At the left there was a ridge of bare rock, and it seemed that the trail led along the under side of it. “This must be right,” he argued to himself. “By daylight a horse would get down here easily enough. It’s the right general direction, anyway, and I’ll chance it.” Putting his hands on the bare rock at his left to steady himself, he went slowly down. It was not a high ledge, and he had come, as he thought, about to the bottom, when there was a slight noise behind and almost overhead that startled him. His revolver was in his hand instantly. There was a blinding flash not ten feet in front of him, and a deafening report. Swish! went a bullet past his face. Then there was a bloodcurdling scream in the air above, and the detective fell flat under a heavy body. CHAPTER V. THE DETECTIVE MAKES AN ARREST. Nick’s breath was knocked out of him, but he was not stunned. He knew partly what had happened. It was a wild beast that had borne him to the ground. Kerr’s remarks about the “panther scare” flashed upon his memory. Evidently this beast had sprung upon him from the top of the ledge. He could feel the great limbs quivering, and one of the claws scratched his hand. All this happened in a second. In the next second, Nick had exerted all his giant strength, and rolled the beast over. He got upon his knees and fired his revolver three times in rapid succession at the huge carcass that he could feel but not see in front of him. Then a rough, surprised voice interrupted him. “Good Lord! How many of ’em be ye, anyway?” “Only one, stranger,” replied Nick, getting to his feet. “Gosh! I thought it mought be a regiment, by the way ye fired. Got a double-quick action repeater, ain’t ye?” Nick did not reply at once. The beast was still clawing the ground frantically, and he was not sure that another dose of lead was not necessary. Then a little flame glowed in the darkness near by, for the man who had spoken to him had struck a match. He held it first over the dying panther, for such it was, and then remarked, in a satisfied tone: “Done for! Four times dead, I reckon.” Then he took a step forward and held the match close to Nick’s face. The men looked at each other in silence for a moment. Nick saw a surprised, honest-looking face--that of a hardy backwoodsman--and he caught a glimpse of the rifle that the man held loosely in the hollow of his arm. The backwoodsman saw a well-dressed tenderfoot, whose coat was torn by the panther’s claw, whose face was grimed with dirt and smeared with blood. “By golly, stranger,” said the backwoodsman, “you’re not jest fit to enter a beauty show--not but what ye may be a slick-lookin’ chap when yer face is washed.” The detective laughed heartily. “I reckon, pard,” he said, “that you saved my life.” “Reckon I did,” returned the other quietly; “but I come dum close to killin’ you to do it.” “I felt your bullet hiss past my face.”