ang at him and seized him by the shoulder.
Alfred was sinking under the animal's weight and from the pain he was
suffering, when Martin came to his rescue, and put his rifle ball
through the head of the beast, which fell dead.

"Are you hurt much, sir?" said Martin.

"No, not much," replied Alfred; "at least I think not but my shoulder is
badly torn, and I bleed freely." Malachi and the others now came up,
and perceived what had taken place. Alfred had sunk down and was
sitting on the ground by the side of the dead animals.

"A painter!" exclaimed Malachi; "well, I didn't think we should see one
so far west. Are you hurt, Mr Alfred?"

"Yes, a little," replied Alfred, faintly.

Malachi and Martin, without saying another word, stripped off Alfred's
hunting-coat, and then discovered that he had received a very bad wound
in the shoulder from the teeth of the beast, and that his side was also
torn by the animal's claws.

"John, run for some water," said Malachi; "you are certain to find some
in the hollow."

John and Percival both hastened in search of water, while Malachi, and
Martin, and Henry tore Alfred's shirt into strips and bound up the
wounds, so as to stop in a great measure the flow of blood. As soon as
this was done, and he had drunk the water brought to him in John's hat,
Alfred felt revived.

"I will sit down for a little longer," said he, "and then we will get
home as fast as we can. Martin, look after the game, and when you are
ready I will get up. What a tremendous heavy brute that was; I could
not have stood against him for a minute longer, and I had no
hunting-knife."

"It's a terrible beast, sir," replied Malachi. "I don't know that I
ever saw one larger; they are more than a match for one man, sir, and
never should be attempted singlehanded, for they are so hard to kill."

"Where did my ball hit him?" said Alfred.

"Here, sir, under the shoulder, and well placed, too. It must have gone
quite close to his heart; but unless you hit them through the brain or
through the heart, they are certain to make their dying spring. That's
an ugly wound on your shoulder, and will put a stop to your hunting for
five or six weeks, I expect. However, it's well that it's no worse."

"I feel quite strong now," replied Alfred.

"Another ten minutes, sir; let John and me whip off his skin, for we
must have it to show, if we have all the venison spoiled. Mr Henry,
tell Martin only to take the prime pi