The White Crystals Part 9

For a time he fought off the drowsiness, only to find it coming over him more and more strongly. Oh, how nice it was out here in the woods.

There was a gentle wind, the leaves seemed to rustle and whisper to him. Ah! He was floating away--away--off--off--to the land--of nod--to--the--land--of--nod--the--land--of--nod--nod--nod!

Then! Roger was fast asleep!

No! Not asleep! He was on the verge. Just going to tumble over into the finest feather bed he ever knew, when there was a noise that sounded like a clap of thunder.

Cras.h.!.+

Roger sat up, clutching the tree, against which he leaned, with a grip of terror. His heart was going like a trip-hammer. There was the echo of a great roaring in his ears. For a second he could not tell where he was. Then came another noise, less loud.

Snap!

Ah! It was only the breaking of a twig. He calmed down. But what did it mean? Somebody must be coming to find him. Of course, that was it.

Adrian and his father were searching.

Roger leaped to his feet. He peered into the darkness.

"Here I am, Adrian!" he called. "Here I am! Hey! Here's Roger!"

The echo of his own cry was the only answer. Then came another crackle of the twigs, as if some one was approaching nearer. Roger strained his eyes into the black depths of the forest. He could make out nothing.

Then, as he kept his gaze fixed on one spot, he saw something which seemed to chill his heart. It was two small b.a.l.l.s of greenish-red fire, and they looked right at him. At the same time there came to the boy's ears the sound of an angry snarl.

CHAPTER VIII

FIGHTING A WILD-CAT

For one fearful moment Roger felt a cold chill go creeping down his spine, and he s.h.i.+vered in dread at the nameless thing which stood growling there before him. He knew it must be some kind of a wild beast, but what he hardly dared think.

"A bear!" he whispered, and he shrank closer against the tree. Then he recalled what his aunt had said when Mr. Kimball had joked about the denizens of the forest. She said there were no bears.

"Nothing worse than wild-cats," he remembered she had told him, and, though to the frightened boy this was terrible enough, he was glad to know it was not a bear which he could dimly see the outline of.

The thing, whatever it was, kept up its short, angry snarls, and Roger could hear the sharp claws tearing at the bark of the fallen log. He gazed at the two circles of greenish-red fire in a sort of fascination.

Just then the whole forest seemed to be flooded with a soft light that stole in among the trees and sifted down through the leaves. It was the moon that had risen high enough above the hills to give its illumination to the scene. By the glowing beams Roger could make out the animal about fifteen feet from him, crouching low on a fallen tree. It was a beast perhaps two feet long, with a tail that swished from side to side, and it had little short ears that seemed pointed toward him, to catch the sound of any movement he might make. He could see the paws with which the wild-cat, for such he knew it must be, held its position on the log, by digging the knife-like claws into the soft bark. He could see the little chips and slivers fly off, while the growls changed to a half-whining cry.

For a moment the boy looked about in desperation, seeking which way to flee. Off to the left he seemed to observe a little larger opening between the trees than anywhere else. He sprang toward it with a bound.

Ere he had gone a dozen steps, stumbling in the half darkness over sticks and stones, the wild-cat turned quickly, and with a light leap was before him, waiting, waiting, waiting. The boy stopped short with a shudder. He was very much afraid. Though the beast was not large, and though it did not impress him half as much as did the tigers and lions he had seen in Central Park, yet there was something terrifying in the calm way it faced him.

It appeared to know there was nothing between itself and the defenceless boy, and that no help was at hand. Though the beast was not half as big as Roger, he knew the sharp claws and sharper teeth would cause death, if once the animal got up courage enough to attack him. That this was its intention the boy had no doubt, though he was sure the wild-cats to be found in the mountains about Cardiff were more a danger and menace to chickens and lambs than to human beings. The brutes were usually too cowardly to attack man. But perhaps the night, the smallness of the boy and his apparent terror had made the cat devoid of fear. At any rate, it seemed to Roger to be ugly and bold enough to spring at him any minute.

