“And I never heard of a panther grunting,” considered Ding-dong, “I guess I’ll just——”
But what Ding-dong had “just” made up his mind to do was never revealed. The bank at the point where he had been leaning over, was cut out beneath by the action of the river, and in scrutinizing the dark objects he had leaned rather far over.
Suddenly the bank caved in, and amidst a shower of gravel, rocks and small bushes, Ding-dong went rolling down into the river.
Splash!
He landed in a deep pool, which, luckily for him, was of sufficient depth for him to avoid injuring himself. Still clutching his rifle he rose to the surface, puffing and blowing, and scrambled out.
“Well, here’s a fix,” thought Ding-dong, “just like my luck. I’m always getting in bad.”
All this time he had quite forgotten about the two dark, moving objects, to whom he owed his present predicament. But their existence was rudely recalled to him as, out of the darkness, something rushed at him, snorting loudly and angrily, and advancing like an express locomotive.
CHAPTER XXIII.
OVERBOARD!—1950 FEET UP!
The adventure might have had a serious termination for the lad if Joe, who had heard the collapse of the bank and the subsequent roar of the avalanche, of which the luckless Ding-dong was the centre, had not rushed to the river bank. Ding-dong, far too much astonished to raise his rifle, was standing stupidly gazing at the animal that was rushing toward him when Joe fired.