“Yes, that’s it.  Don’t you see, it would be the prize of the whole bunch?  Can’t you let me give a flash, and shoot afterwards?” begged the ardent photographer.

Frank could not refuse.

“It would be a dandy all right, with old Toby hanging there; but look sharp, for the cat hears us whispering, and is ready to get out.”

Hardly had he spoken before there came a brilliant flash.

“Got him!” shrieked the excited Will.

Then came a heavy report close to his ears, as Frank fired.

The flash had dazzled all but Frank, who managed to keep his eyes away from it.  He was thus enabled to catch sight of the startled wildcat bounding for the shelter of the trees, having deserted its meal in sudden fright.

As soon as he had fired, Frank threw his gun around so as to cover the spot he expected the animal to occupy if by any chance it escaped the full effect of his first charge.

But it jumped the other way, and might have vanished from view only that Jerry fired from his hip, there being no time to aim from the shoulder.

“He’s down!” shouted Bluff, as the fierce visitor in the camp rolled over and over, clawing aimlessly as it expired.

Ready to shoot again if necessary, the two hunters cautiously advanced.  There was no need of further attention, for the wildcat stiffened out under their eyes.

“Ginger! but ain’t he a beaut?” exclaimed Bluff, bending over.

“I wonder if there happens to be a mate around?” said Jerry, as he bent an anxious look toward the timber close at hand.

“They generally hunt in couples,” admitted Frank; “but in this case I hardly think it can be so, for the other would have come to the feast.”

Uncle Toby came down from his perch rather dubiously, as if he feared that the danger might not be all over.

“What happened to you, Uncle Toby?” asked Frank, giving the others a wink not to joke the old fellow too seriously, for he was still trembling.

“Yuh see ’twar dis way, Marse Frank:  dat cat he jest wanted de ham more’n Unc Toby did, an’ I naturally lets him hab it.  He jumps down from de tree, an’ I feels a notion to elevate ‘bout dat time.  Don’ know how I gits up dar, but ’spect I done fly,” explained the cook, as well as his chattering teeth would permit.

“He means he aviated upward,” grinned Jerry.

Will was patting his camera lovingly.

“Oh!  I do hope it turns out fine,” he said; “for that would be a jolly hit.  I’d rather snap off pictures like that than shoot a grizzly or a bull moose.  Me for the gentle life.  I’m no butcher.”

“Talk to me about that, will you?  You’re a sport all right, Will, only it happens that your tastes run in a different direction from mine.  Don’t knock my love of fair play, and I won’t laugh at your wanting to snap off every living thing you see, to make up a freak collection.”