CHAPTER XIX—A BOBCAT ON BOARD
“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.