“It’s my only chance!” thought Bob. “The minute I turn around he’s going to spring.”
He listened intently, but could hear no footsteps approaching, and realized that he had gotten far ahead of the others.
“Oh, why didn’t I bring my rifle along?” thought Bob. “None of us did, I guess. We thought so much of the gold that we didn’t dream we would need guns!”
Nearer and nearer crept the beast, and now, added to its quivering body and switching tail, there came low, menacing growls, to inspire more terror in the intended victim.
“It won’t be much longer now,” thought Bob. “I’ve just got to turn and run. I can’t stand facing him out! I’m going to jump back, and maybe I can get behind a big rock, or something, long enough to yell for help. Here goes! I’m going to dodge!”
Something of his intention must have, in some way, been made manifest to the lion, or perhaps a sight movement on the part of the lad carried this intelligence to the beast. For, just as Bob was about to turn and flee, he saw the beast give a final quiver, and then, with a roar, launch itself into the air from the tree trunk. At the same moment a voice shouted:
“Fall, Bob! Lie down! Flop to the ground!”
Wondering why this advice was given, but recognizing that it came from some of his party, the stout lad threw himself forward. He saw the beast hurling itself toward him, and, a second later, there came a sharp report.
The body of the mountain lion seemed to crumple up, to become a knot in midair, and then, fairly turning a somersault, the beast crashed to the ground just beyond where Bob lay.
“Roll to one side! Get out of the way!” yelled the voice again, and Bob had presence of mind enough to obey. He knew that the beast, in its death agony, might reach and claw him. So Bob, being unable to do anything else, rolled to one side. Then, if ever, he was thankful for his fleshiness, for he did not so much mind the rough rocks over which his course took him.
Once more there came the cracking sound of a shot, and then Bob, raising his head, saw the body of the lion give a final quiver and lie still. It was dead.
“Great Peter, that was a close call!” exclaimed Jim Nestor, coming up as Bob arose. “I was afraid I couldn’t plug him with my revolver, but I managed to do it.”