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.