Few Indians used guns in those days, the vast majority depending still upon the bows and arrows of their race, backed by tomahawks and knives, and sometimes war clubs in time of battle. Hence, they might suspect that pursuers were on their trail, should the boom of a heavily-loaded musket be carried to their ears.
So Bob threw out his hand, and instantly covered the pan of his brother's gun, so that, when the hammer fell, it caught his fingers, and no spark followed. Bob winced under the sharp pain; but he had accomplished his end, and what mattered a trifling cut?
"THE BOYS SAW THE SHEEN OF HIS SATINY SIDES AS HE SPRANG"
But the panther had not waited all this time to accommodate these intruders in his forest preserves. The boys saw the sheen of his satiny sides as he sprang.
"Oh! he missed!" gasped Sandy; but Bob knew why this was so, for he had seen the agile young Indian jump sideways just at the critical instant, so that, while the aim of the big cat may have been correct, he only alighted upon the ground.
Blue Jacket never wavered, but instantly threw himself upon the gray beast. His keen-pointed knife was raised, and came down once, twice, thrice in less than as many seconds. It was no longer glinting in the sunlight, for after that first descent the steel seemed to be dulled.
Both boys pushed forward, eager to get in a blow that would be of some assistance to this devoted red friend, who counted not his own safety or comfort when a chance arose whereby he could help his paleface comrades.
They had dropped their guns as useless, since they could not be fired. Bob had drawn his knife, while Sandy had a hatchet in his grip; and both circled around, looking for an opening.
The Indian and the panther were revolving so fast, however, that it seemed well nigh impossible for any outsider to get in a blow, without running grave chances of seriously injuring the very one they wanted to assist.