A PERILOUS ENCOUNTER.
The three scouts of Division “B” who had been sighted by the Lieutenant
as they made a dash for cover were Cooper Fennimore, Buck Winter, and
his brother Sam, who, mistaking a sound signal of three blasts of Hugh’s
whistle, had been creeping forward quite openly across a clearing made
by lumbermen during the previous summer, thereby coming in full view of
the signalers perched on the ribs of old Stormberg.
Alec and Walter, acting under Lieutenant Denmead’s rapid-fire commands,
lost no time in signaling this information to the advance guard of
Division “C,” as soon as the latter made their sortie from camp.
Instantly Rawson led his attackers in the direction of the clearing,
instead of taking the backwoods trail, as Hugh and his followers had
done.
From a coign of vantage on one of the upper forks of a young oak tree,
which he had climbed with the agility of a monkey, Hugh perceived the
trio’s mistake. He had intended to warn them by those three shrill
blasts, but they had evidently counted only two, which would have meant
“Safe—Go ahead.” Now, to leave no room for doubt, he sounded a
succession of long, slow blasts meaning “Scatter. Get further away,” and
accompanied them with the Wolf’s peculiar, long-drawn-out,
“_How-oo-ooo_.”
Whether these sounds could reach the ears of the signalers he could not
tell, but he had the satisfaction of seeing Cooper and Sam dart across
the clearing and plunge into the surrounding underbrush, where they
could easily find some place to hide in.
Of course, any one of the attacking party could not fail to hear the
whistle signals; but that did not matter, as it would be difficult, at
best, to locate the scouts exactly, since all of Division “B” were
doubtless in hiding by this time.
Not all, however; for there on the edge of the clearing, in full view of
the sending station, stood Buck Winter gazing wildly around him,
evidently trying to make up his mind where to hide. As usual, Buck had
lost his head.
Craning his neck, Hugh could see in the distance two flags,—one held by
Bud Morgan, and the other by Arthur Cameron,—pointing directly, it
seemed, at the bewildered Buck. Another flag, on the end of the mountain
ledge, was being jumped rapidly up and down, to urge speed on the part
of the attackers. The air was so still and clear that morning that the
defenders’ flags could be plainly seen: small, waving patches of
brighter color against the blue of the sky.
Hugh read their messages rapidly.
“Wonder if they can see me?” he asked himself. “I’d better climb down,
get Buck out of danger of being captured, and sprint over to those
rocks. Then I can—oh jingo!”
He uttered the exclamation aloud, for at that very moment he caught
sight of Billy emerging from the timber.
“Buck! I’ve got you!” yelled Billy, dashing forward to seize the young
Otter, who promptly turned and fled.
Hugh watched the chase with keen interest.
“Billy is no match for that kid, in speed,” he commented. “He’ll never
capture Buck! Wish he could! If one of Division B _must_ be captured so
soon, I want it done by a Wolf, anyway: that would give our patrol two
points.”
Suddenly Billy Worth stumbled against a half-buried root, staggered, and
fell headlong, rolling over and over on the dry leaves. Buck Winter
raced ahead—straight into the arms of two scouts of Division “C,” who
had skirted the clearing and come out most unexpectedly on the further
side.
The first capture was made. The attackers had won the first victory.
In silent dejection Buck took his way back to camp, while his captors
signaled the news to the eager watchers on the mountain, and then ran on
to join their comrades who were hunting in the woods.
As Buck passed Hugh’s tree, Hugh called down to him:
“Cheer up, Buckie! You’ll do better next time! You would have got away
from Billy easily.”
“That’s a cinch!” retorted Buck, in an effort to revive his drooping
spirits.
“Wait! I’m coming down.”
“Stay where you are, Hugh!” warned the lad. “There’s Rawson coming this
way, and he’ll see you!”
So saying, he walked away, and soon was lost in the shadows of the
trail.
Nevertheless, Hugh descended cautiously, crawled on all fours through
the tangled underbrush and ferns, and then, rising, strode swiftly yet
noiselessly toward a group of lichen-covered rocks, behind which he
crouched and waited.
All around him he could hear the rustling of leaves, the snapping of dry
sticks, the low calls of unseen comrades who were trying to discover and
surround the hiding-places of his division. At intervals there would be
dead silence in the forest; and once, peering over a jagged boulder, he
caught sight of Billy making questioning signals to the defenders.
Two others of his division passed him, returning to camp, having been
found and “touched” by the attackers. It was evident that Division “B,”
the enemy, was getting the worst of the game! Perhaps they had not had
time to hide. Before starting out, he had told them to select the most
unlikely places for concealment. Perhaps they were hidden where they
could not watch and read the signals. Not much sense in that, but——
Suddenly a low snarl, like that of an angry feline, startled Hugh.
Glancing around him, he beheld a lean, gray, spotted creature crouched
upon a rock not more than ten feet away from the spot where he stood.
