MOUNTAIN LION BRIDGE
"How you going to spend your holiday?" asked Bad of Hal the next morning
when the two chanced to meet on the campus.
"Sh! Not so loud," was the reply. "I'm going to explore Kenyon Cave."
"But the doctor--"
"He said we could do as we pleased to-day. I'm going to see if I can't
get that gun again."
"And hunt the lion? But it's under the falls."
"I don't think it is. That lion hit Mr. Miles hard enough to knock him
down. That gun must have gone a-flying. Maybe it dropped in shallow
water. And the biggest part of the falls is on the other side anyway.
I'll chance it."
"And we could take some grapple hooks--"
"We?" asked Hal.
"Sure. I'm going along. Suppose that lion'd show up--"
"Yes, suppose. What'd you do? Save my life by running away and getting
the cat to follow you?"
"Never mind. You ran from it yourself the other day. You just watch me
when we find it again. I'll--"
"Clout it in the jaw?" laughed Hal.
"I know where there's grapple hooks," Bad suggested. "I'll get them."
And away he went, to return in a few minutes with a tangled mass of
cords and hooks stuffed under his coat. "Ready to go now?"
"Soon as I get a lantern. I hid one inside the hollow elm next to the
road. Come on."
So the two started out on their three-mile trudge, stopping to pick up
the lantern and a lunch that was likewise hidden within the tree.
"Divvies," said Hal generously as he shoved this into his pocket.
It was not long before Mummy Cañon was in sight. They crossed the bridge
and made their way slowly along the path toward the Screaming Cataract.
Just before they came to the bridge they stopped. Bad sat down and began
to pull off his shoes and stockings, but Hal merely stood looking at the
water, that was boiling and foaming even along the shore.
"It can't be very deep in there this side the falls," he observed. "The
gun could easy have fallen right in next to shore. Of course it could
have gone the other way, but that ain't likely, as the lion hit Miles in
this direction. If it did go toward the middle we'll never get
it--unless we happen to grapple it."
"What you going to do? Try to grapple it first or dive?"
"Or wade if it isn't too deep. But first of all I'm going to take a look
inside the cave. I want to see if that rock is wedged in hard like it
looked from above."
"What for? Suppose the lion's in there!"
Hal laughed. "He got too good a scare in there yesterday to come back
right away."
"But why not find the gun first? What good'll it do you if the rock
isn't tight. Come on, I'm going in." And Bad continued taking off his
clothes.
"No, I'll cool off first. You go ahead. I'll go up on the bridge and
show you where the gun most likely fell." He gathered a handful of small
stones and standing on the bridge, began to throw them into the water,
marking off a small circle that extended from the edge of the falls to
the shore. "It ought to be inside that."
"All right. Here goes," called Bad as he began wading away from the
bank. "U-u-gh! it's cold. So deep," he added, ducking himself under to
the chin, pretending he had found a step-off--to come up to his waist a
minute later.
"Call me if you find it," Hal said, after lighting his lantern with a
match, Boy Scout style being too slow just then. "I'll be with you in a
few minutes."
He disappeared within the cave, and Bad continued wading out toward the
edge of the fall, feeling for the gun with his toes. This was an easy
matter, as the bottom was a firm sort of sand-mud, smooth and gently
sloping. The water deepened till it was up to his neck, but that was
all. Out under the falls it was doubtless many times deeper, but here
the thin trickle from above had not worn any hole.
"I guess I'll cut in toward the bridge," he said to himself, "and then
work over along the bank." As he came under the bridge he stood there a
moment, holding to one of the timbers, for at this point the undertow
from the falls was rather strong.
As he stood there his mischievous spirit prompted him to play a trick on
Hal. Wouldn't it be a lark to climb up under the bridge and stretch
himself out along the timbers and wait there for Hal? What would he
think when he came out and found no Bad in the water? He had laughed at
Bad's scare when the plank tipped, that night when Kenyon Cave was
discovered. Here was a good chance to get even.
So Bad wormed himself up one of the posts, and after a good deal of
squirming found himself a firm and fairly comfortable resting place
where two bracing timbers formed a V-shaped bed. Right above him was a
large knothole, within a few inches of his eyes. He lay there and waited
some time, his only view the tumbling water just beneath, and above, a
knothole sight of the cliff and a patch of blue sky.
Once he was tempted to call, but waited. Then, above him, on the boards
of the bridge, he heard a quiet footfall. It sounded like bare feet;
perhaps that was why Hal had been so long--he had stopped to undress.
