It was mostly because he couldn't see, and that got him rattled, and
you're no good when you're rattled. All I wanted was for him to get away
from the tree so I wouldn't have to be too near him, and then I'd shinny
down and hit the trail for camp.
But just then I had another thought. Maybe you won't believe me, but I felt
sorry for that wild animal. I knew how _I'd_ feel if I was in such a fix as
that. If I had only had a pistol I would have shot him, but boy scouts
don't carry pistols-only in crazy story books. We never shoot anything,
except the chutes in Coney Island, and you can't call that cruelty to
animals.
And if I just went off and left him there, maybe he'd stagger around in the
woods and claw at himself and tear himself all to pieces and get all bloody
and just die. That wouldn't be much fun, would it? As soon as I wasn't
scared any more I felt sorry for him-that's the honest truth. I saw how he
was beaten and I felt sorry for him. I knew he was really stronger than I
was, and that it wasn't a fair fight. I don't care what he intended to do,
it wasn't a fair fight. Even if I had shot him he might have looked brave
and noble, kind of.
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