He seized the weapon, sank on one knee, quickly sighted along the barrel,
and pulled the trigger. Even as he fired, the cat leaped toward the pup.
For a second there was a terrific scuffling in the leaves. Then the
search-light's beam showed the pup lying motionless, its neck broken and
torn, while the cat was clawing the air wildly, and spitting and snarling
in fury.

"Don't ever let one of those critters get on your back, Charley," said the
forester, as he approached the cat for a final shot. "Sometimes they will
follow a fellow in the forest. It's seldom they really attack a man, but
if a fellow loses his nerve and runs, they will sometimes leap on him. A
single swipe of those claws will cut a fellow to ribbons."

The forester was now close to the cat, which had gotten to its feet and
had crouched, snarling, ready for a leap.

The forester circled so as to get a shot at the animal's shoulder. Quickly
raising his rifle, he fired. The cat screamed, clawed the air desperately
for a few seconds, and lay still.

Charley rushed in and tenderly lifted his motionless pup from the ground.
There were tears in his eyes as he bore the little body to one side. "Poor
fellow," he said, "I'll miss you awfully. I was counting on you a lot to
help me guard this timber. You did the best you knew how. You thought you
were helping me, didn't you?"

He passed his hand across his eyes and faced the forester. "It's some
consolation to know that that beast paid for this, and paid well. I'm sure
glad he's dead. It's a good thing for the forest."