seeing how to aim with certainty.

Given daylight, and that faithful little gun, the boy would not have
thought it anything terrible to face at close quarters the biggest and
most savage wild-cat ever known; for his charge of birdshot might be
counted on to serve the purpose of a large bullet, and tear a hole in
the side of the beast.

It was far different at dead of night, and such a dark night at that.
And Max, while he could hardly be said to have had very much experience
in that line, knew from hearing old Trapper Jim up in the North Woods
tell stories that a wounded bobcat was one of the meanest things to run
up against known to hunters.

The sounds kept on, and even became slightly plainer. This would surely
indicate that the animal must be drawing nearer in his cautious way.
Perhaps it was only curiosity that urged him on. Max hoped so from the
bottom of his boyish heart. He did not have any desire to find a savage
denizen of the wilds fastened on his back, clawing and tearing with the
fury of a demon, while he himself would be almost helpless to get at his
enemy.

Max was determined on one thing. No matter about the escaped convict and
their desire to capture him, self-preservation must stand first on the
calendar; and if he really found himself in a position where he
anticipated an attack from the big cat, he meant to pour in the contents
of both barrels, and then take chances.

As he continued to watch, always in the one quarter, where the slight
noise indicated the presence of the creeping beast, Max saw something