A dozen mastiffs were let loose, which howled in chorus on seeing the wild beasts. The Indians, accustomed to see the ostrich hunt disturbed in this way, never fail, when they go out for their favourite exercise, to take with them dogs trained to attack the lion. About two hundred yards from the spots where the Indians had halted, two cougars were now crouching, with their eyes fixed on the Redskin warriors. These animals, still young, were about the size of a calf; their heads bore a strong, likeness to a cat's, and their soft smooth hide of silvery yellow was dotted with black spots.
"After them!" Natah Otann shouted.
Horsemen and dogs rushed on the ferocious beasts with yells, cries, and barks, capable of terrifying lions unused to such a reception. The noble animals, motionless and amazed, lashed their flanks with their long tails, and drew in heavy draughts of air; for a moment they remained stationary, then suddenly bounded away. A party of hunters galloped in a straight line to intercept their retreat, while the others bent over their saddles, and guiding their horses with their knees, fired their arrows and rifles, without checking the cougars which turned furiously on the dogs, and hurled them ten yards from them, to howl with pain. Still the mastiffs, long habituated to this chase, watched for a favourable moment, leaped on the lions' backs, and dug their nails in their flesh; but the latter, with one stroke of their deadly claws, swept them off like flies, and continued their flight.
One of them, pierced by several arrows, and surrounded by the dogs, rolled on the ground, raising a cloud of dust under its claws, and uttering a fearful yell. This one the Canadian finished by putting a bullet through its eye, but the second lion remained still unwounded, and its leaps foiled the attack and skill of the hunters. The dogs, now wearied, did not dare assail it. Its flight had led it a few paces from the spot where Prairie-Flower stood: it suddenly turned at right angles, bounded among the Indians, two of whom it ripped up, and crouched before the young girl, ere making its leap. Prairie-Flower, pale as a corpse, clasped her hands instinctively, uttered a stifled cry, and fainted. New cries replied to hers, and at the moment the lion was about to leap on the maiden, two bullets were buried in its chest. It turned to face its new adversary; it was the Count de Beaulieu.
"Let no one stir!" he exclaimed, stopping by a sign Natah Otann and Bright-eye, who ran up, "this game is mine—no other than I shall kill it."
The Count had dismounted, and with his feet firmly planted, his rifle at his shoulder, and eyes fixed on the lion, he waited. The lion hesitated, cast a final glance at the prey lying a few paces from it, and then rushed on the young man with a roar. He fired again: the animal bit the dust, and the Count, hunting knife in hand, ran up to it. The man and the lion rolled together on the ground, but soon one of the combatants rose again—it was the man. Prairie-Flower was saved. The maiden opened her eyes again, looked timidly around her, and holding out her hand to the Frenchman.
"Thanks!" she exclaimed, and burst into tears.
Natah Otann walked up to her.
"Silence!" he said, harshly; "what the Paleface has done Natah Otann could have achieved."
The Count smiled contemptuously, but made no reply, for he had recognized a rival.