“Some animal is lurking in the scrub,” exclaimed Hamp. “Attend to your guns, fellows.”
“I hope it’s not a catamount,” said Brick.
“As likely as not it is,” replied Jerry.
The question was not long in doubt. With a whining cry, a good-sized wildcat sprang from a clump of alder bushes just beyond the dead deer. It pounced upon the body, and began to rend it with teeth and claws.
“Did you ever see such impudence?” exclaimed Jerry, half angrily. “Come on; we’ll give the little brute a settler.”
The boys moved forward, and not until they reached the edge of the swamp did the wildcat become aware of their presence in the neighborhood. The creature was evidently half famished, and, having found a meal to its liking, it was determined to hold on to it. It stopped eating, and glared at the intruders with a ferocious snarl.
“Watch sharp, now,” cautioned Jerry. “We’ll go pretty close, so as not to run the chance of missing. I’ll kill him with a rifle. If we all fire, the skin will be ruined, and it’s well worth saving.”
This was agreed to. The wildcat remained on the body of the deer until the boys were within four yards. Then it bounded forward six feet, and crouched for another spring.
Jerry took hasty aim, and pulled trigger. The creature was already in air when the shot rang out, and, more by luck than skill, the ball passed through its head. It landed on the snow with a convulsive gasp, and rolled over lifeless at Brick’s feet.
“Pretty close quarters,” remarked Jerry. “A miss is as good as a mile, though. Now we’ve got a skin that is worth keeping.”