“I couldn't say. Tom comes an' goes,” replied Dale. “But I sent him up there last night.”
“And he was there—perfectly free—right over us—while we slept!” burst out Bo.
“Yes. An' I reckon you slept the safer for that.”
“Of all things! Nell, isn't he a monster? But he doesn't look like a lion—an African lion. He's a panther. I saw his like at the circus once.”
“He's a cougar,” said Dale. “The panther is long and slim. Tom is not only long, but thick an' round. I've had him four years. An' he was a kitten no bigger 'n my fist when I got him.”
“Is he perfectly tame—safe?” asked Helen, anxiously.
“I've never told anybody that Tom was safe, but he is,” replied Dale. “You can absolutely believe it. A wild cougar wouldn't attack a man unless cornered or starved. An' Tom is like a big kitten.”
The beast raised his great catlike face, with its sleepy, half-shut eyes, and looked down upon them.
“Shall I call him down?” inquired Dale.
For once Bo did not find her voice.