"Help!" gasped Jerry, who seemed to be in some sort of a pickle, having
managed to get his legs crossed in such a way, as he sat there pottering
with Will's camera, that in the excitement of the moment he was unable
to either rise, or roll out of the danger zone.
As sometimes happens in a case like this, it turned out to be the one
least expected to play the part of hero. Nobody dreamed that
Will--quiet, sensitive Will, the artist of the expedition, and a boy
given more to dreaming than doing strenuous things--would jump into the
breach as he did.
In fact, he was never able to explain it himself, save that somehow he
seemed to imagine those clubs on the deck were just made for belaboring
a tiger-cat over the head with; and from the fact that Bluff had gone
over into the river, with Jerry calling wildly for help, it must be up
to him to _do_ something.
Why, he snatched up one of the heavy sticks as though he had been
anticipating just such a sudden call, and had his plan of campaign
already laid out.
"Take care, Will; don't let him get in at you with those sharp claws!"
cried the startled Frank, as he too tried to possess himself of a
suitable cudgel, if there chanced to be another worth having in the
bunch.
He could not find what he wanted on the spur of the moment--one was too
slender to promise any results; while another seemed much too short with
which to attack a vicious wildcat.
Will did not appear to expect any help in his fight. The way he kept at
it was a revelation to those who watched him, for all the while Frank
sought his stick, he kept one eye on the battle, determined to jump in,
if necessary, club or no club.
Whack! came the cudgel Will yielded against the side of the bobcat,
knocking the savage beast sprawling on the deck; though like his kind
the cat could not be kept down, but was on its feet instantly, more
angry than ever.
"Whoop! hit him again for his mother!"
It was surely Bluff who gave utterance to that shout. Evidently he had
not cared to stay there in the river, while so much that was exciting
seemed to be occurring aboard the houseboat; and taking advantage of
some objects upon which he was able to seize, Bluff had clambered up far
enough to thrust his head over the side, in time to witness that
splendid "home run hit" made by timid Will.
Well, they would hardly be likely to ever call him that again, after
seeing how vigorously he went after the now demoralized wildcat, getting
in blows whenever an opening occurred, and meanwhile poking at the beast
threateningly.
It crouched there, snarling as only such a beast can, with its ears
drawn back, and its green eyes seeming to emit sparks. Once it sprang
full at the boy, and Mr. Snow uttered a cry of alarm; he made his way
into the cabin, and now held Bluff's repeating gun in his hands, with
the air of a hunter accustomed to such tools; but there seemed small
chance to get a fair shot, the boy and the cat were so close to each
other.
But Will proved as quick as a flash in his movements. He met this leap
of his feline foe just as cleverly as a champion ball player might a
swift one, straight over the plate. There was a loud concussion; and
then they had a view of a squirming, hairy figure just passing over the
rail above Bluff, four legs working overtime in the effort to get a grip
with those keen-pointed and poisonous claws.
Luther Snow thrust the gun into the hands of Frank, who had been in the
act of trying to meet the figure of the cat at the instant the animal
made his spring.
"It's your right to wind him up, Frank!" the man said; and seemed as
cool as any one accustomed to scenes of peril all his life could be.
So Frank stepped to the rail, and seeing the baffled bobcat just about
climbing the bank, he wound up his existence with one shot.
"Wow! is it all over?" demanded Bluff, who, when the cat came sailing
toward him a second time, had simply let go, and dropped with another
splash into the river; because, as he afterwards said, he was already as
wet as he could get; and knew he would be safe down there from those
threatening claws.
Will was as pale as a ghost, and breathing hard from his exertions, when
Frank rushed over to seize his hand and squeeze it.
"Good boy, Will!" he exclaimed. "We're proud of you this day, believe
that. Why, what you didn't do to that poor beast could be put into a
thimble. I'll never, never forget it, as long as I live!"
"Maybe you won't have to," remarked Jerry, who, it seemed, had finally
managed to get on his feet again, and now stood there; holding the
camera in his hands, a grin of delight on his face.
"What do you mean, Jerry?" asked Frank.
But Will saw the little black box, and being himself always just wild to
snap off everything he could run across that promised to make a good
picture, he seemed to jump to the right conclusion.
"Did you do it, Jerry?" he demanded, eagerly.
"I rattled her right lively; and if I didn't make a big mistake, you
ought to get some good pictures out of the lot," replied Jerry, handing
Will's property over.
