Donalblane of Darien

by J. Macdonald Oxley

So completely did the panther cover him that Mr. Sutherland dared not fire, lest the bullet should penetrate both bodies; but he sought a chance to use the butt of his musket on the brute's head, while the Indian made play with his spear, stabbing it into the creature's side. Meantime Donalblane, into whose shoulder the terrible teeth had sunk while the merciless claws were tearing his clothes to ribbons, fighting for his life, with both hands buried in the soft, thick fur, strove frantically to throttle his mighty assailant.

Had he been alone there could have been no doubt as to the issue of the struggle—the panther must have done him to death; but the stunning blows from Mr. Sutherland and the repeated stabs of the Indian's spear soon began to tell.

They had not only weakened the brute's strength, but they turned his attention from Donalblane to his other opponents, and, after a space of time that seemed an eternity to the boy, but was in reality barely a minute, the panther, giving a hideous growl, relaxed both teeth and claws in order to prepare for a spring at Mr. Sutherland.

This gave the latter the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He was an expert shot, and never had had more need of his skill than at this moment. Quickly throwing his gun to his shoulder, and aiming full at the panther's breast, he pulled the trigger.

Happily the musket did not miss fire, and the heavy charge sped straight to its mark, going clean through the animal's heart. With one last fiendish scream the fearful creature sprang straight up into the air, and fell back a limp, lifeless mass of fur. Not waiting to look at his quarry, Mr. Sutherland rushed to Donalblane, who lay senseless on the sward, with the blood streaming from nearly a score of wounds.

"My poor boy," he exclaimed, as he took Donald's head upon his knees, "surely that black brute has not killed you!" Then to the Indian, who was wonderingly examining the panther, he called indignantly, "Leave that thing alone, and get me some water—quick!"

When the Indian returned with the water Mr. Sutherland tenderly washed the boy's wounds, which he was glad to find were none of them very deep—those made by the teeth on the shoulder being the worst—and did his best to bind them up with handkerchiefs and what other linen was available, the Indian proving a very helpful assistant. Before it was quite done Donalblane recovered consciousness, and at first was so dazed that he had no idea as to what had happened.

"What's the matter?" he asked, starting to put his hand to his head, and then dropping it because of the pain in his shoulder. "I'm verra sore. Ah! I ken—I ken—that awfu' black thing. I fair thought it wad kill me." And he groaned deeply, for his sufferings were keen.

"Not a bit of it, my boy," responded Mr. Sutherland cheerily, as he patted his pale cheek. "You're not even half killed, and that awful black thing is killed completely. But you've had a very narrow escape, and you've got some nasty wounds, and you must keep very quiet here until we can get you back to St. Andrews."

Mr. Sutherland was a man of thought as well as of action, and it did not take him long to arrange matters. The Indian was dispatched to the settlement with a note telling what had happened, and asking that a litter be sent back for the sufferer. In the meantime he himself would stay by the wounded boy until the litter arrived.