The leopard went on
tearing him as if nothing had happened.
Martin hoped that the creature would gorge itself with blood, and then
let him take the meat. He waited some minutes, then walked resolutely
up, and laid his hand on the buck's leg. The leopard gave a frightful
growl, and left off sucking blood. She saw Martin's game, and was
sulky and on her guard. What was to be done? Martin had heard that wild
creatures cannot stand the human eye. Accordingly, he stood erect, and
fixed his on the leopard: the leopard returned a savage glance, and
never took her eye off Martin. Then Martin continuing to look the beast
down, the leopard, brutally ignorant of natural history, flew at his
head with a frightful yell, flaming eyes, and jaws and distended. He had
but just time to catch her by the throat, before her teeth could crush
his face; one of her claws seized his shoulder and rent it, the other,
aimed at his cheek, would have been more deadly still, but Martin was
old-fashioned, and wore no hat, but a scapulary of the same stuff as his
jerkin, and this scapulary he had brought over his head like a hood; the
brute's claw caught in the loose leather. Martin kept her teeth off his
face with great difficulty, and griped her throat fiercely, and she
kept rending his shoulder. It was like blunt reaping-hooks grinding and
tearing. The pain was fearful; but, instead of cowing the old soldier,
it put his blood up, and he gnashed his teeth with rage almost as fierce
as hers, and squeezed her neck with iron force.
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