LY CAMP

A lynx may be only a cat, but a cat that is the size of a young tiger,
with all a tiger's ferocity, is no pleasant opponent at any time. Add to
naturally aggressive tendencies the fact that her baby has cried out in
pain, and you have an angry mother-fiend that takes a deal of seeking to
find her equal in fierceness.

In this case the lynx had been watching the young hunters with one eye
for some time from her shelter among the leaves of the overhanging
maple. She had been keeping the other eye upon her offspring, having an
idea that the humans might endanger its safety; and, when she heard the
cry of pain, she simply dropped from her branch right upon Holden's
back, fixing her claws in his coat and snapping furiously at his neck.

Luckily the boy's hunting-coat was of tough buckskin, and when the lynx
set her teeth in the collar she imagined that she was wreaking vengeance
upon flesh and blood. And the sound she made was enough to chill the
marrow.

Arnold had heard the scream and his chum's cry of surprise at the sudden
assault. But he did not understand it at first. He surmised vaguely that
it was nothing more than sympathetic rejoicing at his successful shot
that had toppled a fine buck antelope in the grass.

However, second thoughts quickly dispelled the first surmise, for he
heard Holden calling upon him in evident trouble.

"Bob! Come quickly! There's something on my back, and I can't get at
it!"

Bob dashed into the long grass as the shortest route. But before he had
crossed the slough Alf had managed to free himself from one sleeve of
his coat, and had got the lynx beneath him.

Now it was a hand-to-hand fight. The claws of the animal seemed to be
everywhere. They struck with lightning swiftness, and the teeth snapped
like steel gins. In fact, the boy's opponent was simply a mass of fur
and claws--nothing that could be gripped, but everything that could
wound.

"Don't shoot!" exclaimed Alf, as his friend appeared with gun half
raised in his hands. "You can't get a clean shot at her--ugh! the brute!
She's clawed my shoulder!"

It was a fierce struggle while it lasted.

Hot and panting, Alf fought to get a grip of the creature's throat. She,
on her part, seemed to divine his purpose, and battled successfully to
prevent him.

The combatants rolled over. The lynx was uppermost, and she made a
vicious snap at the boy's face. But the quick head-turn of a trained
boxer avoided that snap, an