Foiled in his plan to escape, the boy returned to the log where he had been sitting. This was close against a big tree, and he felt that, with his back to this, he was, in some measure, protected; at least from an attack in the rear. As he retraced his steps the cat kept pace with him, until both boy and beast were in the same relative positions they had first occupied.

Roger now saw that it was to be a battle between himself and the wild-cat, and he nerved himself for the fight. Had he dared, he would have turned and run, but he seemed to see the cat come bounding after him, with big leaps and jumps, and crouching for a final spring upon his back. Then he recalled, with a shudder, what he had read of the terrible tearing power of the claws of these animals. So there was but one thing to do with any hope of success. That was to stand and fight off the beast as long as possible. But what weapons had he? He hurriedly felt in his pockets and all he could find was a small knife, which he knew would be of little use when it came to close quarters. A stick, a club, or a stone would be of more service. Yes, that would be better; a club, so Roger stooped down, and while he kept his eyes fastened on the cat he groped about on the ground with his hands to see what was there. He felt his fingers close over a stout cudgel, and he rose, grasping it firmly, and stood with his feet braced for the shock. He was less frightened now that he had some sort of a weapon, poor as it was, and he knew he could meet the attack on more even terms.

And it was high time he had thus prepared, for the cat now crouched lower than before on the log and its claws worked more quickly, as Roger could see by the light of the moon, which had risen higher.

He noticed the short ears pointed forward on the ugly head and the parted lips disclosed the sharp white teeth. There was a convulsive tremor of the lithe body, and then, from the opened mouth came a cry so dismal, so weird and terrifying to the boy that he s.h.i.+vered in fear, and felt his heart go thumping away under his ribs. The next instant the wild-cat launched itself forward with a spring, straight at the boyish figure that stood ready to meet it.

With a quick motion Roger lifted the short, heavy club, and then, as he saw the beast directly in front of him, he gave a half turn, so that the animal would sail past to the left. At the same time he brought the stick down with all his force, aiming at the ugly head. He missed this spot, but struck just behind it, as the brute pa.s.sed him, and so close was the cat that the claws in its nearest hind leg caught the lower part of the boy's coat and tore it as if a sharp knife had cut it. The brute landed some five feet beyond Roger, letting out a mingled howl of pain and rage.

But the fight had only begun, and Roger knew if the wild thing returned to the attack with the energy it had displayed at first he could scarcely hope to beat it off again. However, the animal seemed disposed to practise a little caution now and to be a trifle wary about repeating its jump. The boy turned partly around and saw the beast come to a sudden stop. Then it swung about and, making a little circle, ran quickly and leaped lightly upon the fallen log, where it crouched, ready for another spring.

But now Roger seemed to feel the deadly fear leaving him, and he almost rejoiced in the thought of the battle that was to come, even though he knew it was likely to result badly for himself. He had pa.s.sed through the first scrimmage and, like a soldier who has once been under fire, he almost wished for another skirmish in the struggle.

He watched the animal with sharp eyes and was glad to find the light increasing, as the moon rose more above the trees, though the leaves through which the beams came made uncertain shadows. Then the boy detected some movement on the part of the beast and saw that the cat, instead of crouching for another spring, had crawled out on the log toward the end that was in deepest gloom.

"I wonder what he's up to now?" said Roger, softly.

He could hear the brute leap on the soft wood-carpet of moss and dried leaves, and then the grayish body seemed to fade away. But Roger knew the animal had not left him. It was trying to sneak up behind him, so as to leap on his back, he felt, and the boy turned to face in that direction. As he did so he heard a noise near the log where the cat had just been crouching, and he turned quickly to catch a glimpse of the long slender form pa.s.sing rapidly by in the semi-darkness. For a moment Roger was puzzled, and then it came to him like a flash. The beast was racing about him in a circle!

