Then I started, for there was a rustling of the grass and a sharp crack, as if Pete had trodden upon a dead twig.
The puma growled again furiously, and then as I started, seized my collar tight in its teeth and shook me, for the sharp report of the gun Pete carried rang out, followed by that of a second barrel, when I heard the loud whirr of wings, and felt sure that three or four more specimens of the lovely orange-tinted birds I sought had been scared into flight.
But the firing in the air had not scared the puma, which lowered its head again and seized my collar, clinging tightly, and working its claws in and out of their sheaths.
“It’s no good, Master Nat,” cried Pete; “it don’t frighten him a bit. Shall I run back and tell the doctor?”
“No,” I said softly, so as not to irritate the puma; “you could not get back till after dark, and I should be dead before then.”
“What shall I do then, Master Nat? What shall I do? I want to save you, but I’m such a coward. I don’t care, though; he shall have my knife into him if I die for it! Ah, I know!” he cried exultingly, “Whoo—hoo—oo—oo—oo!”
To my astonishment and delight, just as I was nearly fainting, the puma gave a furious growl and a tremendous bound, leaving me free, and as I struggled to my feet, panting and exhausted, I caught sight of Pete twenty yards away in the act of picking up his straw hat, with which he returned to me, grinning with delight.
“That done it,” he cried. “He couldn’t understand it a bit, I sent my old hat skimming at him, and I say, he did cut away. I say, you aren’t much hurt, are you, sir?”
“N–no,” I said hesitatingly, “I think not. Look at my neck and shoulder. See if they bleed.”
“Yes,” cried Pete excitedly, “he’s got hold of you at the back o’ the neck and ragged you. Where’s your hankychy?”