AN APPEARANCE AND A DISAPPEARANCE
The dog's snapping barks and the squalling of the catamount stilled
every other sound to Ruth Fielding's ears. She had fallen back to the
edge of the clearing, and knew not what to do.
She feared desperately for Reno's safety; but for the moment did not
know what she might do to help the faithful beast.
She tripped upon a branch and fell to her knees, and the butt of the
rifle which she had clung to, struck her sharply in the side.
"Oh! if I had only learned to use a gun!" gasped the distracted girl.
"_Could_ I shoot straight enough to do any good, if I tried? Or would
I kill the poor dog?"
At the moment Reno expressed something beside rage in his yelping.
He sprang out of the cloud of snow-spray with an agonized cry, and
Ruth saw that there was blood upon his jaws, and a great gash high up
on one shoulder.
"Oh! the poor fellow! Poor Reno!" gasped Ruth Fielding. "He will be
killed by that hateful brute."
Spurred by this thought she did not rise from her knee, but threw
the barrel of the gun forward. It chanced to rest in the crook of a
branch--the very branch over which she had tripped the moment before.
She drew the butt of the gun close to her shoulder; she drew back the
hammer and tried to sight along the barrel. Suddenly she saw the
tawny side of the panther directly before her--seemingly it was at
the end of the rifle barrel.
The beast was crouching to leap. Ruth did not know where Reno then
was; but she could hear him whimpering. The mastiff had been sorely
hurt and the panther was about to finish him.
And with this thought in her mind, Ruth steadied the rifle as best
she could and pulled the trigger. The sharp explosion and the shriek
of the panther seemed simultaneous. Through the little drift of smoke
she saw the creature spring; but it did not spring far. One hind leg
hung useless--there was a patch of crimson on the beaten snow--the
huge cat, snarling and yowling, was going around and around, snapping
at its own leg.
But that flurry was past in a moment. The snow-dust subsided. Ruth
had sprung to her feet, dropping the rifle, delighted for the moment
that she should have shot the panther.
But she little knew the nature and courage of the beast. On three
legs only the huge cat writhed across the clearing, having spied the
girl; and now, with a fierce scream of anger, it crouched to spring
upon Ruth. She seemed devoted to the panther's revenge, for she was
smitten with that terror which shackles voice and limb.
"Oh, Reno! Reno!" she whispered; but the sound did not pass her own
lips. The dog was not in sight He lay somewhere in the bushes,
licking his wounds. The fierce panther had bested him, and now
crouched, ready to spring upon the helpless girl.
With a snarl of pain and rage the beast leaped at her. Its broken
leg caused it to fall short by several yards, and the pain of the
injured limb, when it landed, caused the catamount to howl again and
tear up the snow in its agony.
Ruth could not run; she was rooted to the spot. She had bravely shot
at the creature once. Better had it been for her had she not used the
rifle at all. She had only turned the wrath of the savage cat from
Reno to herself.
And Ruth realized that she was now its helpless quarry. She could
neither fight nor run. She sank back into the snow and awaited the
next leap of the panther.
At this very moment of despair--when death seemed inevitable--there
was a crash in the bushes behind her and a figure broke through and
flung itself past her. A high, shrill, excited voice cried:
"Give me that gun! Is it loaded?"
Ruth could not speak, but the questioner saw instantly that there
were cartridges in the magazine of Tom Cameron's gun. He leaped
upright and faced the crouching cat.
The panther, with a fearful snarl, had to change the direction of
its leap. It sprang into the air, all four paws spread and its
terrible claws unsheathed. But its breast was displayed, too, to the
new victim of its rage.
Bang!
The rifle spat a yard of fire, which almost scorched the creature's
breast. The impact of the bullet really drove the cat backward--or
else the agony of its death throes turned the heavy body from its
victim. It threw a back somersault and landed again in the snow,
tearing it up for yards around, the crimson tide from its wounds
spattering everything thereabout.
"Oh, it's dead!" cried Ruth, with clasped hands, when suddenly the
beast's limbs stiffened. "You've killed it!"
Then she had a chance to look at the person who had saved her.
"Fred Hatfield!" she cried. "Is it you? Or, who _are_ you? for
they all say Fred Hatfield is dead and buried."
"It doesn't matter who I am, Ruth Fielding," said the strange lad,
in no pleasant tone.
"Never mind. Come and see Mr. Cameron. Come to the camp. He will
help you----"
"I don't want his help," replied the boy. "I'll help myself--with
_this_," and he tapped the barrel of the rifle.
"But that belongs to Tom----"
"He'll have to lend it to me, then," declared the boy. "I tell you,
I am not going to be bound by anybody. I'm free to do as I please.
You can go back to that camp. There's nothing to hurt you now."
At the moment Ruth heard voices shouting from the frozen stream. The
boys were skating back toward the pond, and had heard the rifle shots.
"Oh, wait till they come!" Ruth cried.
"No. I'm off--and don't any of you try to stop me," said the boy,
threateningly.
He slipped on the snowshoes which he had kicked off when he sprang
for the rifle, and at once started away from the clearing.
