ed to give any
one more or less reason to feel a touch of alarm.

Evidently she must be a mother cat, for a couple of partly grown kittens
stood there in plain sight, with every hair on their short backs
erected, and their whole appearance indicating that they were "chips off
the old block," as Seth afterwards declared.

The wounded aeronaut sat there with a stick in his grasp. This he was
wielding as best he could, to keep the angry animal at a distance,
although his efforts were growing pitifully weaker, and only for the
coming of the scouts he must have been compelled to throw up the sponge
in a short time.

Evidently the wildcat had come upon him there after he had been dropped
amidst the wreckage of his balloon. Whether it was her natural hatred
for mankind that tempted the savage beast to attack the balloonist, or
the scent of fresh blood from some of his scratches, it would be hard
to say, possibly both reasons had to do with her action.

Just how long the scrimmage had been going on Paul could only guess; but
he did know that the beast must have ripped the clothes partly off the
aeronaut's back, and in turn he could see that one of the animal's eyes
was partly closed, from a vigorous whack which the desperate man had
given with his cudgel, no doubt.

Paul instantly made straight for the scene of commotion, never so much
as hesitating a second. This was one of those emergencies spoken of
before now, when the scoutmaster did not allow himself to pause and
consider, but acted from impulse only.

The man saw him coming, and gave expression to his satisfaction in a
weak hurrah. As for the cat, at first it seemed ready to try conclusions
with the whole troop of Boy Scouts, for it turned on Paul with the
ugliest glare in its yellow eyes he had ever seen.

Every fellow was shouting vigorously by now, and the volume of sound
must have had more or less to do with settling the question. Besides,
the pair of kittens seemed to have been frightened off with the coming
of the scouts, having slid into the friendly bushes.

So the mother cat decided that after all she could yield gracefully to
superior numbers--seven to one was pretty heavy odds, and those waving
staves had an ugly look she did not exactly fancy.

But all the same there was nothing inglorious in her retreat; she
retired in perfect good order, keeping her face to the foe, and
continuing to spit and snarl and growl so long as she remained in sight.

Se