He drew his sheath knife, gripped it firmly, strained every muscle to resist the shock that he knew was soon to come, and awaited the spring of the panther.
The animal rocked its body from side to side, worked its claws in and out as its feet caressed the rock, and its whiskers twitched in anticipation of the feast in prospect.
The boy saw the beast creep nearer and nearer, then move more rapidly and poise itself for a spring.
And then there was a sharp, whiplike report, and the animal leaped straight up into the air, to fall back writhing in death agony.
“Why didn’t you pull your gun, as you started to do?” asked the scout.
“I remembered that you didn’t want us to make a noise,” answered the boy.
Buffalo Bill extended his hand and said:
“You are a brave lad, and I admire your courage and nerve, but I want you to remember that all rules must give way before a menace to human life—either your own or that of another. Use your best judgment, always.”
Late in the afternoon the scout and boy had passed to the western slope of the range of hills and saw before them a valley, green and luxuriant, perhaps ten or twelve miles broad, and banked on the west by another range of mountains that looked high and forbidding.
They stood out upon the high, bare rock and admired the beautiful land before them, as yet almost unknown to civilization. Only the trapper and miner and a few venturesome herdsmen had sought this wild country.