"But that's my panther!" cried the voice of Bluff.
Frank saw him once more bring his rifle up to his shoulder. Although hardly in a position to see what was going on, Will seemed to be fumbling with something in a desperate fashion. The fellow, as usual, was thinking only of what a
grand thing it would be if he could only get that scene for posterity to gaze upon.
"I hope Bluff aims straight!" Frank was saying to himself, for he knew there was more or less danger of the bullet doing some damage to one of the campers who might happen to be on the other side, partly screened by the brush.
The crash of the gun followed.
"Wow!" shouted Reddy, falling back as the panther tumbled over in his direction, for he knew what damage those poisonous claws might do in the dying agony of the beast.
Then the rest of the scattered company appeared. Some crawled out from the brush, others arose from flattening themselves on the ground, while still another group made their exit from under the canvas of the tent close by.
The beast was writhing in its last hold on life.
"That's my panther, I told you!" said Bluff, jumping to his feet, and still holding on to his gun.
He was as white as a ghost, but a fire shone in his eyes telling of the spirit that had finally been aroused there. Jerry would soon have to look to his laurels now.