FIGHTING A WILD-CAT
For one fearful moment Roger felt a cold chill go creeping down his
spine, and he shivered in dread at the nameless thing which stood
growling there before him. He knew it must be some kind of a wild beast,
but what he hardly dared think.
"A bear!" he whispered, and he shrank closer against the tree. Then he
recalled what his aunt had said when Mr. Kimball had joked about the
denizens of the forest. She said there were no bears.
"Nothing worse than wild-cats," he remembered she had told him, and,
though to the frightened boy this was terrible enough, he was glad to
know it was not a bear which he could dimly see the outline of.
The thing, whatever it was, kept up its short, angry snarls, and Roger
could hear the sharp claws tearing at the bark of the fallen log. He
gazed at the two circles of greenish-red fire in a sort of fascination.
Just then the whole forest seemed to be flooded with a soft light that
stole in among the trees and sifted down through the leaves. It was the
moon that had risen high enough above the hills to give its illumination
to the scene. By the glowing beams Roger could make out the animal
about fifteen feet from him, crouching low on a fallen tree. It was a
beast perhaps two feet long, with a tail that swished from side to side,
and it had little short ears that seemed pointed toward him, to catch
the sound of any movement he might make. He could see the paws with
which the wild-cat, for such he knew it must be, held its position on
the log, by digging the knife-like claws into the soft bark. He could
see the little chips and slivers fly off, while the growls changed to a
half-whining cry.
For a moment the boy looked about in desperation, seeking which way to
flee. Off to the left he seemed to observe a little larger opening
between the trees than anywhere else. He sprang toward it with a bound.
Ere he had gone a dozen steps, stumbling in the half darkness over
sticks and stones, the wild-cat turned quickly, and with a light leap
was before him, waiting, waiting, waiting. The boy stopped short with a
shudder. He was very much afraid. Though the beast was not large, and
though it did not impress him half as much as did the tigers and lions
he had seen in Central Park, yet there was something terrifying in the
calm way it faced him.
It appeared to know there was nothing between itself and the defenceless
boy, and that no help was at hand. Though the beast was not half as big
as Roger, he knew the sharp claws and sharper teeth would cause death,
if once the animal got up courage enough to attack him. That this was
its intention the boy had no doubt, though he was sure the wild-cats to
be found in the mountains about Cardiff were more a danger and menace to
chickens and lambs than to human beings. The brutes were usually too
cowardly to attack man. But perhaps the night, the smallness of the boy
and his apparent terror had made the cat devoid of fear. At any rate, it
seemed to Roger to be ugly and bold enough to spring at him any minute.
Foiled in his plan to escape, the boy returned to the log where he had
been sitting. This was close against a big tree, and he felt that, with
his back to this, he was, in some measure, protected; at least from an
attack in the rear. As he retraced his steps the cat kept pace with him,
until both boy and beast were in the same relative positions they had
first occupied.
Roger now saw that it was to be a battle between himself and the
wild-cat, and he nerved himself for the fight. Had he dared, he would
have turned and run, but he seemed to see the cat come bounding after
him, with big leaps and jumps, and crouching for a final spring upon his
back. Then he recalled, with a shudder, what he had read of the terrible
tearing power of the claws of these animals. So there was but one thing
to do with any hope of success. That was to stand and fight off the
beast as long as possible. But what weapons had he? He hurriedly felt in
his pockets and all he could find was a small knife, which he knew would
be of little use when it came to close quarters. A stick, a club, or a
stone would be of more service. Yes, that would be better; a club, so
Roger stooped down, and while he kept his eyes fastened on the cat he
groped about on the ground with his hands to see what was there. He felt
his fingers close over a stout cudgel, and he rose, grasping it firmly,
and stood with his feet braced for the shock. He was less frightened now
that he had some sort of a weapon, poor as it was, and he knew he could
meet the attack on more even terms.
And it was high time he had thus prepared, for the cat now crouched
lower than before on the log and its claws worked more quickly, as Roger
could see by the light of the moon, which had risen higher.
He noticed the short ears pointed forward on the ugly head and the
parted lips disclosed the sharp white teeth. There was a convulsive
tremor of the lithe body, and then, from the opened mouth came a cry so
dismal, so weird and terrifying to the boy that he shivered in fear, and
felt his heart go thumping away under his ribs. The next instant the
wild-cat launched itself forward with a spring, straight at the boyish
figure that stood ready to meet it.
With a quick motion Roger lifted the short, heavy club, and then, as he
saw the beast directly in front of him, he gave a half turn, so that the
animal would sail past to the left. At the same time he brought the
stick down with all his force, aiming at the ugly head. He missed this
spot, but struck just behind it, as the brute passed him, and so close
was the cat that the claws in its nearest hind leg caught the lower part
of the boy's coat and tore it as if a sharp knife had cut it. The brute
landed some five feet beyond Roger, letting out a mingled howl of pain
and rage.
But the fight had only begun, and Roger knew if the wild thing returned
to the attack with the energy it had displayed at first he could
scarcely hope to beat it off again. However, the animal seemed disposed
to practise a little caution now and to be a trifle wary about repeating
its jump. The boy turned partly around and saw the beast come to a
sudden stop. Then it swung about and, making a little circle, ran
quickly and leaped lightly upon the fallen log, where it crouched, ready
for another spring.