"Well," remarked the wet figure that came crawling over the rail just
then, "if you only managed to press the button when that crazy cat was
sailing into Will, and our chum gave him that blow on the nose, you've
got something we'll all be proud to see."
"That was when I pushed the button the last time, I reckon," Jerry
declared; "but honest to goodness, I was that excited I wouldn't like to
say right now that I got anything but the tip of pussy's tail."
"Oh! I hope it won't be so bad as that," said Will; "not that I want to
figure in a picture, because I'd ten times rather it was one of the
rest; but I've always wanted to get a snapshot of a bobcat on the jump."
"He was on the jump, all right!" affirmed Bluff. "I thought he'd drop on
my head, and jab my eyes out, so I ducked. I like cats all right, in
their proper places; which I take it is in the laps of old maids. I
haven't lost any cat, and wasn't looking for one. But, Frank, since I'm
wet already, let me go in and get your game before he drifts away."
"Don't call it _my_ game," remarked Frank, positively; "that honor
belongs to Will here. And if we can cure the skin, he's going to have a
little rug made out of it to remember this occasion by."
"Hear! hear!" cried Jerry; while Bluff, who shed moisture with every
step he took, waded out to where the dead animal was floating on the
water in a little swirl just below the tied-up houseboat.
"Well, I'm going to develop that film to-night, you hear," said Will;
"because I just can't wait to see what Jerry did. I hope he got more of
the cat than his tail. It ain't much of a tail at that, either, seems to
me. But look at these claws, and his sharp teeth. Ugh! I don't believe
I'd have had the nerve to tackle him, if I'd seen them first."
"Yes, you would!" declared Bluff, confidently. "Always thought you was
timid-like, William, because you never blew your horn about what you'd
do; but sure, I've changed my mind; and now I reckon you've got more
real spunk than anyone in the whole bunch."
"Just what I meant to say, Bluff," remarked Frank.
"And my sentiments to a hair," Jerry added.
"I've seen some instances of bravery in my time, but few that could
equal the way he attacked that angry wildcat, and sent it over the
rail," Luther Snow said, with sincerity in his voice.
"But, Will, I hope the beast didn't scratch you anywhere," Frank went
on; "for you know it's sometimes a dangerous thing to be wounded by the
claws of any wild beast that lives on animal food. Lots of hunters have
died from blood poisoning, even when they thought the scratches hardly
worth washing, they were so small."
"He never touched me, Frank, that I know of; and I can't see a sign of a
scratch anywhere on my hands," Will replied, proudly.
"And there don't seem to be any on your neck or face," Jerry declared,
after an examination. "But, Frank, if there had been, would you have
used that purple stuff you carry in that little bottle, tightly corked,
and labeled 'poison'?"
"Just what it's for," came the reply, "and it disinfects any sort of
wound that seems suspicious. The only trouble is, that it leaves a dark
stain on the flesh for some days. It's permanganate of potash, and any
druggist will put it up if he's told what it's for. But when one's life
may pay the forfeit, what does a little pain, or stain, amount to?"
"You are quite right, my boy," remarked Luther Snow. "I've carried a
small phial of that same stuff thousands of miles, over African trails,
and through the better part of India. And if I've used it once, I
suppose I have fifty times; for myself or some gun bearer who was clawed
by a lion or tiger."
Again did Frank have that deep conviction that there was something
strange about this Luther Snow, as he called himself. How a poor
carpenter, who had never had a dollar he did not earn himself, could
spend years in hunting just for pleasure, all over Asia and Africa,
bothered him. But some day he expected to know what the key could be to
this riddle.
That night the talk was all about past experiences that had come the way
of the four Outdoor Chums. One story brought up another, and through it
all Luther Snow sat there, listening as though spellbound. If he had
been somewhat of a traveler and a hunter, as an old man; surely these
boys deserved more or less credit for what they had been through,
considering their years.
Frank felt drawn toward the man in spite of himself. There were times
when he believed that if this mystery that hung over Luther Snow could
only be lifted he might look on him with friendly eyes.
But he never wavered in the least with regard to that resolution he had
taken, which was to the effect that when they reached the city on the
bluff, Memphis, he would play a little lone hand he was arranging, and
see to it that Luther was left behind; with plenty of money in his
pocket, placed there secretly, to cover all further expenses down to the
city he wished to reach, according to his story--New Orleans.