ON BOARD THE STEAM-BOAT. 391 



Now was the moment to fire ; a second's delay, and 

 one or other of my comrades would discharge his rifle 

 under my very nose. Without issuing from my hiding- 

 place, just as the panther turned her head in my direction 

 I took aim, and fired. Through a cloud of smoke I saw 

 her leap several feet, and fall to the ground in convulsions 

 which showed that she had received a mortal wound. 

 Mr. Mead, with one of his barrels, terminated her agonies 

 and her frightful howlings. 



She was the finest animal I had ever killed. I leave 

 the reader to imagine with how much pleasure I looked 

 upon her, how I turned her over and over*, how I carefully 

 removed her splendidly spotted hide. The latter still re- 

 mains one of my handsomest hunting trophies. As for 

 the bison, he was dead ; he had perished from suffocation, 

 and from bleeding at the j ugular vein. 



On arriving at Saint Louis, I took leave of several of 

 my trusty comrades ; Messrs. Delmot and Simonton were 

 the only persons who decided on reascending the Ohio 

 with me, to return into New York State by way of the 

 Lakes and the Falls of Niagara. We all three went on 

 board the steam-boat Jefferson, a kind of floating hotel, 

 crowded from the keel to the upper deck, which was to 

 carry us to Cincinnati in a couple of days. 



We started in the evening, and in the midst of that in- 

 describable hurry, noise, and confusion which always take 

 place when an American steamer gets up her steam and 

 casts off her moorings. I had intrusted to one of the 

 negroes on board the care of all my baggage, among which 

 were the two precious parcels brought from Rahm-o-j-or's 

 cam]), the one containing the furs taken in exchange for 