But now Roger seemed to feel the deadly fear leaving him, and he almost
rejoiced in the thought of the battle that was to come, even though he
knew it was likely to result badly for himself. He had passed through
the first scrimmage and, like a soldier who has once been under fire, he
almost wished for another skirmish in the struggle.
He watched the animal with sharp eyes and was glad to find the light
increasing, as the moon rose more above the trees, though the leaves
through which the beams came made uncertain shadows. Then the boy
detected some movement on the part of the beast and saw that the cat,
instead of crouching for another spring, had crawled out on the log
toward the end that was in deepest gloom.
"I wonder what he's up to now?" said Roger, softly.
He could hear the brute leap on the soft wood-carpet of moss and dried
leaves, and then the grayish body seemed to fade away. But Roger knew
the animal had not left him. It was trying to sneak up behind him, so as
to leap on his back, he felt, and the boy turned to face in that
direction. As he did so he heard a noise near the log where the cat had
just been crouching, and he turned quickly to catch a glimpse of the
long slender form passing rapidly by in the semi-darkness. For a moment
Roger was puzzled, and then it came to him like a flash. The beast was
racing about him in a circle!
He did not know what to do, and while he hesitated sorely alarmed, with
the fear tugging at his heart again, the cat passed in front of him once
more.
Only this time the animal was farther from the log and nearer to the
boy. Roger knew that the brute would narrow the circles until it was
close enough to spring at him, and, under these circumstances, it was
impossible to tell from which point the dangerous leap might come.
Surely the boy was in grave danger now, and he felt it keenly. He backed
up close against the tree, but this was scarcely any protection, as the
trunk was not large enough. Yet he dared not leave it to seek another.
The cat continued to run about him in ever smaller curves. Roger raised
his club and waited in an agony of suspense--waited to see the tense
body come sailing toward him--waited to feel the sharp claws and cruel
teeth.
Up to this moment he had held the club in one hand, but, thinking to use
it with greater force, he now took hold with both right and left. As he
did so, he noticed that in his left hand he still held his knife. He was
about to cast it from him, not wanting to risk putting it in his pocket,
when his fingers touched something that seemed to be caught in the
slot-like opening of the handle where the blades went. The knife was a
two-bladed one, but the smaller bit of steel had been broken off, and,
where this should have fitted Roger was conscious that something had
lodged in the handle. He hurriedly felt of it.
It was a match!
How his heart thrilled. Here was a means of safety. Wild animals fear a
blaze. With this match which he had found so unexpectedly he could
kindle a fire.
Now he had a chance of holding the wild-cat at bay until morning. With
his feet he scraped together some dry leaves into a little heap. Then,
watching until the animal had once more passed between him and the log,
he stooped over.
But, after all, there was only a slim chance in his favor. The match
might be a burned one, it might miss fire, or go out before he had an
opportunity to kindle the leaves, or the leaves themselves might be too
damp to burn. All these thoughts came to him on the instant. But there
was no time to lose. He struck the match on the leg of his trousers. It
sputtered, fused, and flared brightly. Then it almost died away, and
Roger's heart grew like lead. A little wind sprang up and threatened to
extinguish the tiny flame. But though it almost left the wood it did not
blow off altogether, and once again it burned strongly.
Roger leaned over toward the pile of debris. He held the match to it.
Some of the dried foliage hissed and smoked, for it was damp. But a
little wisp of dried grass caught. This blazed up with a crackle. The
flames communicated to the leaves, which soon began to ignite, though
not brightly, and with more smoke than fire. How anxiously did the boy
watch them, for it meant safety, if not life, to him. His heart seemed
almost to be suffocating him with its beating. Then the dried stuff
caught the flames well and burned with a spurt of fire and sparks.
The next instant there was a rush from behind Roger. He half turned and
rose from his stooping position over the blaze. There came whizzing
through the air the body of the beast, as if shot from a catapult.
Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders, and he could feel, for a
half second, the prick of the sharp claws through his coat. The force of
the leap threw him forward, and though he tried to save himself, though
he bravely endeavored to strike the beast with his club, he felt himself
sinking beneath the weight of the cat. He hit the ground with
considerable force, close to the fire, so near, indeed, that the flames,
which had increased, felt hot on his face.
[Illustration: "Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders" ]
Then there was a howl and a yelp of pain and surprise from the brute,
followed by a roar. Roger felt the cruel claws sinking deeper into his
flesh. He screamed in agony, and then to his great wonderment he noted a
sudden ceasing of the weight that was pressing him down. The claws no
longer stuck into him, and the cat leaped from his back. Like a flash
the boy rolled over, to get away from the fire which had spread and was
scorching him.
Then he ventured to rise to his knees. He saw the wild-cat sneaking off
in the darkness. The burning leaves had served their purpose and
frightened the animal away.
While the boy stood there, his heart palpitating with fright, he
suddenly saw a bright streak, like a sliver of flame, shoot through the
trees in front of him. Accompanying it there was the sharp report of a
rifle, followed by a wild howl of agony. By the combined light of the
fire and the moon Roger saw the cat leap high in the air.
There was a crackle of broken tree limbs, as the beast fell back. Then
something else stirred in the woods, and into the circle of the blaze
stalked a tall dark man whose face exhibited the features of an Indian,
and who, after a glance at the boy, uttered one word:
"Sagoola!"