of no cat what ever lived,” states Chuck. “I’m going to get that box in spite of anything.”
We pilgrims up close again, with our guns ready. Chuck finds an old newspaper, which he lights, and we peeks around the corner of the door, and looks right into the shiny eyes of two big cats. Three guns goes off at the same time, and three men went away. There ain’t a sound from the shed, so we sneaks back.
“That’s good shooting,” applauds Bill. “Two shots killed ’em both, ’cause I shot in the ground.”
“Sure was,” I agrees, “I did, too.”
“Wonderful!” agrees Chuck. “They must ’a’ jumped high, ’cause mine went through the roof.”
Chuck tosses in that burning paper. Them cats are still there but don’t move.