some fifteen feet
from the ground. We all tracked on, hoping to get a chance of a further
shot.

At last we came to a deep and thickly wooded nala, or watercourse, which
curved like a horseshoe. The panther entered the watercourse at the
centre and turned along the bed to the left. We turned to the right and
skirted along the outside of the course, as it was not safe to go
nearer. We all advanced until we nearly reached the right limit of the
horseshoe bend, and then, leaving the trackers, I approached the
watercourse, hearing the beast at the other end about two hundred yards
away.

After waiting about twenty minutes looking for a spot to cross the deep
nala it appears that the wounded animal slowly and silently doubled back
along the densely wooded watercourse and suddenly sprang out at me. I
fired and stepped back, falling, as I did so, into the watercourse. The
next thing I remember was the panther seizing me by the arm and pulling
me down as I arose, and beginning to claw my head.

Then I saw on top of the panther my little fox-terrier Toby, tearing
hard at the neck of the beast. The panther then left mauling me to
attack the dog. I somehow jumped up, leaped out of the watercourse, ran
towards the villagers, and fell down. They placed me on a charpoi, or
native bed, and carried me to my bungalow three miles away. Express
messengers were at once despatched through the jungle and across the
hills to Mandla, sixty miles away, for a doctor, who arrived on the
fourth day after the accident.

Meanwhile, all that could be done was done, and my wounds, of which
there were fourteen, were dressed. Our good Dr. Hogan had me carried
into Mandla, the journey taking two and a half days, and since then, I
am glad to say, I have been making a wonderful recovery. It is a great
mercy that my arm had not to be amputated, as I feared at first I should
certainly lose it. But though it is still much swollen, and so stiff
that I can only bend it a few inches, all is progressing well.

My little dog escaped with a few scratches, having saved my life. The
panther has either been eaten by the tiger, or has died of its wounds.
The villagers were far too scared to follow it up after my fall. Its
bones, if not devoured by tigers or porcupines, will most likely be
found higher up the nala than where we last saw it.

A Panther-hunt, which had a somewhat unexpected conclusion, is narrated
by the Rev. T. Fuller Bryant:--

At the outset