ky.

"What did the missionary mean by tellin' me a brave man is merciful? I
wonder whether he had any talk with The Panther? It would be just like
him to do so, but it was time throwed away. Howsumever, his words to me
stick in my ears, and keep going back and forth as nothin' that was ever
said to me afore has done.

"The Panther is full of grit; when he comes I'll make him b'leve I think
he was scared and run off. That'll make him so mad, he'll fight harder
than ever, which is what I want.

"But he'll fight like a wounded catamount, He is sure he'll wipe me out
and send me under this time, and that he can go on shootin' settlers in
the back, tomahawking women and children without stoppin' to bother with
me. Somehow or other I don't feel as sartin in this matter as afore, but
I wouldn't let this chance of closing accounts with The Panther pass by
for the whole of Kentucky--sh! there he comes!"

A rustle, such as a quail might have made in walking over the leaves,
caused the ranger to turn his head like a flash. The undergrowth parted,
and Wa-on-mon, chief of the Shawanoes, stepped into full view hardly ten
feet distant, with his glittering eyes fixed upon the face of the
ranger.

The coarse black hair dangled about the shoulders, with a couple of
strands hanging loosely over the chest. Three stained eagle feathers
projected backward from the crown, where the hair was stained with
several hues of paint. The hard, sinister features displayed the same
fantastic daubs that marked them when The Panther was a prisoner on the
flatboat, the white cross showing on the forehead, with streakings of
red and black on the cheeks and chin. The coppery chest was bare to the
waist, where reposed the single weapon of the chieftain--his formidable
hunting knife, which had committed many a dark deed when wielded in the
vicious grip of the dusky miscreant.

Below the breech-clout the iron limbs were encased in leggings and the
small feet were covered with moccasins, now faded and worn by hard
usage. The Panther paused, with his left foot in advance, his right hand
grasping the hilt of his knife at his waist, and his shoulders and head
thrust forward, the attitude of the body being that of an athlete with
his muscles concentrated for a leap across a chasm that yawns in front
of him.

The pose of Kenton was dissimilar, and yet showed some points of
resemblance. In accordance with the custom of his people, he carried his
knife, in a