answer. "But it—it was a close call!" and he shuddered. "Do you think he's dead?"
"I shouldn't wonder. You hit him, didn't you?"
"Yes, twice. But they couldn't have been very good shots, or he wouldn't have come for me again."
"Mountain lions is mighty tough, lad. I've seen one with six bullets in him still show fight. Load up, as quick as you can. His mate may be around."
This advice was, however, unnecessary for Dave was already recharging the empty chambers of the pistol. From his Uncle Dunston he had learned years before the advisability of keeping one's weapon ready for use at all times.
The sound of the shots had called the others of the party to the scene, and numerous were the questions asked.
"Wow! a mountain lion!" cried Phil. "And did you kill him, Dave?"
"I don't know whether he is dead. Mr. Dillon and I both hit him, and he flopped around here until he slid down into that hole yonder."
"Maybe he isn't dead yet," suggested Roger.
"Even so, being badly wounded, he'll stick to his shelter," said Abe Blower. "Say," he went on, "thet looks like a putty good sized cave!"
"Just what I was thinking," returned Dave.
