Brave reached the log just a
moment too late, and finding his enemy fairly out of his reach, he
quietly seated himself at the foot of the tree and waited for Frank to
come up.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the young naturalist, wiping his forehead
with his coat-sleeve, (for the exciting scene through which he had
just passed had brought the cold sweat from every pore in his body);
"it is a lucky circumstance for you and me, Brave, that the varmint
did not stand and show fight."
Then ordering the dog to "sit down and watch him," the young
naturalist threw down his ax, and started toward the house for his
gun. He was still very much excited, fearful that the wild-cat might
take it into his head to come down and give the dog battle, in which
case he would be certain to escape; for, although Brave was a very
powerful and courageous dog, he could make but a poor show against the
sharp teeth and claws of the wild-cat. The more Frank thought of it,
the more excited he became, and the faster he ran. In a very few
moments he reached the house, and burst into the room where Uncle Joe
and Archie and two or three hired men sat at breakfast.
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