Then the leaves of the jungle parted, and a panther, black and mangy, but with the fierce light still alive in the topaz eyes, bounded to the side of the recumbent figure, and began to lick its face, snarling at the three men.
Gascoyne lifted his hand, and the great beast crouched beside him. And so the group remained while a man might have counted twenty. Then Gascoyne raised himself, and stretched out his arms, as if to someone at the foot of his couch, "Madge, Madge," he cried hoarsely, "I am coming," and so fell back and moved no more.
They buried him that evening with the panther, which they had been compelled to shoot.
It was very old, its teeth and claws were worn to stumps; and how they had lived together, and whether the beast had hunted for the man, or the man for the beast, none ever knew.
"GASCOYNE LIFTED HIS HAND, AND THE GREAT BEAST CROUCHED BESIDE HIM."