Free Let's Kill Uncle by Rohan O’Grady

and followed.
    The tunnel led through thick underbrush for a hundred feet and emerged into a heavily wooded glade. A game trail, worn by generations of wild life, spiralled to the heart of the forest.
    The earth beneath their feet was springy with years of fallen leaves. It was breathtakingly silent, even the birdswere songless, and it was dim, for the sun filtered only fleetingly through the branches above.
    The children had been warned to stay away from two places, a certain dangerous beach, and the forest. So this was the forest.
    Between the great, moss-stockinged firs and cedars grew ferns, some six feet tall, and pale skunk cabbages, their broad leaves swaying like banners of evil, were as high as Barnaby. Devil clubs and salal formed impenetrable walls, and fallen, half-rotten trees wearied the children as they struggled on and over them.
    ‘Let’s go back,’ said Christie, pausing. ‘It’s so dark and quiet here, and I’m tired. Let’s go back. We aren’t supposed to come here anyway.’
    Barnaby waited until she caught up with him.
    ‘Just a bit farther,’ he coaxed.
    They reached a sharp bend in the trail. Off the side was a shaded leafy alcove, One-ear’s home.
    He cringed on his belly, regarding them with raging suspicion. He was trapped in his own house, and in order to get away, he would have to pass either directly between, over or by them.
    Neither child had ever had a pet. Christie’s mother vowed animals were germ-ridden and invariably suffered some sad fate that broke the child’s heart. Barnaby had once adopted a stray kitten which ended its life in a fireplace, following in the footsteps of an earlier, unfortunate Teddy bear.
    To the children the sight of this great golden cat with the jewelled eyes and fur as clean and sweet as honey was like a vision from fairyland. Never had they seen anything so beautiful, and, as in the case of Sergeant Coulter, it was love at first sight again.
    ‘Look at the scar on his side,’ whispered Christie.
    ‘Somebody must have shot him.’
    One-ear was becoming more distressed by the minute. He knew from only too painful experience what would happen if he harmed them. The full complement of dogs, men and guns would be out again, and he had retired to this lovely little island to spend his declining years in peace. He cringed further in his bower.
    As he took a step back, both children moved toward him. A muted snarl rose from his deep chest. A warning.
    ‘He’s only got one ear,’ said Christie, as she held her hand out toward him.
    One-ear hissed and spat like a demon, and the velvet paw, extended now to the size of a dinner plate, swung in the air before her. Another warning. Useless, of course.
    He didn’t dare hurt them. The wily, battle-scarred old warrior knew that if he tampered with the cubs of men once more, it meant death for him. It was an unforgivable crime, and
they
spared neither expense nor effort in hunting down the transgressor. Only by a miracle had he escaped the last time.
    ‘Now be careful, you’re scaring him,’ said Barnaby turning to Christie. ‘You’ll get him upset.’
    He nodded reassuringly to One-ear, ‘It’s all right, we won’t hurt you.’
    The cougar, fearful of attacking and unable to escape, bunched himself up in a miserable heap, his tail curled around his paws and his broad head lowered on his thick neck. His coat had a sheen like silk.
    ‘Isn’t he beautiful, Christie?’
    Christie nodded. ‘It looks like somebody shot his ear off too. Poor kitty.’
    Barnaby, still mourning his own lost kitten, shook his head. ‘How could anyone be so mean.’
    One-ear watched them with cold-eyed fury.
    ‘Now listen, Christie, we mustn’t tell anybody about him, because they’ll come and shoot him again. Not even Sergeant Coulter.’
    Christie nodded.
    ‘Look how pretty his coat is. See how it shines?’ Barnaby slowly extended his hand toward One-ear.
    The cougar, again panic-stricken, retreated until he reached a