By this time Elizabeth Temple and Louisa had gained the summit of the
mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued their course under
the shade of the trees. Their conversation was entirely occupied with
the little incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall pine, and
every shrub or flower, called forth some simple expression of
admiration.
[Illustration: FENIMORE COOPER]
In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the precipice, when
Elizabeth suddenly started, and exclaimed,--“Listen! there are the cries
of a child on this mountain! Is there a clearing near us, or can some
little one have strayed from its parents?”
“Such things frequently happen,” returned Louisa. “Let us follow the
sounds: it may be a wanderer starving on the hill.” More than once
Elizabeth was on the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, when
Louisa caught her by the arm, and, pointing behind them, cried,--
“Look at the dog!”
Brave had been their companion from the time the voice of his young
mistress lured him from his kennel to the present moment. His advanced
age had long before deprived him of his activity; and when his
companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to their bouquets,
the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the ground, and await their
movements, with his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill
accorded with the character of a protector.
But when aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw
the dog with his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent
near the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, through
fright or anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was growling in
a low key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner that would
have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known his good
qualities.
“Brave!” she said. “Be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fellow?”
At the sound of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, instead of being at
all diminished, began to increase. He stalked in front of the ladies,
and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling louder than
before, and occasionally giving vent to his ire by a short, surly
barking.
“What does he see?” said Elizabeth. “There must be some animal in
sight.”
Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss Temple turned her head, and
beheld Louisa standing with her face whitened to the color of death, and
her finger pointing upwards. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the
direction indicated by her friend, where she saw the fierce front and
glaring eyes of a female panther, fixed on them and threatening to
leap.
“Let us fly,” exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the arm of Louisa, whose
form yielded like melting snow.
There was not a single feeling in the temperament of Elizabeth Temple
that could prompt her to desert a companion in such an extremity. She
fell on her knees by the side of the inanimate Louisa, encouraging their
only safeguard, the dog, at the same time, by the sound of her voice.
“Courage, Brave!” she cried, her own tones beginning to tremble,
“courage, courage, good Brave!”
A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now appeared,
dropping from the branches of a sapling. This vicious creature
approached the dog, imitating the actions and sounds of its parent, but
exhibiting a strange mixture of the playfulness of a kitten with the
ferocity of its race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend the bark
of a tree with its fore paws, and play the antics of a cat; and then, by
lashing itself with its tail, growling and scratching the earth, it
would attempt the manifestations of anger that rendered its parent so
terrific.
All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, short tail erect, his body
drawn backwards on its haunches, and his eyes following the movements of
both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the latter, it approached
nigher to the dog, the growling of the three becoming more horrid at
each moment, until the younger beast, overleaping its intended bound,
fell directly before the mastiff. There was a moment of fearful cries
and struggles, but they ended, almost as soon as commenced, by the cub
appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws of Brave with a violence that
sent it against a tree so forcibly as to render it completely senseless.
Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her blood was warming with
the triumph of the dog, when she saw the form of the old panther in the
air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech to the back of
the mastiff. No words can describe the fury of the conflict that
followed. It was a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accompanied by
loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple continued on her knees, bending
over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest
so horrid, and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in
the result.
So rapid and vigorous were the bounds of the inhabitant of the forest,
that its active frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog nobly
faced his foe at each successive leap. When the panther lighted on the
shoulders of the mastiff, which were its constant aim, old Brave, though
torn with her talons, and stained with his own blood, that already
flowed from a dozen wounds, would shake off his furious foe like a
feather, and, rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again with his
jaws distended and a dauntless eye.
But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff
for such a struggle. In everything but courage he was only the vestige
of what he had once been. A higher bound than ever raised the wary and
furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a
desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which she alighted in a
favorable position on the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only
could the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog returning
with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth
in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck,
which had been glittering throughout the fray, was of the color of
blood, and, directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it
soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the wildcat
to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog followed, but they were
fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and
his teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and stillness that
succeeded announced the death of poor Brave.
Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be
something in the front of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts
of the inferior beings of His creation; and it would seem that some such
power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes
of the monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, when the
former stooped to examine her fallen foe; next, to scent her luckless
cub. From the latter examination she turned, however, with her eyes
apparently emitting flashes of fire, her tail lashing her sides
furiously, and her claws projecting inches from her broad feet.
Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her hands were clasped in the
attitude of prayer, but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible
enemy. Her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips
were slightly separated with horror.
The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination, when a
rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the organs than to meet
her ears. “Hist! hist!” said a low voice, “stoop lower, girl; your
bonnet hides the creature’s head.”
It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance with this
unexpected order that caused the head of the girl to sink on her bosom.
Then she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and
the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth,
tearing the twigs and branches within her reach. At the next instant
Leather-Stocking rushed by her, and called aloud:--
“Come in, Hector; come in; ’tis a hard-lived animal, and may jump
again.”
The brave hunter fearlessly maintained his position, notwithstanding the
violent bounds of the wounded panther, until his rifle was again loaded,
when he stepped up to the animal, and, placing the muzzle close to her
head, every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge.
--JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.
* * * * *
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.