He slipped on the snowshoes which he had kicked off when he sprang for the rifle, and at once started away from the clearing.
"Don't go!" begged Ruth. "Oh, dear! wait! Let me thank you."
"I don't want your thanks. I hate the whole lot of you!" returned the boy, looking back over his shoulder.
The next moment he had disappeared, and Ruth was left alone. She made a detour of the spot where the dead panther lay and called to Reno. The mastiff dragged himself from under a bush. He was badly cut up, but licked her hand when she knelt beside him.
"Hello! who's shooting over there?" cried Tom Cameron from the stream.
"Oh, Tom! Tom! Come and help me!" replied Ruth, and in half a minute the three boys, having kicked off their skates, were in the glade.
"Merciful goodness!" gasped Bob Steele. "See what a beast that is!"
Tom, with a cry of pain, dashed forward and fell beside Ruth to examine the mastiff.
"My poor dog!" he cried. "Is he badly hurt? What's happened to him?"
"Did she shoot that panther?" demanded Isadore Phelps. "Look at it,
Tom!"