The tiger turned a somersault with a ferocious yell, and fell at Brighteye's feet. The Canadian bent down to it, but the jaguar was dead; the hunter's bullet had entered its brain through the right eye, and killed it on the spot. At the howl of the brute, and the sound of Brighteye's rifle, Don Miguel opened his eyes and suddenly raised himself on his elbow, with a terrified look, and features contracted by a strange and terrible emotion, which reddened his face.
"Help! help!" he shouted in a thundering voice.
"Here I am!" Brighteye exclaimed, as he rose up, and forced him to lie down again.
Don Miguel looked at him.
"Who are you?" he said, at the expiration of a minute; "what do you want with me? I do not know you."
"That is true," the hunter said, imperturbably, and addressing him like a child, "but you will soon know me: do not be alarmed; for the moment, it is enough for you to know that I am a friend."
"A friend!" the wounded man repeated, trying to restore order to his ideas, which were still confused, "what friend?"
"By Jove!" the hunter said, "you do not count them by thousands, I suppose; I have been your friend for some hours past. I saved you at the moment when you were dying."
"But all that tells me nothing—teaches me nothing. How am I here? how are you here?"
"Those are a good many questions all at once, and it is impossible for me to answer them: you are wounded, and your state forbids any conversation. Will you drink?"