Then a rough, surprised voice interrupted him.
“Geewhilikins! 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.
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: