was to club his gun and strike it on the head; and now he discovered that it was wounded in one of the forward legs, which hung helplessly down.  But the wound, instead of disabling or intimidating, only inflamed the ferocity of the creature.  It made repeated attempts to jump upon its foe, which, in spite of the crippled condition of its leg and the loss of blood, Arundel found it difficult to elude.  Active as he was, and though he succeeded occasionally in inflicting with his hunting-knife a wound upon the beast, he soon began to suspect that, notwithstanding he had thus far escaped with some inconsiderable scratches, the powers of endurance of the formidable forest denizen were likely to exceed his own.  The combat had lasted some time, when, as the young man endeavored to avoid the leap of the panther by jumping to one side, his feet struck against some obstacle and he fell upon his back.  In an instant the enraged beast, bleeding from its many wounds, was upon his prostrate person, and his destruction appeared inevitable.  With a desperate effort, he struck with the hunting-knife at the panther, who caught it in its mouth, the blade passing between its jaws and inflicting a slight wound at the sides, so slight as not to be felt, and stood with its unhurt paw upon his breast, powerless to do mischief with the other, and glaring with eyes of flame upon its victim.  At the instant when the panther, shaking the knife out of its mouth, was about to gripe, with open jaws, the throat of the young man, it suddenly bounded with a cry into the air, almost crushing the breath out of the body of its antagonist, and giving him an opportunity to rise.  When Arundel stood upon his feet, he beheld the panther in the agonies of death—­an arrow sticking in one eye and an Indian striking it with a tomahawk upon the head, for which great agility and quickness were necessary in order to avoid the paw and teeth of the creature in its dying struggles.  These soon became less violent, until, with a shudder, the limbs relaxed, and it lay motionless and harmless,

Arundel now advanced to thank for his timely succor the Indian, who stood quite still looking at him.  He was apparently less than thirty years of age, tall and well formed, with a countenance expressive of nobleness and generosity.  His attire consisted only of breech-cloth and leggins, with no covering for the upper part of his person—­a garb offering fewest obstructions to his movements through the forest.  In his hand he held a bow; a quiver full of arrows was slung across his back; the tomahawk was returned to the girdle around his loins, and a knife hung by a deer-sinew from his neck.

“The arrow was well aimed,” said Arundel, “that saved my life.  How can I thank my brother?” “Waqua is satisfied,” replied the Indian, in very imperfect English, which we shall not attempt to imitate.

“You are my preserver,” said Arundel, “and shall not find the white man ungrateful.”