Harold and I could subscribe to this opinion very heartily, for it was not more than a week since that dangerous old Jersey had chased us out of his pasture, bellowing at our heels as we ran. Nevertheless, he was a noble fellow to look upon--just as handsome as a horned creature could be. What a thick, strong neck he had, what a broad, curled front, and what shapely flanks! Most of the time he spent browsing in the large pasture some little distance from the house, and it required a good measure of courage upon the part of the trespasser to cross this area. No wonder, then, that Harold and myself made a wide detour, when, half an hour later, armed with our shotguns, we set out for the woods beyond the Jersey’s domain. But it is needless to say that our minds were more taken up with the thought of the tiger than with the fear of our former enemy. It was just possible that a great, stealthy, tawny shape might be prowling through the very timber in which we were; and I will not deny that it required little in the way of sight or sound to set our hearts beating faster than usual on that day. After killing a wild-cat, a raccoon, and a number of large fox squirrels, we turned our steps homeward, not at all sorry to have made no startling discovery in confirmation of the rumor which had so interested us in the morning. The truth was, that the deeper we were in the woods the less pleasure we found in calling up the image of that escaped tiger! We were just nearing the Hayward plantation, Harold with the wild-cat slung over his shoulder and I with the ’coon upon mine, when on a sudden our attention was arrested by a strange, long-drawn noise, like the cry of some large animal. It resembled the call of a great cat, but was deeper and more thrilling than any cat-note that we had ever heard. I need not say that it startled us; and when, in a few moments, it was repeated, with the addition of a sort of scream, we looked at each other with blanched faces: when, clutching our guns more firmly, we started into a run. I think we had never realized till then that two boys of fourteen, armed only with light shotguns, could be no match for a royal tiger, just escaped from his cage and hungry for prey. Pray, dear reader, do not condemn us hastily, for you would have run, too. Our course took us directly across the pasture where the big Jersey had his range. He was lying down for the time, and we almost stumbled over him. Springing up and lowering his sharp horns, he took after us with a kind of yelling roar that bespoke anything but a friendly intention. We dropped our game and bounded on like a couple of young greyhounds: but we were far out from the nearest fence, and saw that he must soon overtake us with his mad, thundering rush. Right ahead of us stood a scrub oak, with branches near the ground, and into this we sprang just in time to avoid those terrible horns which would have tossed us like wisps of straw.