CHAPTER XIII

THE LITTLE SLY ONE

From away up near the top of the rocky hill that rose abruptly across the inlet came a terrible screech, piercing and startling.

“Gee!” said the Babe, slipping closer to Uncle Andy, where they sat together on a log by the water.  “I’m glad that’s away over there!  What is it, Uncle Andy?”

“Lynx!” replied Uncle Andy, puffing at his pipe.

“What did he go and do that for?”

“Well,” said Uncle Andy presently, “if you’ll try your level best to listen without interrupting, I’ll tell you.”

“I’m not interrupting!” protested the Babe.

“Of course not!” agreed Uncle Andy.  “Well, you see, the lynx is the slyest thing that goes on four legs.  You think, maybe, a fox is sly.  That fool guide Bill’s told you that.  Now, a fox is sly when he chooses to be, and when he wants to be impudent he’d sass King Solomon to his face.  But a lynx is just born sly, and can’t even think of outgrowing it.”

“I don’t see anything sly about that noise he made just now!” said the Babe.

“There you go!” exclaimed Uncle Andy.  Then he stopped and thought for quite a while.  But as the Babe never spoke a word he soon went on again.

“You see, I was just coming to that.  That awful screech is one of the slyest things he does.  That fellow has been hunting a while without catching anything.  Creeping, creeping on his great furry feet, making no more sound than the shadow of the leaf on the moss; for all his quietness he hasn’t had any luck.  So at last, hiding behind a bush, he let out that screech just to start things moving.  Did you notice how quick it stopped?  Well, he knew if there was any rabbit or partridge asleep near by it would be so startled it would jump and make a noise; and then he’d be on it before it could more than get its eyes open.  Don’t you call that sly?”

The Babe merely nodded, being resolved not to interrupt.

“Good,” said Uncle Andy.  “You’re improving a lot.  Now, let me tell you, the slyest thing of all is the Little Sly One, which those who know everything call the lynx kitten.  The Little Sly One is good enough for us to call her, for she is even slyer when she is a she than when he is a he.  Is that quite clear?”

“Of course!” exclaimed the Babe.

“Well, the Little Sly One was a lonely orphan.  She had had a mother and a sister and two brothers; but a man with a dog and a gun had happened on the mouth of the cave in which they lived.  The dog had hastily gone in.  There was a terrible noise in the cave all of a sudden, and the dog would have hastily come out again, but for the fact that he was no longer able to come or go anywhere.  When the noise had stopped so that he could see in, the man had shot the mother lynx.  Then he had shot the dog, because that was the only thing to do.  And