would induce an immediate attack, the consequence of an advance would be ditto, so we stood en tableaux, for a brief second, our guns cocked and aimed, Ned drawing a bead on the dam, while I did the same on the sire.  It seemed madness to fire.  We were not long uncertain as to our course, for the old fellow suddenly bounded from the trunk upon me, with a deafening roar.  I fired as he sprang, and the report of my piece was re-echoed by that of Ned’s.  I sprang aside, dropping my rifle and drawing my long and heavy knife; it was well I did so, for the mortally-wounded beast alighted on the very spot I had left.  He turned and sprang upon me.  I avoided the blow of its powerful paw, and grappling with him I rolled on the turf, winding my right arm tight around his neck, and hugging close to his body to avoid his teeth and claws, while I dealt rapid thrusts with my knife.  I was very powerful; but never was in a situation where I felt more sensibly the need of exerting all my muscle.  The contest was soon decided—­my knife passing through the brute’s heart—­

     “And panting from the dreadful close,
      And breathless all, the champion rose.”

And it was full time that I should do so, for Ned, having put a ball through the head of the dam, was now manfully battling with her two cubs; the poor fellow was sore pressed, streaming with blood from numberless scratches, and almost in a state of nature, for the sharp claws of the cubs had literally undressed him by piecemeal.  His savage assailants also, bore upon their bloody hides numerous tokens of his prowess in wielding his bowie.

Their system of attack seemed to be to spring suddenly upon him, striking with their paws, and as they did so, in most instances, simultaneously, it was impossible for him to defend himself, strong and active as he was; and had no assistance been at hand, they would undoubtedly have gained the victory.  It was a brave sight though, to see the tall, strong hunter, meeting their attacks undauntedly, standing with his left arm raised to defend his head and throat, and darting his knife into their tough bodies as he threw them from him, but to meet the next moment their renewed efforts for his destruction.

All this I caught at one glance, as I rushed to his rescue.  “Ned!” shouted I, mad and reckless with excitement, “take the one on your left!” And we threw ourselves upon them.  I met my antagonist in his onward leap, and making a desperate blow at him, my wrist struck his paw, and the knife flew far from my hand.  There was nothing else for me but to seize him by the loose skin of the neck with both hands, and hold on like “grim death,” keeping him at arm’s length, while his paws beat a tattoo to a double quick time on my breast and body, stripping my garments into ribbons in a most workmanlike manner, and ornamenting my sensitive skin with a variety of lines and characters, done in red—­a process which I did not care to prolong, however, beyond a period when I could soonest put a stop to the operation.