Part 19 (1/2)
”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 b.u.t.ton 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 b.u.t.ton 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 p.u.s.s.y'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 s.p.u.n.k 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 was.h.i.+ng, 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.