Let us return, for a short time, to Hamp and Jerry.
Spurred on by mortal fear, they turned all the curves of the tunnel with a speed and accuracy that they could scarcely have excelled by the light of a lantern. Not until they tumbled breathlessly into the cabin, and scraped a match, did they discover Brick’s absence. Then the tumult of sounds that rang out behind them told a plain tale.
“He’s taken refuge in the storehouse,” cried Jerry, “and the catamount is trying to get at him.”
“That’s just it,” echoed Hamp. “Come on, quick, or we’ll be too late.”
In three minutes—an eternity to poor Brick—they were crawling rapidly back through the tunnel. Jerry had a rifle, and Hamp a double-barreled shotgun loaded with big shot. From one side of Jerry’s belt swung the lantern, and in the other was thrust a bunch of pine boughs soaked in oil. As the boys advanced, they heard Brick’s cries for help, mingled with the screeching of the catamount.
“So far he’s safe,” whispered Jerry. “I’ll shoot first, and you be ready to follow.”
“I’ll give the brute both barrels, if they’re needed,” muttered Hamp.
They were now at the wall of the ravine, and a moment later they turned into the passage that led to the storehouse. The rocks were in sight, but no catamount. Evidently the creature was inside. A loud scratching and whining mingled with Brick’s hoarse cries.
The boys crept nearer and nearer. They were trembling a little now, but they went pluckily on.
Suddenly a dull crash was heard, and Brick’s voice rose instantly to a shrill pitch. The boys shouted in return, and Jerry quickly lighted his torch.