But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff for such a struggle. In everything but courage he was only the vestige of what he had once been. A higher bound than ever raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which she alighted in a favorable position on the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only could the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, which had been glittering throughout the fray, was of the color of blood, and, directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the wildcat to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and stillness that succeeded announced the death of poor Brave.
Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be something in the front of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of the inferior beings of His creation; and it would seem that some such power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, when the former stooped to examine her fallen foe; next, to scent her luckless cub. From the latter examination she turned, however, with her eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, her tail lashing her sides furiously, and her claws projecting inches from her broad feet.
Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy. Her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips were slightly separated with horror.
The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination, when a rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the organs than to meet her ears. “Hist! hist!” said a low voice, “stoop lower, girl; your bonnet hides the creature’s head.”
It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance with this unexpected order that caused the head of the girl to sink on her bosom. Then she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth, tearing the twigs and branches within her reach. At the next instant Leather-Stocking rushed by her, and called aloud:—
“Come in, Hector; come in; ’tis a hard-lived animal, and may jump again.”
The brave hunter fearlessly maintained his position, notwithstanding the violent bounds of the wounded panther, until his rifle was again loaded, when he stepped up to the animal, and, placing the muzzle close to her head, every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge.
—James Fenimore Cooper.
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.