“Shoot, Ned!  Quick!”

The bullet struck the beast and the next instant Ned was knocked down by the body of the brute.  He was unharmed, however, for Dick had jumped between them and it was in Dick’s arm that the panther’s teeth were set and Dick’s shoulder and side that were being raked by its cruel claws.  In an instant Ned’s clasp knife was being driven into the body of the beast whose throat Dick’s hand was clutching in a feeble effort to keep from his face those long, sharp fangs.

Bullet and knife had done their work and the panther was dead.  But Dick was unconscious and covered with blood which was flowing from deep gashes in his arm and a side that was torn from shoulder to waist.  Ned half carried and half dragged the unconscious Dick a few yards to a level piece of dry ground and examined his wounds.  Bad as they looked, there was no spouting of blood from an artery, or heavy flow from a large vein.  With simple bandaging and care the boy would get well, and Ned’s relief was so great that he was almost happy.  He removed what the panther had left of Dick’s shirt, which was sodden with blood, and tearing off his own, bandaged the wounds from which blood was still flowing.  He then filled his cap with water from the river and sprinkled Dick’s face, but failed to bring him to consciousness.  He was wondering what next to try when Dick opened his eyes and smiled weakly.

“Did he hurt you, Neddy?”

“No, he didn’t hurt me, thanks to you, Dicky boy.  Now I’m going to bring the camp here, in the canoe.  Can you get along without me for half an hour?”

“Sure.  Don’t forget Tom.”

Ned didn’t forget Tom.  He thought so much of him that he took his rifle with him when he went to move the camp.  For he was without a shirt and was stained with Dick’s blood and therefore very doubtful how the lynx would behave.  But Tom merely sniffed at him and when the canoe was loaded stepped aboard as coolly as if his passage had been paid for.  When the canoe landed at the new camping ground Tom took a few steps toward Dick and then suddenly sprang into the woods and away, as if witches were after him.  Ned was surprised at first, but remembered that Tommy, the Seminole, had once said to him: 

“Wildcat eat ’coon, panther eat wildcat,” and he ceased to wonder why Tom had run away.

Ned stretched the canvas over Dick, built a camp fire, got out a clean shirt for himself and tore up another for bandages.  He washed Dick’s wounds, which had ceased to bleed, with warm water and soap and put fresh bandages on them.  After he had gathered a lot of moss and made a soft bed for the invalid, he picked up Dick’s gun and walking a few steps down the river bank, shot a curlew that sat on a branch by the stream and was young enough to make a broil or stew for the invalid.

“Been breaking the law, have you, Neddy?”

“I’d break anything, to get you some nice chicken broth such as I am going to make now.”