He did not know what to do, and while he hesitated sorely alarmed, with the fear tugging at his heart again, the cat pa.s.sed in front of him once more.

Only this time the animal was farther from the log and nearer to the boy. Roger knew that the brute would narrow the circles until it was close enough to spring at him, and, under these circ.u.mstances, it was impossible to tell from which point the dangerous leap might come.

Surely the boy was in grave danger now, and he felt it keenly. He backed up close against the tree, but this was scarcely any protection, as the trunk was not large enough. Yet he dared not leave it to seek another.

The cat continued to run about him in ever smaller curves. Roger raised his club and waited in an agony of suspense--waited to see the tense body come sailing toward him--waited to feel the sharp claws and cruel teeth.

Up to this moment he had held the club in one hand, but, thinking to use it with greater force, he now took hold with both right and left. As he did so, he noticed that in his left hand he still held his knife. He was about to cast it from him, not wanting to risk putting it in his pocket, when his fingers touched something that seemed to be caught in the slot-like opening of the handle where the blades went. The knife was a two-bladed one, but the smaller bit of steel had been broken off, and, where this should have fitted Roger was conscious that something had lodged in the handle. He hurriedly felt of it.

It was a match!

How his heart thrilled. Here was a means of safety. Wild animals fear a blaze. With this match which he had found so unexpectedly he could kindle a fire.

Now he had a chance of holding the wild-cat at bay until morning. With his feet he sc.r.a.ped together some dry leaves into a little heap. Then, watching until the animal had once more pa.s.sed between him and the log, he stooped over.

But, after all, there was only a slim chance in his favor. The match might be a burned one, it might miss fire, or go out before he had an opportunity to kindle the leaves, or the leaves themselves might be too damp to burn. All these thoughts came to him on the instant. But there was no time to lose. He struck the match on the leg of his trousers. It sputtered, fused, and flared brightly. Then it almost died away, and Roger's heart grew like lead. A little wind sprang up and threatened to extinguish the tiny flame. But though it almost left the wood it did not blow off altogether, and once again it burned strongly.

Roger leaned over toward the pile of debris. He held the match to it.

Some of the dried foliage hissed and smoked, for it was damp. But a little wisp of dried gra.s.s caught. This blazed up with a crackle. The flames communicated to the leaves, which soon began to ignite, though not brightly, and with more smoke than fire. How anxiously did the boy watch them, for it meant safety, if not life, to him. His heart seemed almost to be suffocating him with its beating. Then the dried stuff caught the flames well and burned with a spurt of fire and sparks.

The next instant there was a rush from behind Roger. He half turned and rose from his stooping position over the blaze. There came whizzing through the air the body of the beast, as if shot from a catapult.

Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders, and he could feel, for a half second, the p.r.i.c.k of the sharp claws through his coat. The force of the leap threw him forward, and though he tried to save himself, though he bravely endeavored to strike the beast with his club, he felt himself sinking beneath the weight of the cat. He hit the ground with considerable force, close to the fire, so near, indeed, that the flames, which had increased, felt hot on his face.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders" ]

Then there was a howl and a yelp of pain and surprise from the brute, followed by a roar. Roger felt the cruel claws sinking deeper into his flesh. He screamed in agony, and then to his great wonderment he noted a sudden ceasing of the weight that was pressing him down. The claws no longer stuck into him, and the cat leaped from his back. Like a flash the boy rolled over, to get away from the fire which had spread and was scorching him.

Then he ventured to rise to his knees. He saw the wild-cat sneaking off in the darkness. The burning leaves had served their purpose and frightened the animal away.

While the boy stood there, his heart palpitating with fright, he suddenly saw a bright streak, like a sliver of flame, shoot through the trees in front of him. Accompanying it there was the sharp report of a rifle, followed by a wild howl of agony. By the combined light of the fire and the moon Roger saw the cat leap high in the air.