"Too far for buckshot," he whispered, "but never mind—here goes."
He fired, and then Jim followed suit. Bob Somers, whose foot had caught in a trailing vine, looked up in time to see three white forms rising against the background of greenish mountains. Neither shot had taken effect.
"Well, well," muttered Havens, chagrined. "Hello!"
Bob Somers had raised his gun instantly, and fired. Scarcely believing his eyes, he saw the flight of the nearest bird checked. With fluttering wings, it dropped in shallow water, close to an ancient cypress tree.
"Bully shot, Bob," cried Dick. "Simply stunning—well, what do you think of that?"
As they started to run forward, a yellowish-gray animal suddenly appeared in view from behind a thicket, and, with a growl, sprang boldly out and grappled the still struggling swan by the neck.
"That's nerve for you," yelled Bob. "We'll teach the old robber a lesson."
"Be quick," panted Dick; "he'll get away."
The wildcat speedily dragged the swan out of the water into the thicket, and when the three boys arrived both were out of sight.
"Doesn't that beat all?" cried Bob, disgustedly.