Democratic Standard

THE PANTHER'S LEAP.

A WESTERN SCENE.

"Oh, how the mother loves the child she nursed!"

It was a fine morning in August, when little Samuel Eaton was about seven years old, that he was making a dam in the brook that ran before his father's door. He was an only and beautiful child, his mother almost idolizing him. There he was with his trousers tucked up above his knees, working like a beaver, his mother's bold eye gleaming out from beneath his sun burnt hair, and with some of his father's strength lugging at a large stone in the bed of the stream. 'Sammy, you'd better come in, hadn't ye?' said Hannah, in a tone half mother and half mate. 'No-o-o, I guess not yet,' said Samuel.

An acorn came floating down the water. The boy took it up—looked at it—was pleased, and 'reckoned, in his mind there were more up the gully,' and when his mother's back was turned, off he started for the acorns. The gorge of the mountain into which he was about to enter had been formed, (the work of centuries) by the attrition of the stream he had just been playing in—and walking on a level that bordered each side of the water, he boldly entered the ravine. An almost perpendicular wall or bank ascended on each side, to the height of a hundred feet composed of crags and rocks, fretted by decay and storm into fantastic shape and position. A few scattered bushes and trees sought nourishment from the earth that had fallen from the ledge above and excepting their assistance and the unseen surface of the rock, this natural parapet seemed inaccessible, but to bird and beast. About an eighth of a mile from the entrance, a cataract closed the gorge, throwing up its white veil of mist in seeming guardianship of the spirit of the waters. The verdant boughs hanging over the bank cast a deep gloom upon the bed below; while so lofty was the distance, they seemed to grow out of the sky, blue patches of which were to be seen peeping between them.

Hannah Eaton soon missed her boy, but as he had often wandered to the fields where his father was at work, she concluded he must be there, and checked coming fears with the hope that he would return at the hour of dinner. When he came, Josiah nor any of his men knew where he was. Then the agitated mother exclaimed: 'He's lost! he's lost! and my poor boy will starve and die in the woods!' Gathering courage she hastily summoned her family around her and despatched them all but her husband to search in different directions in the neighboring forest. To him she said, Scour every field you can call your own, and if you can't find him join me in the gorge.

'He wouldn't go to the gorge, Hannah.'

'He would go anywhere.' She knew not why, but a presentiment that the boy had followed the course of the stream, dwelt strongly on her mind.

'I can't find him Hannah,' said the husband, as he rejoined her not far from the mouth of the gorge.

An eagle flew past the mother as she entered the ravine. She thought to herself, the dreadful birds are tearing my child to pieces, and frantic, she hastened on, making the walls of the cavern echo back with the screams for her offspring. Her only answer was the eternal thunder of the cataract, raging as if in mockery of woe, and flinging its cold spray upon her hot and throbbing temples. 'Fool that I am, how can he hear me?' She strained her eyes along the dizzy height that pierced the mist till she could look no longer and her eyes filled with tears.

Who but a mother can tell the feelings of a mother's heart? Fear fell thick and fast upon the reeling brain of Hannah.— 'Oh, my boy—my brave boy—will die,' and writhing her hands in agony, she sank to her husband's feet.

The pain of 'hope defer'd, had sustained her heart strings to the severest tensions and it seemed as if the rude hand of despair had broken them all.

The terrified husband threw water upon her pale face, and strove by all the arts he knew to win her back to life. At last she opened her languid eyes, stared wildly around and rose trembling to her feet. As she thus stood, like a heart broken Niobe, 'all tears,' a fragment of rock came tumbling down the opposite bank. She looked up. A wild scream of joy burst from her lips. She was herself once more, for half way up the ascent stood her own dear boy:

But even while the glad cry was issuing from the lips it turned into a note of horror—'Oh, mercy—mercy!'

The crag on which the boy stood projected from the solid rock in such a way as to hang about twelve feet over the bank. Right below one of the edges of this crag partly concealed among some bushes, couched a panther.

The bold youth was aware of the proximity of his parents, and the presence of his dangerous enemy, at about the same time. He had rolled down the stone in exultation, to convince his parents of the high station he had attained, and he stood with another in his hand, drawing it back and looked at them, as if to ask whether he should throw it at the terrible animal before him. Till then, the mother seemed immovable in her suspense; but conscious of the danger of her son, if he irritated the beast, she rushed some distance up the rock, and motioned with her hands and head that he should not throw. Yet, with the feeling mind of childhood, and a temper little used to control, he fearlessly threw the fragment with all his might at the ferocious savage. It struck on one of his feet.— He gave a sudden growl, lashed his tail with fury, and seemed about to spring.

'Get your rifle, Josiah!' The poor man stirred not. His glazed eyes were fixed with a look of death upon the panther, and he appeared paralyzed with fear. His wife leaped from her stand, and placing her hands on her husband's shoulders, looked into his face and cried: 'Are you a man, Josiah Eaton? Do you love your child?' He started as if from sleep and ran with furious haste from the ravine.

Again the mother looked towards her son. He had fallen upon his knees, and was whispering the little prayers she had taught him, not in coward fear, but an indefinite thought came across his mind that he must die. The panther was upon his feet. He stooped to spring. The distracted mother could keep still no longer. She rushed up the steep ascent with the energy of despair, reckless of the danger, thinking only of her son. The rocks crumbled and slipped beneath her feet, yet she fell not. The sharp rocks cut her flesh, but she heeded it not. On, on she struggled in her agony.

The ferocious creature paused for a moment, when he heard the wrecked mother's approach. True to his nature, he sprang at the boy. He barely touched the crag, and fell backward as Hannah ascended the opposite side.

'Ah!' said she, laughing deliriously, 'the panther must try it again before he parts us, my boy, but we won't part,' and sinking on her knees before him, she fondly folded him to her breast, bathing his young forehead with her tears.

Unalterable in his ferocity, and the manner of gratifying it, the panther again sprang from his former station. This time he was more successful. His fore foot struck the edge of the crag. 'He will kill us, mother, he will kill us!' and the boy nestled closer to his mother's bosom.

The animal struggled to bring his body on the crag—his savage features but a step from the mother's face. 'Go away! go away!' shrieking, hoarse with horror. 'You shan't have my child!'—Closer—still closer he came—his red eyes flashing fury, and the thick pantings of his breath coming in her face. At this awful moment she hears the faint report of fire-arms from the gulf below—the panther's foot hold fails, his sharp claws loosen from the rock, and the baffled beast rolled howling down the precipice, at the feet of Josiah Eaton.

The six last rays glanced brightly on a little group at the mouth of the gorge. They were on their knees—the mother's bleeding hands over the head of her son and the voice of prayer going to their Guardian all His mercy in thwarting the Panther's Leap.