The dog started forward, then stood stock still and showed his teeth.
There was another moan and then a hiss, and out of the gloom ahead shone two fiery eyes, moving slowly from side to side.
"Some beast!" shouted Robert Menden. "Have your pistols ready!"
He had scarcely uttered the words when a big cat shot past him and landed on Leander's left shoulder.
The creature was of the domestic specie, but evidently gone wild from hunger and loneliness.
"Help! take it off!" cried the boy, and tried to clear himself. But the cat hung the closer. Then it opened its mouth as if to bury its teeth in his arm.
A report rang out. Robert Menden had taken careful aim and fired. At once the cat gave a screech and tumbled to the ground, where it lay writhing and moaning. Another shot put it out of its misery forever.
The attack had taken Leander's nerve away from him, and the boy sank down on, a rock and shivered, while turning as white as a sheet.
"It was terrible!" he murmured. "Say, I'm for getting out of this!"
"Oh, don't talk that way, Len!" cried Bob. "The cat's dead now, you know."
"But there may be more of them."
