118 HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



A KENTUCKIAN'S ACCOUNT OF A PANTHER FIGHT. 



I NEVER was down-hearted but once in my life, and 

 that was on seeing the death of a faithful friend, who 

 lost his life in trying to save mine. The fact is, I was 

 one day making tracks homeward, after a long tramp 

 through one of our forests my rifle carelessly resting 

 on my shoulders when my favorite dog, Sport, who 

 was trotting quietly ahead of me, suddenly stopped 

 stock still, gazed into a big oak tree, bristled up his 

 back, and fetched a loud growl. I looked up and saw, 

 upon a quivering limb,, a half-grown panther, crouching 

 down close, and in the very act of springing upon him. 

 With a motion quicker than chain-lightning, I levelled 

 my rifle, blazed away, and shot him clean through and 

 through the heart. The varmint, with teeth all set and 

 claws spread, pitched sprawling head foremost to the 

 ground, as dead as Jufyus Caesar ! That was all fair 

 enough ; but mark ! afore I had hardly dropped my rifle, 

 I found myself thrown down flat on my profile, by the 

 old she panther, who, that minute, sprung from an oppo- 

 site tree, and lit upon my shoulders, heavier than all 

 creation ! I feel the print of her devilish teeth and 

 nails there now ! My dog grew mighty loving ; he 

 jumped a-top and seized her by the neck ; so we all 

 rolled' and clawed, and a pretty considerable tight scratch 

 we had of it. I began to think my right arm was about 

 chawed up ; when the varmint, finding the dog's teeth 

 rayther hurt her feelings, let me go altogether, and 