"Don't go!" begged Ruth. "Oh, dear! wait! Let me thank you."
"I don't want your thanks. I hate the whole lot of you!" returned
the boy, looking back over his shoulder.
The next moment he had disappeared, and Ruth was left alone. She
made a detour of the spot where the dead panther lay and called to
Reno. The mastiff dragged himself from under a bush. He was badly cut
up, but licked her hand when she knelt beside him.
"Hello! who's shooting over there?" cried Tom Cameron from the stream.
"Oh, Tom! Tom! Come and help me!" replied Ruth, and in half a minute
the three boys, having kicked off their skates, were in the glade.
"Merciful goodness!" gasped Bob Steele. "See what a beast that is!"
Tom, with a cry of pain, dashed forward and fell beside Ruth to
examine the mastiff.
"My poor dog!" he cried. "Is he badly hurt? What's happened to him?"
"Did she shoot that panther?" demanded Isadore Phelps. "Look at it,
Tom!"
"Reno isn't so badly hurt, Tom," Ruth declared. "I believe he has a
broken leg and these cuts. He dashed right in and attacked the
panther. What a brave dog he is!"
"But he never killed the beast," said Bob. "Who did that?"
"Who was shooting here? Where's the gun, Ruth?" Tom demanded, now
giving some attention to the dead animal.
Ruth related the affair in a few words, while she helped Tom bind up
Reno's wounds. The young master tore up his handkerchiefs to do duty
as bandages for the wounded dog.
"We'll carry him to camp--we can do it, easily enough, old man,"
said Bob Steele.
"And what about the panther? Don't we want his pelt?" cried Isadore.
"We'll send Long Jerry after that," Tom said. "I wish that fellow
hadn't run away with the rifle. But you couldn't help it, Ruth."
"He certainly is a bad boy," declared the girl. "Yet--somehow--I am
sorry for him. He must be all alone in these woods. Something will
happen to him."
"Never mind. We can forgive him, and hope that he'll pull through
all right, after he saved you, Ruthie," Tom said. "Come on, now,
Bobbins. Lend a hand with the poor dog."
Tom had removed his coat and in that, for a blanket, they carried
Reno through the woods to the camp. It was a hard journey, for in
places the snow had drifted and was quite soft. But in less than an
hour they arrived at the lodge.
The men had come in with the wood by that time, and Mr. Cameron with
them. Mrs. Murchiston and the girls were greatly worried over Ruth's
absence and the absence, too, of the three boys. But the death of the
catamount, and the safety of all, quickly put a better face upon the
situation.
Ruth was praised a good bit for her bravery. And Mr. Cameron said:
"There's something in that poor boy whom we tried to return to his
friends--if the Hatfields _are_ his friends. He does not lack
courage, that is sure--courage of a certain kind, anyway. I must see
to his business soon. I believe the Hatfields live within twenty
miles of this place, and in a day or two I will ride over and see
them."
"Oh! let us all go, father," urged Helen. "Can't we go in the
sleighs we came over in from Scarboro?"
"Don't take them, sir," said Mrs. Murchiston. "I shan't feel safe
for them again until we get out of these woods."
"Why, Mis' Murchiston," drawled Long Jerry, who had come into the
hall with a great armful of wood, "there ain't a mite of danger now.
That panther's killed--deader'n last Thanksgivin's turkey. There may
not be another around here for half a score of years."
"But they say there are bears in the woods," cried the governess.
"Aw, shucks!" returned the woodsman. "What's a b'ar? B'ar's is
us'ally as skeery as rabbits, unless they are mighty hungry. And ye
don't often meet a hungry bear this time o' year. They are mostly
housed up for the winter in some warm hole."
"But what would these girls do if they met a bear, Mr. Todd?" asked
Mr. Cameron, laughing.
"Why, this here leetle Ruth Fielding gal, _she'd_ have pluck
enough to shoot him, I reckon," chuckled Long Jerry. "And she
wouldn't be the first girl that's shot a full growed b'ar right in
this neighborhood."
"I thought you said there wasn't any around here, Jerry?" cried Helen.
"This happened some time ago, Miss," returned the woodsman. "And it
happened right over yon at Bill Bennett's farm--not four mile from
here. Sally Bennett was a plucky one, now I tell ye. And pretty--wal,
I was a jedge of female loveliness in them days," went on Long Jerry,
with a sly grin. "Ye see, I was lookin' 'em all over, tryin' to make
up my mind which one of the gals I should pick for my partner through
life. And Sally was about the best of the bunch."
"Why didn't you pick her then?" asked Tom.
"She got in her hand pickin' first," chuckled Jerry. "And she picked
a feller from town. Fac' is, I was so long a-pickin' that I never got
nary wife at all, so have lived all my life an old bachelder."
"But let's hear about Sally and the bear," proposed Ruth, eagerly,
knowing what a resourceful story-teller Long Jerry was.
"Come Jerry, sit down and let's have it," agreed Mr. Cameron, and
the party of young folk drew up chairs, before the fire. Long Jerry
squatted down in his usual manner on the hearth, and the story was
begun.