There we pulled up to catch our breath.
Nothing was pursuing us, nor could we hear anything.
After we had listened a while, Tom ran into the house and waked his
father. Mr. Edwards, however, was slow to believe that we had hit the
animal, and refused to dress and go out. It was now about two o'clock. I
did not like to go home alone, and so went to bed with Tom. In
consequence of our vigils we slept till sunrise. Meanwhile, on going out
to milk, Tom's father had had the curiosity to visit the scene of our
adventure. A trail of blood spots leading from the knoll into the woods
convinced him that we had really damaged the prowler; and picking up the
axe that I had dropped, he followed the trail. Large red stains at
intervals showed that the animal had stopped frequently to grovel on the
snow. About half a mile from the knoll, Mr. Edwards came upon the beast,
in a fir thicket, making distressful sounds, and quite helpless to
defend itself. A blow on the head from the poll of the axe finished the
creature; and, taking it by the tail, Mr. Edwards dragged it to the
house. The carcass was lying in the dooryard when Tom's mother waked us.
"Get up and see your striped catamount!" she called up the chamber
stairs.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103