the beast, and more snapping and snarling followed. The animal rolled clear over the fire, scattering the burning brands in all directions. Then it rolled among the horses. One steed after another kicked at it, and a flying hoof sent it against the tree with a thud. Then it lay quiet.
"Must be dead," said Dave, after a pause.
"Don't go near it!" screamed Phil.
"I won't—not yet," answered Dave. "We'll fix up the fire first." And he kicked the dying embers together and put more wood on the blaze. While he did this, Phil and Roger watched the huddled-up form at the foot of the tree. The horses still snorted and did their best to get away.
"I guess it is dead after all," said Phil, after he had poked the beast with a stick. "Wonder what it can be?"
"Looks a little like a big wildcat," said Roger.
"I know what it is," answered Dave, after all were certain the beast was dead and they had dragged it over to the fire. "It's a cougar, or mountain lion, one of the worst wild beasts to be found in the West."
"Then it's no wonder I got scared when first I saw it," said Phil. "My, what a powerful animal! And it must weigh fifty or sixty pounds."
"All of that, Phil.
"Is this the beast some call a panther or painter?" asked Roger.
