This placed him in the strongest possible position, and, with one appalling thrust, he drove the spear for a distance of two feet into the chest of the puma, instantly snatching it forth again, moving back a couple of feet, and holding himself ready for any assault from the brute.
No need of any virus on the point of _that_ weapon, for it had cloven the heart of the lion in twain, and he went down without a single groan, as dead as dead could be.
The native stepped to the river, washed the blood from the weapon and then turned about to resume his advance toward the wood.
As he did so, he found himself face to face with a white man, who, stepping from the shadow, held his Winchester leveled at him in an exceedingly suggestive fashion.
If Fred Ashman had been astonished before, what words shall describe his amazement when the dusky Hercules, calmly staring at him for a moment, said in unmistakable English, "_I surrender_.".