From breast to knees ghastly wounds were furrowed in the man’s brown skin where the powerful hind feet of the beast had raked him.
That he owed his life to the chance that had brought about the encounter upon a steep hillside rather than on the level seemed quite apparent, for during their tumble down the declivity Nagoola had been unable to score with any degree of accuracy.
As Waldo looked down upon himself he was at first horrified by the frightful appearance of his wounds; but when a closer examination showed them to be superficial he realized that the only danger lay in infection. Every bone and muscle in his body ached from the man-handling and the fall, and the wounds themselves were painful, almost excruciatingly so when a movement of his body stretched or tore them; but notwithstanding his suffering he found himself smiling as he contemplated the remnants of his long-suffering ducks.
There remained of their once stylish glory not a shred—the panther’s sharp claws had finished what time and brambles had so well commenced. And of their linen partner—the white outing shirt—only the neckband remained; with a single fragment as large as one’s hand depending behind.
“Nature is a wonderful leveler,” thought Waldo. “It is evident that she hates artificiality as she does
