Partially screened behind a mass of leaves, a long, tawny animal was crouching, with ears thrown back and glaring eyes. Its long tail lashed from side to side, and its powerful, muscular body seemed to quiver with anger.
As if fascinated, the boys gazed at it for some instants without speaking. Their nerves tingled.
"What is it?" asked Bob, in a suppressed voice. "A panther?"
"Yes, though most people out here call the beast a mountain lion, or painter," replied Jim Havens. "That is one of the biggest I ever saw."
"Awful glad he's on the other side of the street," murmured Dave. "Not so sure, now, that I'm fond of hunting. Say—doesn't he look fierce?"
"They won't bother you much if they're let alone, but corner 'em, and I'd 'most as soon have a grizzly in front of me. It's a quiet beast—doesn't screech much, though once in a while he'll let out a yell that makes you sit up and take notice."
"Shall we risk a shot?" asked Dick, eagerly.
"No, I think not," replied Havens. "You might only wound him, and in case he managed to get across—well, Sanders and I had a scrap with one last year, and I ain't anxious for another."
"Look—he's off!" cried Bob.
With a low growl, the panther dropped lightly to the ground and disappeared in a dense thicket.