Coast Panther

Three nights he drank the living blood of cattle

Hot from the artery. Three moonless nights

He cleared the palings, killed with single bites -

And now what desperate folly to return!

Yet salt blood springing from a throat is heaven.

With new contempt for man, and dogs, his chattel,

He left the cave a little after seven,

To shun the dangerous moon. They never learn!

The smell of heifers made his gullet burn.

His length among dry brush moved on like mist.

Hot country ranchers, they have slept with danger.

Cattle are life, and grimly are defended.

They had a welcome waiting for the stranger.

Before the first hours of the vigil ended,

Their yelping mongrels told of his retreat.

Stubbornly, all night long, through armed acacias,

Fifty feet followed on his soundless feet.

From cover to cover hunted ruthlessly,

He left his cave again, to take the chance or

Perish. He turned. They neared. The leading lancer

Gripped with his free hand at his trembling wrist.

Perish? But still - who knew? - the headland boulders,

Where combers catch the fools who dash between ...

It seemed the brute was running for the sea!

That lonely beach, so much his world, and spacious,

Held not a cavern he had never seen.

Close, close - The sun struck splendor from his shoulders!

Killing that last hope, morning broke serene.

"He went up into a panicua tree."

But once the hunter comes on such a vision -

A golden panther high in yellow flowers,

Treed by the sunrise burnishing the wave.

Though jungles shall devour what devours,

The lancer felt a second's indecision -

Knew how, uncalled, through dim and elder hours

This victim would go with them to the grave:

The golden beast above in yellow flowers,

Staring out motionless on jeopardy.