I wanted to get away from there. Again I called, but it was no use.
He wouldn’t leave the tree, for in his veins flowed the breeded blood of a hunting hound. In his fighting heart, there was no fear.
I set the lantern down and tightened my grip on the handle of the ax. Slowly I started walking toward him.
I thought, “If I can get close enough to him, I can grab his collar.”
I kept my eyes on the tree as I edged forward. Little Ann stayed by my side.
She, too, was watching the tree. Then I saw them—two burning, yellow eyes—staring at me from the shadowy foliage of the tree.
I stopped, petrified with fear. The deep baying of Old Dan stopped and again the silence closed in.
I stared back at the unblinking eyes. I could make out the bulk of a large animal, crouched on a huge branch, close to the trunk of the big tree.
Then it moved. I heard the scratch of razor-sharp claws on the bark.
It stood up and moved out of the shadows on to the limb. I saw it clearly as it passed between the moon and me.
I knew what it was. It was the devil cat of the Ozarks, the mountain lion.
The silence was shattered by one long, loud bawl from Old Dan.
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