By James H. Hackett.
I never was downhearted but once in my life, and that was on seeing the death of a faithful friend, who lost his life in trying to save mine. The fact is, I was one day making tracks homeward, after a long tramp through one of our forests-my rifle carelessly reasting on my shoulder-when my favorite dog, Sport, who was trotting quietly ahead of me, suddenly stopped still, gazed into a big oak tree, bristled up his back and fetched a loud growl. I looked up and saw, up on a quivering limb a half grown panther, crouching down close, and in the very act of springing upon him. With a motion quicker than chain lightning I leveled my rifle, blazed away, and shot him clean through the heart. The varmint, with teeth all set and claws spread, pitched sprawling head foremost to the ground, as dead as Julius Caesar! That was all fair enough, but afore I had hardly dropped my rifle, I found myself thrown down flat on my profile by the old she-panther, who that minute sprung from an opposite tree and lit upon my shoulders, heavier than all creation! I felt the print of her teeth and nails there now! My dog grew mighty loving-he jumped a-top and seized her by the neck; so we rolled and clawed and a pretty considerable tight scratch we had of it. I begun to think my right arm was about chewed up; when the varmint finding the dog’s teeth rather hurt her feelings, let me go altogether and clenched him. Seeing at once that the dog was undermost, and there was no two ways about a chance of a choke off or let up about her, I jest took out my jack-knife and with one slash, perhaps I didn’t cut the panther’s throat deep enough for her to breath the rest of her life without nostrils! I did feel mighty courageous and big as she was, I laid hold of her hide by the back with an alligator’s grip and slung her against the nearest tree hard enough to make every bone in her flesh fire! There, says I, you infernal varmint, root and branch, you are what I call used up.
But I turned around to look for my dog, and-and-tears gushed smack into my eyes; and I see the poor affectionate creature-all of a gore of blood-half raised on his fore legs and trying to drag his mangled body toward me; down he dropped-I run up to him, whistled loud and gave him a friendly shake of the paws-[for I loved him]-but he was too far gone; he just had strength enough to wag his tail feebly-fixed his closing eyes upon me wishfully-then gave a gasp or two and-all was over.
N. Y. Mirror.
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