For only an instant Ben was held breathless and spell-bound by the curdling spectacle. Then with a great shout and brandishing his stick wildly, he ran forward to obstruct the spring of the fierce animal and save his friend.
Too late! As the lithe creature darted through the air, Ben reeled with horror, his eyes closed to shut out the hideous sight and weakness and despair overcame him.
Bang! What was that? A sharp report rang out. Ben made out a strange form near the campfire with a smoking rifle in hand. He saw the panther diverge in its leap, turn completely over, and with a furious snarl drop to the ground, while Bob, lifting his head, demanded coolly:
“I say, what’s happening?”
Ben ran to his side, clinging to his arm, faltering out an incoherent explanation. Then in amazement both advanced to the silent erect figure outlined like some statue in the red glow of the campfire.
“Why, it’s an Indian,” broke out the wondering Bob. “Say, hello!”
“How,” responded the stranger, with something of subserviency in his manner. He was a mild-faced, gentle-mannered half breed.
Ben grasped his hands and swung it up and down fervently, pointing to the gun and then to the dead panther.
“You have saved my friend!” he cried, touching Bob’s shoulder lovingly with his free hand.
“Me friend,” pronounced the Indian awkwardly.