136 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
the ravine, into which the water had not yet 
settled, knew the cows had just gone up there. 
He trudged on, into the dimness of the wet woods, 
calling, “‘ Coo-boss, coo-boss,”’ over and over. 
He had gone, it seemed to him, a long way, and 
was nearing the old fallen hemlock which he re- 
membered from other years, when he heard a 
sudden snarl which froze his blood,—then he saw 
the green flash of two eyes, and made out a dim 
form stalking toward him. Old man Parmalee’s 
legs grew miraculously twenty years younger. 
He turned and fled, down the ravine, tripping on 
roots, catching at trees with his hands to steady 
himself, forgetting entirely his rug, which flew 
off behind, forgetting the cows, forgetting every- 
thing but home. 
He panted down the pasture, not daring to 
look behind, and almost fell into the dooryard, 
where his son and daughter-in-law were just 
getting out of the buggy. 
“ What the 
“Father, what’s the . 
“ Wildcat—chased me—up the ravine—came 
right at me ——” the old man panted. 
