Hitherto we had seen and heard nothing to justify the Indians’ superstitious dread of the locality. No signs of wild animals were visible, and in high spirits at having discovered so rich a fishing-ground we hastened homeward. "I guess the Indian devils have got tired of this place and left," remarked Charlie Peters. "But don’t let us give it away all the same. We must keep this run all to ourselves as long as we can." Hardly had he spoken when an appalling shriek pierced the silence of the woods, and brought us to a sudden stop, while we looked into one another’s faces with an apprehension we made no attempt to conceal. We were close to the tree where the partridges had been hung. "It’s the Indian devil!" exclaimed Jack Johnston, under his breath. "He’s eaten the partridges, and now he wants to eat us." We fully realized our danger, and after the first shock of fright braced ourselves to meet it with a determined front. Johnston, as the eldest and coolest of the three, took command. "Charlie," said he, "you must let him have Dutchie full in the face the moment we sight him.—Hal, you blaze away with your shot-gun, and I’ll stand by to finish him with my tomahawk." nodding assent to these directions, we stood side by side, gazing eagerly into the forest gloom. "There he is!" said Johnston. "See! on that big limb." We followed the direction of his finger, and saw the brute clearly enough, stretched upon a limb not twelve yards away, his great green eyes glaring horribly at us. "Quick, Charlie!" cried Jack. "He’s going to spring. Rest your gun on my shoulder, and aim for his chest." Charlie did as he was bid, and pulled the trigger. Bang went the old musket with a tremendous report. Over went Charlie on his back, his shoulder well-nigh dislocated by the kick of his weapon; and down came the panther to the ground, badly wounded in his neck and breast. The instant he touched ground I let him have the contents of my shot-gun. But they only served to bother him for a moment, and looking terrible in his fury, he was just gathering himself for a spring into our midst, when Johnston, stepping forward, sent his tomahawk whizzing through the air with all the force of his strong right arm. [Illustration: "JOHNSTON SENT HIS TOMAHAWK WHIZZING THROUGH THE AIR."] It was a perfect throw. No Mic-Mac could have done it better. Like a flash of lightning the bright steel blade went straight to its mark, and buried itself in the panther’s forehead right between those awful eyes, whose malignant gleam it extinguished for ever. Lifting Charlie to his feet we rushed forward, and stood in triumph over our fallen foe, shaking hands across his mighty body. How our hearts swelled with pride at the thought of the sensation our exploit would make!