“So also was the panther, as it seemed. When the odor of those partridges stole seductively to his nostrils, he once more approached my fire; and this time with an air of stern determination quite different from his former easy insolence.
“The crisis had come. I seized my gun, and knelt down behind the fire. I arranged a burning log in such a manner that I could grasp and wield it with both hands in an emergency. Just as the animal drew himself together for a spring, I fired one barrel,—that containing the ball,—and shattered his lower jaw. Mad with pain and fury, he sprang. The contents of my second barrel, a heavy charge of slugs, met him full in the breast, and he fell in a heap at my feet.
“Mad with Pain and Fury, He sprang.”—Page 249.
“As he lay there, struggling and snarling and tearing up the snow, I slipped in another cartridge; and the next moment a bullet in his brain put an end to his miseries.
“After this performance, I ate my partridges with a very grateful heart, and slept the sleep of the just and the victorious. The skin of that audacious Indian devil lies now in my study, where Sam is continually desecrating it with his irreverent shoes.”
“Good story, Stranion,” said Magnus with grave approval. “The only thing hard to believe is that you should make two such good shots.”
“Well, you see I had to,” responded Stranion. “And now let Magnus give us a hot story to satisfy Queerman.”
“I don’t think I know another tropical yarn,” said Magnus.
“I’ll give you one,” said Sam, “and a bear story it is too. It’s about a scrape I got into when I was down in Florida three years ago, looking after Uncle Bill’s oranges. I’ll call it—