Roger now saw that it was to be a battle between himself and the wild-cat, and he nerved himself for the fight. Had he dared, he would have turned and run, but he seemed to see the cat come bounding after him, with big leaps and jumps, and crouching for a final spring upon his back. Then he recalled, with a shudder, what he had read of the terrible tearing power of the claws of these animals. So there was but one thing to do with any hope of success. That was to stand and fight off the beast as long as possible. But what weapons had he? He hurriedly felt in his pockets and all he could find was a small knife, which he knew would be of little use when it came to close quarters. A stick, a club, or a stone would be of more service. Yes, that would be better; a club, so Roger stooped down, and while he kept his eyes fastened on the cat he groped about on the ground with his hands to see what was there. He felt his fingers close over a stout cudgel, and he rose, grasping it firmly, and stood with his feet braced for the shock. He was less frightened now that he had some sort of a weapon, poor as it was, and he knew he could meet the attack on more even terms. And it was high time he had thus prepared, for the cat now crouched lower than before on the log and its claws worked more quickly, as Roger could see by the light of the moon, which had risen higher. He noticed the short ears pointed forward on the ugly head and the parted lips disclosed the sharp white teeth. There was a convulsive tremor of the lithe body, and then, from the opened mouth came a cry so dismal, so weird and terrifying to the boy that he shivered in fear, and felt his heart go thumping away under his ribs. The next instant the wild-cat launched itself forward with a spring, straight at the boyish figure that stood ready to meet it. With a quick motion Roger lifted the short, heavy club, and then, as he saw the beast directly in front of him, he gave a half turn, so that the animal would sail past to the left. At the same time he brought the stick down with all his force, aiming at the ugly head. He missed this spot, but struck just behind it, as the brute passed him, and so close was the cat that the claws in its nearest hind leg caught the lower part of the boy's coat and tore it as if a sharp knife had cut it. The brute landed some five feet beyond Roger, letting out a mingled howl of pain and rage. But the fight had only begun, and Roger knew if the wild thing returned to the attack with the energy it had displayed at first he could scarcely hope to beat it off again. However, the animal seemed disposed to practise a little caution now and to be a trifle wary about repeating its jump. The boy turned partly around and saw the beast come to a sudden stop. Then it swung about and, making a little circle, ran quickly and leaped lightly upon the fallen log, where it crouched, ready for another spring.