One tough Indian who gave it his best...
"In the early settlement of Alabama, there lived on the south side of the Tennessee River, in Jackson County, opposite to where Scottsboro now stands, a couple of Creek Indians, who had built a little hut near Coffee's trading store and suported themselves by hunting. One of thse, called by the whites Creek John, was an excellent hunter, and always returned from the mountain loaded with peltries. late one evening he came down the mountain from a hunt, and instead of going directly to his hut, he stooped to get a drink. While in this posture an immense panther leaped from an overhanging rock on his prostrate form, and a desperate struggle ensued at once. The Indian being taken unawares, as placed at a great disadvantage, and the panther inflicted fearful damage on him before he could get out his long hunting knife; this he plied vigorously on his adversary, but it was too late to save his life. His abdomen was torn across by the animal's claws, and the muscles of his chest stripped to the ribs, while the blood flowed from other wounds. Yet he drove his long knife into the panther so vigorously that it was compelled to let him go and make off the field, leaving him victor of the despeate battle, but mortally wounded. He managed to drag himself to his hut, one hundred yards distant, where his companion, coming in a little later, found him in the agonies of death. The panther was tracked the next morning, by his bloody trail, to a ledge of rocks a short distance off, and found start and stiff, showing he had been dead some hours. He proved to be the largest specimen of his kind ever killed in that country. Creek John's Knife had passed through him in several places from side to side, showing the strength and vigor with which it was plied. With an equal advantage, there is no doubt but that the Indian would have escaped with his life."
One heckuva story.
Vigilantibus et non dormientibus jura subveniunt. Molon Labe!