He knew that a second would count for a great deal under such circumstances. It would not do to even try and raise the gun to his shoulder to aim; for the panther might be in the air before he could glance along that shiny barrel.
Instinct again forced Bob to pull the trigger. How he did it he never could explain; but he fired the shot from his hip, and with his eyes glued upon the figure of his enemy.
Bob had all the instincts of a true hunter. When he heard a story told that had to do with an encounter with dangerous game he never failed to ask a multitude of questions. And in this way he had gained a pretty good idea of how successful big game hunters carry themselves under perilous conditions.
Hence he had no sooner fired than he hastened to fling himself behind another tree that happened to be within reach.
Something came slap against it. He heard a low growl, that seemed to change into short angry whines; and glancing around the tree, after he had made his gun serviceable again, he discovered the animal kicking its last, biting at every object within reach of its teeth, and evidently dying hard.
There was no longer any danger to be apprehended from this source; and it was only his desire not to allow needless pain that urged Bob to once more throw his rifle forward, and pull the trigger.
Then the panther lay very still, and the lad knew that the last spark of life had departed.
Bob stood there, looking around him. He was trembling violently, yet it was the result of excitement and action, rather than anything like fear.
In fact, one thing had followed so fast upon the heels of others, that thus far he had not found time to be afraid.
“Probably I would have been, if the beast had given me a chance,” he said afterward, when telling Frank about the happening.