The movements hurt me terribly, but I thought of the catamount,
which would surely not be satisfied with two bullets for its
breakfast. I was scarcely ready when the head of the beast was
thrust over the edge of the bank to look for me.

He saw, and gloated as a human enemy might have done. His savage
snarl was full of intelligence, and his slow approach was
deliberate torture. He stood for a moment in full view--then
slipped and slid down to the surface of the ice, where, ten yards
away, he stood and looked at me.

I saw his magnificent build, his superb muscular development, as
with his body in profile, his head turned toward me, he waited
before approaching, playing with my helplessness; but I was not
entirely helpless! With shaking hand I took aim; I could not use my
thumb to cock the revolver, but drew hard at the trigger, and the
hammer rose and fell.

My turn for gloating had come now, for the catamount was crying
with rage and pain. He fell writhing, striking with his forepaws at
the snow, and raising his head to snap at nothing; but this did not
last long. Slowly he dragged himself to a sitting posture, and I
could understand his plight and estimate my own danger.

My first two bullets had but torn his flesh. My last had broken his
back. He was paralyzed in his hind legs, as I have seen a deer, yet
he had many minutes to live, perhaps hours, and was strong and
angry enough to finish me. Painfully he started on that short
journey to me. With his forepaws, his claws digging the snow, he
began to drag himself toward me.