t the same moment I heard a report, and saw the beast roll
forward on its breast, but as quick as a flash it rose again and dashed
at the shooter. It was all done in a second, but I could see
Ollabearqui trying to draw his knife. The panther struck him, and he
lost his footing and rolled backwards from the ledge on which he stood;
the panther saved itself from the fall, but bounded back, from the mere
force of the spring, I suppose, to the other side of the rock. The
savage beast was not more than twelve yards from me, but seemed to be
unconscious of my presence. Stunned by the heavy fall, Ollabearqui did
not rise, and I saw the panther crawl around the ledge to spring on his
prostrate foe. I brought up my rifle, and took deliberate aim at the
animal's shoulder. I fired. The panther made one tremendous leap, and
fell with a dying yell on Ollabearqui's breast. I ran up, and, as I
supposed, found the Indian only bruised and stunned by his tumble. As I
removed the dead beast from his body, Ollabearqui grunted and uttered a
laconic "Good!" He then rose somewhat lamely, and he and I set about
digging at the cave. Soon we managed to pull out the dog, which was
dead, and then, pushing the panther's corpse into the cavern, we stopped
up both ends with heavy stones and went on, descending to a track
through the forest again.

The luck was all mine that day, for when we had nearly reached the point
where we were to meet our fellow-hunters, we heard, at a long distance
beyond, a noise that the Maine hunter knows well--a dull, clacking
noise, like the regular blows in a blacksmith's shop ever so far away.
It was the trot of a moose. When at a slow pace they always strike
their hoofs together in that way, as a horse overreaches. We drew
behind some large trees, and, after ten minutes of anxious waiting,
discerned a very large bull moose coming on a waddling trot towards us.
He had probably been started by our companions, for he had his ears
pointed back, and turned his neck every few minutes as if to catch some
sound behind. He passed near Ollabearqui first, at about eighty yards.
There was only a click! Ollabearqui's rifle had snapped. The moose,
alarmed by the noise, increased his pace greatly, but came directly
towards me, so that when I pulled trigger he was not farther off than
twenty-five feet. He fell dead, a bullet right through his heart. My
companion was not envious because of my good fortune. He scolded