The creature’s large pointed ears were laid back, its short tail was
jerking viciously from side to side, its amber-colored eyes were glowing
with a greenish light.
“Bobcat!” muttered Hugh aloud; adding inwardly: “and she’s mad at me,
too!” He raised his voice to a bolder pitch. “Scat! Sca-a-at, you
spotted devil!” he almost yelled, advancing a pace nearer the animal.
But the bobcat did not move.
Hugh “froze” in his tracks. Indeed, a chill shiver crept along his
spine; his nerves seemed to tingle as with cold. Without being actually
alarmed as yet, he realized that he had nothing except his knife with
which to defend himself, in case the beast should spring.
“It isn’t likely she’ll do that,” Hugh decided; “but I didn’t scare her.
She won’t budge!”
Indeed, the bobcat’s only movement now was to crouch lower upon the
rock, tearing its mossy covering with her claws, flexing the muscles of
her sinewy flanks. Would she risk a leap at her enemy? Never had Hugh
encountered a wildcat so fearless, so determined to stand her ground.
Yet this one was not cornered, not at bay; she had every opportunity to
bolt and vanish in the thicket. Why, why did she remain there, poised in
that menacing attitude upon the rock?
Like a flash, the only probable explanation came to Hugh: “Kittens!” he
reasoned swiftly. “There must be kittens hidden somewhere near. I’d
better—no, if I turn she _may_ spring; you never can tell!”
By mere chance his foot dislodged a small stone from the earth. Stooping
quickly, still keeping his eyes on the bobcat, he picked up the stone
and flung it at the snarling beast. It struck sparks from the rock,
glanced off, and went bounding into the dense undergrowth, whence came a
very human howl of anguish. The bobcat vanished—but only for a moment.
“Say, what are you doin’; throwin’ stones?” wailed a voice, and Sam
Winter stood up above the ferns, rubbing his shoulder. “That’s not fair,
Hugh!” he complained. “You are betraying me to——”
“I wasn’t throwing stones at you, you chump! I didn’t know you were
there!”
“What were you trying to hit?”
“A bobcat, Sam.”
“Bobcat? Where?”
“I don’t see—oh, look! There she is, just slipping around that stump!
Look out, Sam! Beat it!”
With a yell, Sam turned and fled, leaving Hugh again face to face with
the creature.
Reckless defiance of danger, a foolhardy lust for battle, now seized
Hugh; and all else was forgotten: his comrades, the game they were
playing, the record he hoped to make. Here was a far more exciting game,
matching his quickness, his steadiness of nerve, with the fierce
instincts of that denizen of the forest. Unarmed, he might lay her low
with a stone or his hunting knife.
Grasping another stone somewhat heavier than the first, in his right
hand, he took careful aim. The next moment, the stone whizzed through
the air, there was a blood-curdling screech, and a furry body hurtled
across the intervening space, straight toward him. In mid-air, however,
it seemed to waver; then it fell headlong to the ground, with a thump,
kicking up a shower of dry leaves and clods. By a miracle, Hugh’s
well-directed missile had struck the cat on the ribs, breaking them; and
she had not had time to check her leap, which had inflicted internal
injuries.
Hugh was trembling now with the reaction of excitement. He could
scarcely believe that he had taken such a slim chance.
“What a fool I was, what a fool!” he gasped, looking down on the dying
wildcat. “I ought to have had more sense than to take such a risk. I’m
sorry I killed her! I’m sorry and ashamed. Poor thing! I must put her
out of misery; it is all I can do now. Oh, I won’t forget this for many
a day! What a blind-lucky fool I was!”
“Yes, you were,” said a deep voice beside him.
“Oh, is that you, Mr. Rawson? Have you your automatic there? Please,
please finish the poor brute! I-I’ve wounded her—after provoking an
attack.”
“I saw you, saw the whole episode,” Rawson declared grimly.
He drew his revolver, a shot rang out through the wood, and the bobcat
lay still.
Silence.
Hugh swallowed hard, choking down a lump in his throat.
“I suppose we’ll have to report this—this exploit,” said Rawson gravely,
laying a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “Of course you’ll want the skin?”
The absence of any word of praise, any congratulation on his narrow
escape, made Hugh feel doubly ashamed. To be sure, he had done a very
plucky thing, he had shown a certain sort of courage which, had it been
exerted wholly in self-defense, would have won golden opinions from his
comrades, instead of this tacit censure on the part of Rawson. But there
was nothing to do except brazen it out.
“Ye-es, I want the skin,” he replied slowly. “It will remind me
of—of—not to do it again.”
“Take it and welcome, old man. When you have skinned the critter, you
will go back to camp. I’ve caught you, see? You’re my prisoner.”
The young leader of the Wolf patrol, self-accused of needless slaughter,
glanced at his superior with a look of unconcern.
“Oh?” said Hugh. “I forgot! Are we still playing that game?”