What do you think, Mr. Wilder?" And Tom
appealed to him as to their proper disposal.
"They will be awkward to carry, that's a fact," assented the
ranchman. "If you want them very much, though, we can leave them
here and then stop on our way home. They'll be safe enough till we
get back."
Readily Tom agreed, and he and Horace were just stooping to pick up
one end of the hide, containing the deer meat, when Horace let out
a cry.
"Oh, what's that thing up by my buck?"
"It looks like a tiger," exclaimed Tom, and then added: "But you
don't have tigers out here, do you?"
"No. That's a mountain lion, which is almost the same thing,
though," answered Mr. Wilder. "Now's your chance to show your
marksmanship, Horace. Take a good aim and see if you can't knock
him over."
No urging did his son need. Raising his rifle to position, the lad
squinted along the barrel carefully and then fired.
Above the report of the shot rang out an ear-splitting howl, and
the mountain Hon turned to face the direction of the sound.
"Give him another, son. You hit him, but not in a vital spot,"
said his father.
Again Horace aimed and fired, this time with better success, for
the lion dropped in its tracks.
"Good work," praised Tom heartily. "That was a mighty long shot to
make. Now if Bill and Larry only get something, we'll have bagged
a trophy.
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