But before the boy could comply, the wildcat, with an infuriated screech, sprang forward again.
Taking his gun by the barrel, Bob Somers swung it with all his strength. The animal, dealt a glancing blow, was checked—just long enough for Bob to dart around the rock. Almost at his heels came the snarling wildcat.
In and out among the trees the two went, while Yardsley followed, unable to shoot for fear of hitting his companion.
With a glance over his shoulder, Bob once more jumped aside, and again his gun rose and fell.
John Yardsley, leaping over the snow, reached the spot where the wildcat, scarcely stunned by Bob Somers' last blow, was preparing to make another spring.
"I've got 'im!" he cried.
A sharp report rang out. Rising to his haunches, in a last desperate effort, the wildcat lurched over, and fell at full length motionless in the snow.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob. "Thanks, John," and he clasped the hunter's big hand. "Ugh I Thought he had me." He shivered, as his eyes rested upon the savage head and dangerous-looking claws.
"Powerful bad critters when they get their dander up," commented Yardsley, giving the beast a shove with his toe. "What's ter be did with the varmint?"
"Don't you want it?" Bob's voice still trembled with excitement.