The boys looked and listened. They were about moving on, when a long, thick-set animal stole out of the forest, and crouched by the edge of the ice. It wailed in a mournful tone, and crept a little nearer. It was as large a catamount as the two Maine lads had ever seen.
“There’s a chance,” exclaimed Jerry. “Come on. We’ll try to get within easy shooting distance of the brute. Three of us can’t well miss.”
The boys abandoned the sled, and advanced toward shore, with loaded rifles. But before they had taken a dozen steps the catamount turned tail, and vanished in the timber.
“No use,” muttered Hamp. “That’s a crafty fellow, and he’s not going to give us any advantage. He’ll stick to us like a leech, though, and some time, when we are off our guard——”
A significant pause ended the sentence.
“What are we going to do about it?” asked Brick. “This knocks all the fun in the head. We won’t dare go to sleep at nights.”
“We’ve got to get rid of the brute,” replied Jerry, “and I think I know how to do it. What do you say to cutting straight across the lake, and making our camp on the other side? I don’t believe the catamount will follow us over miles of open snow and ice.”
This suggestion was warmly approved. They headed due west toward the faintly visible forest on the further shore of the lake, a distance of ten or twelve miles.
To keep off the intense cold they ran along on a dog trot. The sleds trailed easily behind them over the patches of crisp snow and glassy ice.
Two hours later the western shore of Moosehead Lake loomed clearly before the young voyagers. They were not half a mile away. They could look right into the dense forest that stretched far away to Canada.