[CHAPTER XIII]
A SQUALL
In his haste, the lad slipped, falling directly over the sleeping form of the poet laureate. Dave awoke with an exclamation. At the same instant, a wild, unearthly screech aroused every member of the club.
In the bright moonlight, a long, powerful-looking animal, with ears thrown back and tail slowly swinging from side to side, was seen crouching as if ready to spring.
The sight of the shadowy figures, however, sent it slinking back a few feet, where, with another scream, it paused.
"A wildcat!" whispered Bob Somers; "the guns—"
He quickly shook off the lethargy which the sudden realization of their peril had thrown over him, and seized his weapon. But before a move could be made, the beast made a lightning-like spring, tore down the duck from the pole where Bob had hung it, and dashed off in the direction of the woods.
Bob Somers hastily fired at its retreating form.
"Christopher, but that was a narrow escape!" exclaimed Tom Clifton, with a shudder. "We might have been chewed all to pieces."