All this took the boy but three winks of the eye to observe; though, in the time, he had not winked once, so fascinated was he by the gaze of those wild, sly eyes, which shone like balls of green fire, rather than eyes. Now was Wild Tom of the Woods making his squat for the long spring, and the poor little runaway screaming again to pap for help. But just then, in the very nick of time, with a swiftness that left a red streak in the air, the red moccasins darted directly at the wild-cat's face, and kicking the green fire out of his eyes, spoiled their charming expression in a twinkle. With a scream of amazement, fright and pain, which struck on the ear like the shriek of a terrified woman, the nimble creature spun lithely 'round, and, like the bull, reckless of all save the unseen foe behind him, made a blind leap sheer over the brink of the precipice, and in a moment sank out of sight. This happily accomplished, the moccasins, precisely as they had done before, returned to their post; and the boy, precisely as he had done before, hid his face in his coonskin cap. Nor even yet one word of thanks for timely rescue from untimely end. Now, had you been in our hero's place, you would have up and made friends with the moccasins, there on the spot, for so kindly stepping in betwixt you and peril--shaken hands with them as whole-souled fellows, with whom it was to a bare-footed boy's behoof to stand on a good footing. But Sprigg was the worst spoiled boy in the world; which, unless I am mightily mistaken, you are not; and it still rang in his foggy young noddle that it was all the red moccasins' fault that he had been brought to straits so sad and desperate. Therefore, he owed them no thanks whatever for helping him out, let them kick as they might. Such being the case, Sprigg would not have made friends with the moccasins, had it been to save their soles. So, there sat the boy, with his face in his coonskin cap; and there stood the thing, with its feet in the moccasins; and there flung the sun his last red beams, then went his way, unrecking who wept to see him go. Now, shade by shade, with foot as stealthy and soft as the furred paw of the gray cat, came the gray twilight, creeping, creeping on. The hour, when the gray owl, with a whoop, from his hole in the tree; and the gray wolf, with a howl, from his cleft in the rock, come forth in quest of their prey. And woe to the fawn! And woe to the birdling! strayed from home for the first time, should the shadows of night, that tempt the famished foe abroad, find him still far from the old one's side; for chased shall he be, and caught up by the claws, or dragged down by the fangs of the dread destroyer!