Walter was startled from his meditations by a sudden rustling in the bushes, followed by a cry of pain or terror, not many yards from the spot where he was reclining. In an instant he was on his feet; and turning towards the point whence the sound came, Walter saw a very large cheetah (leopard), that had sprung from its covert on an Afghan child, and was trying to carry her off. The little girl was struggling and resisting with all her might, striking at the savage beast with her small clenched hand, while she loudly cried out for help. It was well that help was near, or the struggle would have been short, and its fatal issue certain. Walter had no weapon in his hand; but unarmed as he was, he dashed through the brushwood to the rescue of the poor child. His short and sudden rush was enough to alarm the cheetah, which seldom, if ever, attacks a man. The wild beast dropped its hold of its prey, and bounding off, escaped by some unseen outlet from the copse.
Walter went up to the child, and beheld the most beautiful girl on whom his eyes had ever rested. Excitement and the effort of the struggle had added a deeper crimson to her cheeks; her face was scarcely darker than that of a European. Large blue eyes, dilated with fear, fringed with long soft dark lashes, were raised towards her preserver with an eager wistful gaze. The girl's hair, in long rich plaits, fell over her bright red hurta, and was adorned with many a silver ornament. Walter was too well accustomed to Oriental taste to think the child's loveliness lessened by the numerous rings which weighed down her little ears, or even the jewel on one side of the delicately formed nose. The child was evidently no poor man's daughter.
The girl did not appear to be seriously injured; her loose sleeve was very much torn, and a few drops of blood fell from one of her arms. The attack and rescue had been the work of but a few seconds.
"You are wounded, my poor lamb!" cried Walter in the Pushtoo tongue, and drawing out his handkerchief he tore it into shreds to bind up the bleeding arm.
"Not a lamb—for I fought it; I struck it! If I'd had a dagger I would have killed it!" cried the girl with a fierceness which seemed strange in one so young and fair. "I'm an eagle, for I live in the Eagle's Nest!"
With childlike confidence the little Afghan let Walter bind up her arm, looking at him with a curiosity which seemed to overpower every other emotion.
"They say you're a Kafir," she observed; "you're not a dog of a Kafir, you are brave and you are kind."
"How came you to be in the jungle, my child?" asked Walter; "I never saw you till you cried out."
The child smiled as she answered: "You did not see me, nor did you see the cheetah. Wild beasts know how to hide, and so does the wild Afghan."
"Why did you hide?" asked Walter.