It was impossible to see into every part of the jungle from the outside, as we sat in our saddles. The game might be crouching among the grass and brambles. What was to be done? We had no dogs. How was the cougar to be started? It would be no small peril to penetrate the thicket afoot. Who was to do it? The question was answered by Redwood, who was now seen dismounting from his horse. "Keep your eyes about you," cried he. "I'll make the varmint show if he's thur. Look sharp, then!" We saw Redwood enter fearlessly, leaving his horse hitched over a branch. We heard him no longer, as he proceeded with that stealthy silence known only to the Indian fighter. We listened, and waited in profound suspense. Not even the crackling of a branch broke the stillness. Full five minutes we waited, and then the sharp crack of a rifle near the centre of the copsewood relieved, us. The next moment was heard Redwood's voice crying aloud-- "Look out thur? By God! I've missed him." Before we had time to change our attitudes another rifle cracked, and another voice was heard, crying in answer to Redwood-- "But, by God! I hain't." "He's hyur," continued the voice; "dead as mutton. Come this a way, an' yu'll see the beauty." Ike's voice was recognised, and we all galloped to the spot where it proceeded from. At his feet lay the body of the panther quite dead. There was a red spot running blood between the ribs, where Ike's bullet had penetrated. In trying to escape from the thicket, the cougar had halted a moment, in a crouching attitude, directly before Ike's face, and that moment was enough to give the trapper time to glance through his sights, and send the fatal bullet. Of course the guide received the congratulations of all, and though he pretended not to regard the thing in the light of a feat, he knew well that killing a "painter" was no everyday adventure. The skin of the animal was stripped off in a trice, and carried to the waggon. Such a trophy is rarely left in the woods. The hunter-naturalist performed some farther operations upon the body for the purpose of examining the contents of the stomach. These consisted entirely of the half-digested remains of passenger-pigeons, an enormous quantity of which the beast had devoured during the previous night--having captured them no doubt upon the trees. This adventure formed a pleasant theme for conversation during the rest of our journey, and of course the cougar was the subject. His habits and history were fully discussed, and the information elicited is given below. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE COUGAR. The cougar (_Felis concolor_) is the only indigenous long-tailed cat in America north of the parallel of 30 degrees. The "wild cats" so called, are lynxes with short tails; and of these there are three distinct species. But there is only one true representative of the genus Felis, and that is the animal in question.