“Good Lord! How many of ’em be ye, anyway?”
“Only one, stranger,” replied Nick, getting to his feet.
“Gosh! I thought it mought be a regiment, by the way ye fired. Got a double-quick action repeater, ain’t ye?”
Nick did not reply at once.
The beast was still clawing the ground frantically, and he was not sure that another dose of lead was not necessary.
Then a little flame glowed in the darkness near by, for the man who had spoken to him had struck a match.
He held it first over the dying panther, for such it was, and then remarked, in a satisfied tone:
“Done for! Four times dead, I reckon.”
Then he took a step forward and held the match close to Nick’s face.
The men looked at each other in silence for a moment.