This gave me a moment’s breathing-space, time to glance round and see if any other avenue of escape was open. At once I noticed another birch bough to my left, and a little higher, but still within fairly easy distance; and on the impulse I sprang, landing full upon it. At this the cat, with another blood-curdling snarl, turned quickly back towards the trunk, but before she could reach it I was off into the very topmost twigs of the birch. Here I felt sure that I was safe, at any rate for the time, for I did not believe the cat would venture so high. To my horror she set herself to follow, and, taking such risks as I never dreamed she would dare, she came slowly but stealthily on my track. All I could do was to crawl out to the thinnest tip that would bear me, cling there, and wait. With horrible pertinacity she followed to the very top of the trunk, and, stationing herself in the last fork that would bear her, crouched there, apparently determined to wait and starve me out. I was at my wits’ end, for there seemed no possible avenue of escape. I might remain where I was, you will say, and trust to tiring her out. True; but supposing she refused to be tired out? Remember, it was freezing hard. She could endure the cold; I could not. Sooner or later my muscles would grow numb, and I should fall either on to the ground or right into her jaws. Another thing (I may as well confess it), I was frightened—so badly frightened that this in itself was actually paralysing my powers. After a few minutes I began to feel as though some unexplainable impulse was forcing me to turn and gaze into those fierce green eyes. I had sense enough to be aware that, once I did this, it was all up. I should become fascinated, and drop right into the cruel jaws that waited so hungrily below. Against this suicidal impulse I fought with all my might, but in spite of my best efforts it grew upon me until I began to feel that I could endure the torture no longer. It seemed as though it would be a relief to put an end to it, even if it meant ending my life at the same time. The cat seemed to know this, too, and lay below me, stretched at full length, still as the leafless branch on which she crouched. I was actually turning; in another second I should have yielded as weakly as a miserable house mouse, when suddenly a sharp bark resounded from the beech-tree near by. The cat stirred, and for the moment I was saved. I looked in the direction of the sound. There was Rusty only a few yards away in the beech. Cob was close behind him. Rusty cried out to me sharply: ‘Do you see that bough-tip straight below you?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered dully. ‘Can you drop to it?’ ‘I’ll try.’