132 HUNTING THE PANTHER. 



with that gun, and besides, you can hit him as he jumps, 

 for you re good on the wing, you know. I ll stand ready 

 to stick him when he falls, old boy, an I ll fix him if 

 you don t.&quot; 



So saying, he handed me the gun and took the bowie. 

 I always had thought I should like to kill a panther, and 

 had often pictured to myself a panther in my clutches, 

 with my left hand hold of his tongue and my right in the 

 act of plunging a knife into his throat. But now the 

 supreme moment had arrived I was actually shaking with 

 fear, or something akin, and refusing the high honor of 

 killing one. But I knew that, as Jim had said, it was 

 best that I should start the panther up and leave to him 

 the coup de grace. Settling myself to tins, I tried, by a 

 desperate effort, to quiet my nerves. Securing a posi 

 tion behind the trunk of a palmetto, I rested the gun 

 against it and sighted just below those blazing orbs. It 

 was an eventful moment. It was to fire or not to fire 

 to leave the panther unprovoked, or arouse a terrible 

 destructive power that nothing but death would allay. 

 My hand yet trembled, and I let the barrels fall ; but, 

 with a powerful effort, I held the sight upon the panther s 

 throat again and fired. With the report came a howl of 

 anguish and a rushing noise as the huge animal launched 

 himself into the air. There were no shaking limbs now, 

 but with nerves and muscles tense, I held my gun upon 

 him, and stopped him midway his leap, as it were. I 

 have shot birds when their flight was so swift that their 

 wings seemed a misty film, but never, it seemed to me, 

 had I such speed and velocity to overcome before. 



lie fell nearly at my feet, and the dog was upon him 

 ere he had hardly touched the ground. The growling, 

 snarling, and snapping that ensued was horrible beyond 



