"A—a—a wildcat!" yelled Sam, excitedly. "Look out there!"
The light from his torch had illuminated the grayish form of a big cat. His ears were thrown backward belligerently, while a pair of yellow eyes, full of sparkle and viciousness, glared defiantly toward them.
Another challenging screech; the lithe body plunged forward.
"Look out!" yelled Dick. "He's coming!"
"Tommy—Tommy!" cried Bob, anxiously, "are you hurt? Hello, Tommy!"
"No!" came an answer, clearly. "Mind your eyes, now—there's—"
Bob didn't hear his concluding words; the cat was already upon him. He acted instantly. Smack! The torch, swung with all the force of his muscular arms, crashed against the animal's head. There was a sound of splintering wood; then a snarl of angry disapproval, as hot flames scorched his assailant's nose.
That touch of fire seemed to take all the fight out of the wildcat. It lunged sideways; and Dick Travers' frantic haste to give the animal plenty of room brought him up against Sam Randall with such force as to send the latter crashing to the ground.
Then the cat swerved abruptly, and, with a final snort of disgust, leaped down the slope.
When Tom Clifton, a badly scared lad, looked over the edge of the bank a moment later, he could, by the light of a flaring torch which lay on the ground, see Sam scrambling wildly to his feet.