The footfalls ceased. Bad fancied he heard a curious sniffing noise,
that kept up till it got on his nerves. What could Hal be doing that
would make such a funny noise! Bad tried to look through the knothole.
Only blue sky and gray cliff could be seen. But still that sniff-sniff
kept up.
Putting his mouth to the knothole, he drew in his breath and then "Wow!"
he shouted.
But the answer was not what he expected. A low snarl came in reply, and
the snarl was too animal-like to have come from Hal. Bad almost fell
from his perch in his sudden fright. Again he put his eye to the hole,
but jerked back with a scream. A cold, damp something had touched his
face, and that something he knew instinctively was the muzzle of an
animal.
Perhaps it was this thought that made him lose his balance. At any rate,
almost before he realized it, he had toppled out of his seat and into
the water. For an instant he floundered, then struck out, under water,
to get as far away as he could. He did not stop to reason that the
animal, whatever it was, would hardly attack him in the water; he merely
wanted to get away.
Then suddenly he stopped and came to his feet. His hand had struck
something solid. It felt not unlike the branch of a tree or a stick--or
a rifle barrel. It was standing straight up in the water. For a second
he groped about, then struck it again. With a feeling of triumph he
grasped it and gave a tug that freed it from the mud. It was the rifle.
Then he looked toward the bridge. There, its teeth bared in a snarl, was
the mountain lion of the day before. It was not crouched, but stood
there, its head going from side to side in an impatient shake, its tail
beating the bridge floor angrily. But for an instant only it remained
so.
With an alert turn of the head it directed its attention to the cave. It
had heard something. Bad heard the same sound; it was Hal coming out,
and Bad stood as if paralyzed.
"Stay in the cave!" he yelled, suddenly regaining command of his voice.
"I'm coming," came the indistinct reply. "Did you find the gun?"
"Stay in the cave! The lion's on the bridge!"
"I can't understand you." Bad had difficulty in hearing the words,
broken by the irregularity of the passage and drowned by the noise of
the falls. "I'm coming fast as I can--my lantern's out."
"Oh-h--" groaned Bad, "what shall I do? Don't come out!" he shrieked
again. There was no reply. The lion had not stirred, crouching
expectantly at the opening. When Hal appeared, it would spring--and Bad
shuddered at the thought.
But the gun! Suddenly he remembered that. He looked at the breech; it
was unrusted. He threw a shell into place; then he thought of the
barrel. One glance told him it was choked with mud.
What could he do? He remembered hearing of a gun that had burst because
there was mud in the end of the barrel. True, that was a shotgun. Dared
he risk it? He brought the gun to his shoulder--then hesitated.
Bad was no coward, but he knew the risk. "Hal!" he yelled for the last
time. There was no reply, but the click of footsteps and a loud "Ouch!"
told him his call had done no good. He saw the lion crouch still lower,
the leg muscles tightened, and then--Bang!
Bad had shut his eyes as he pulled the trigger. Furthermore, he had not
held the rifle very tight to his shoulder; he picked himself out of the
water and gave a frightened look toward the bridge. The lion was still
there but no longer crouching. He was whirling round and round, a
struggling bundle of rage and scratching claws. His savage whines sent
the cold chills up and down Bad's back. Coming too close to the edge of
the bridge, the lion rolled off--and Bad hastily scrambled his way
toward the bank.
"Hello!" called Hal, appearing just then in the cave entrance. "What's
up, Bad?"
"Nothing," said Bad limply.
"Nothing? Is that what makes you look so sick? What you been doing with
the gun?"
"Nothing." Then he added slyly but shakily: "I just clouted Mr. Lion in
the jaw."
"The lion! Was it you that shot? Where is he?" came in rapid succession.
"I believe he went downstairs there to get a drink," laughed Bad, his
voice and legs getting stronger. "If you'll help me to fish him out,
we'll lug him back to Lakefarm, and s'prise the natives."
And that was certainly what they did, as, a couple of hours later, they
arrived, fagged out but proud, at Lakefarm Institute and dropped their
trophy at the feet of Mr. Byrd, who, with Mr. Frankland and Mr. Miles
and Mr. Porter, as well as all the Boy Scouts, was waiting to receive
them.
"And who shot him?" asked Dr. Byrd, after the slain beast had been
inspected and admired to the full expectations of the two heroes.
"It was Frank," Hal replied.
"Not _Bad_?" asked Dr. Byrd, quite seriously.
"No--Frank. Bad has made _good_, and he's been promoted. From now on
he's Frank."