that by springing on its back and wrenching its head suddenly round, it might be able to dislocate the neck, as it does that of a horse. That, indeed, is the puma’s usual method of attack, and we must remember that, strength for strength, a horse of any size is almost as much its superior as the grizzly bear itself. So perhaps, after all, the thing is not quite so unlikely as it, at first sight, appears. The wonderful thing is that the puma should attack such animals as bears and jaguars, instead of confining itself to the more timid and peaceable creatures of the browsing kind, as do most beasts of prey. [Illustration: A BEAR BESET BY WILD SWINE. A wild pig, which had been seized by a bear, rescued by its comrades.] But if this be wonderful, what are we to say of another trait or quality, in which this strange creature seems to stand alone amongst wild animals. It almost reads like a fable, but it really does seem to be true that the puma, fierce as he is, has yet a strange affection for mankind, and that not only will he not attack a man himself, but will even prevent other animals from doing so. There is a story told by the Gauchos of a man who, whilst hunting on the pampas, had his leg broken by a fall from his horse, and was left out all night. During the whole time he was guarded, as it seemed, by a puma, who, when a jaguar drew near to attack him, as he thought, sprang upon it, and prevented it from doing so. All through the night the puma and jaguar fought about the man, sometimes so near that he could see their shadowy forms through the darkness, whilst at other times their presence and actions were betrayed only by the fierce sounds which issued from them. These, on the part of the jaguar, consisted of growls and roars, but the puma has a peculiar yelling cry which, in itself, is still more terrible, and comes full of fear to all who do not know its habits. For this dreadful sound the Gaucho kept listening, and when it rang out, loud and shrill, he hailed it as an assurance that the puma was victorious, or, at least, holding its own, and took courage accordingly. But when it sank, or seemed choked and muffled, then his heart sank with it, and nervously grasping his long, curved knife—the only weapon that remained to him—he sat each moment expecting the jaguar’s spring, till once more that thrilling cry—raised as in triumph—cheered his spirits, filling him with hope. The sweetest music—from his wife’s or children’s lips perhaps—had never fallen so sweetly on his ears as did that savage sound. So much, in this world, are we the creatures of circumstance, and so much are things what they mean for us! This dreadful alternation of hope and fear, or rather of fear relieved by hope, or weighted with despair, continued till the dawn of morning, when both the beasts disappeared, the combat apparently having had no decisive issue. The man was confident that he owed his life to the