His sharp claws were driven into the bark, and he was calmly licking his dripping fur.

Meanwhile the current was sweeping us down stream, and Ned was running along the bank in a sad state of fright and excitement.

My back began to hurt pretty badly, and I discovered that my face was torn and bleeding in one or two places, though whether this was caused by the fall or by the wild-cat I did not know.
"Swim, Jack, let go and swim," shouted Ned, and then, remembering perhaps that I was unable to follow his instructions, he suddenly turned and ran back through the woods at the top of his speed, instead of making any effort to help me.
I was badly scared before, and now, when I saw, as I supposed, my last hope vanish, I began to shout for help as loudly as I could.
But at the very first cry the wild-cat lifted his head, and emitted a vicious snarl.

As I howled louder than ever, he advanced a foot or two along the limb, ripping off the bark, and fixing his big glaring eyes savagely on my face.
I was terrified into silence, and, as soon as I ceased shouting, the brute stopped and coolly proceeded to lick his fur again.
Apparently, he did not object to my presence so long as I remained quiet.

The worst of it was that my end of the branch was pretty far down in the water, and threatened every moment to carry me entirely under the surface.
In this precarious situation, I drifted down the creek, until the bend drew near that sweeps round to Hake's Mill.