When, however, he looked forward, the terrible explanation at once appeared.
The head or top of the tree was unusually bushy and luxuriant, and, although a considerable time had elapsed since it had been felled, yet there were a great many leaves clinging to the branches--not enough to afford concealment to any animal fleeing from a hunter.

Then Fred first looked in that direction, he failed to see that one of the most dangerous animals of the Southwest was crouching there.
As he looked inquiringly ahead now, he observed a huge American cougar, larger than that of the night before, issuing from among the branches.
With his phosphorescent eyes fixed upon the terrified lad, he was stealing slowly along the log, giving utterance to a deep guttural growl, separating his lips as he did so, so as to show his long, white, needle-like teeth, intended for the rending of flesh.
For a moment Fred was transfixed at the sight.
The cougar clearly meant fight, and assumed the offensive without a second's hesitancy.

He seemed to have been crouching in the bushes, and calmly awaited the time when the boy should advance too far to retreat.
"I guess I'd better go back!" exclaimed the latter, recovering himself, and beginning his retrograde movement; but a few hitches showed that he could not escape the cougar in this fashion, if he really meant business, and it looked very much as if he did.
The beast had already left the other side, and, like his intended victim, was supported over the chasm by the tree.

He had advanced beyond the fork made by the junction of the lowermost branches with the main stem, and was stealing along with an appearance of excessive caution, but really with the certainty of a brute who feels that there is no escape for his prey.

He moved slowly, burying his long, sharp claws so deeply in the bark at each step, that his feet seemed to stick as he lifted them again.