Look. Paul, look!"
Henry's last word rose to an excited whisper, and Paul's gaze quickly
followed his pointing finger. Even then he would not have seen anything
had he not looked long and carefully. At last he made out a long, tawny
shape on a low-lying bough of a tree at the very edge of the forest. The
shape was flattened against the bough and almost blended with it.
"A panther!" whispered Paul.
Henry nodded. It was, in fact, a large specimen of the panther or southern
cougar, and Henry whispered again:
"See what he is after!"
A small colt from the herd had wandered dangerously near to the forest and
the bough on which the cougar lay, watching him with the yellow, famished
eyes of the great, hungry cat.
"Shoot him, Henry! Shoot him!" whispered Paul. "You can reach him with a
bullet from here. Don't let him kill the poor, little colt!"
"I'd do it if it were needed," replied Henry, "but I don't think it will
be. See, Paul, the Prairie King suspects!"
The great white stallion raised his head a little higher. It may be that
he caught a glimpse of the tawny form and yellow, hungry eyes amid the
foliage of the bough, or it may be that a sudden flaw in the wind brought
to his nostrils the pungent odor of the big cat.
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