In Paths of Peril: a Boy's Adventures in Nova Scotia
Copyright© 2026 by J. Macdonald Oxley
Chapter 7: At Close Quarters
Raoul knew the scream also, and something about the animal from whence it came, and he first looked carefully at his gun to make sure that it was ready for instant use, and then peered into the obscurity of the thick evergreens, in the attempt to locate the fierce brute which had thus challenged their passing.
What Madame meant by loup cervier was what is now known as the “Indian Devil,” or catamount, a species of puma that could be very dangerous when in a fighting humour, as this one evidently was.
“Don’t be frightened, Aunt Constance,” said Raoul sturdily. “I’ll shoot him dead the moment I see him,” and he brought his gun to his shoulder as he spoke.
“Wait, wait until you can see him plainly,” said Madame under her breath. “You must not miss.”
There was a rustling among the branches, another blood-curdling scream, and then the hideous face of the creature appeared, its eyes flaming with fury, and its cruel teeth showing white among the rigid bristles that protruded from its furry cheeks.
Now if Raoul had been alone, he would assuredly have been nervous enough to make it a difficult matter to take good aim, but the presence of his aunt made him forget himself utterly in his loyal determination to protect her from the impending peril. He felt as firm as a rock. Not a nerve quivered, and, aiming straight between the baleful eyes, he fired.
The report rang out on the still evening air, and was instantly followed by a snarling shriek from the wounded animal, so charged with fury that Raoul instinctively pressed his aunt back out of the path.
Just as he did so the puma sprang at them, for it was not killed, a slight movement of its head as Raoul fired having caused the bullet to strike too high, and plough through the fur on the forehead, instead of burying itself in the brain.
Raoul’s sudden movement caused the brute to fall short, and ere it could gather itself to spring again the boy, clubbing his gun, struck at it with the heavy butt.
It was the best thing to be done under the circumstances, and yet, when the maddened catamount, squirming around as if it were made of rubber, caught the stock in its teeth, and tore at the gun with its terrible claws, there seemed small chance of Raoul being able to repeat the blow.
Happily this was not necessary on his part, for Madame, who had been perfectly composed throughout, having picked up a stout stick, came to his assistance, and, with a clever blow delivered just behind the puma’s ear, put an end to its existence.
“Bravo, Aunt Constance!” cried Raoul delightedly. “You’ve done for him, and just in time, too! He was pulling the gun out of my hands.”
There was the light of triumph in Madame la Tour’s fine eyes as she turned the dead thing over with her stick.
“He meant us mischief, Raoul,” she said, “and he has paid dearly for it. If he had left us alone he would not be lying there now. Let us kneel down and thank God for our deliverance.”
And so they knelt together, while Madame, in a few fervent sentences, expressed their gratitude to Providence for having thus protected them from injury.
As they hastened homeward, Madame said in a low tone, as if talking to herself rather than to Raoul:
“This is a wild, dangerous country, and I grow very weary of it. I pray that I may be spared to get back to France some day.”
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