AFTER supper, the hunters stretched themselves out on their blankets around the fire; but the usual evening conversation was omitted. Their day’s work had fatigued¹ them all, and soon their regular breathing told that sleep had overpowered them.
 
About midnight Frank, who slept away from the fire, and almost against the door, was aroused by a slight noise outside the cabin, like the stealthy tread of some animal in the snow. He had begun to acquire something of a hunter’s habits, and the noise, slight as it was, aroused him in an instant. The dogs had also heard it, for they stood looking at the door, with every hair sticking toward their heads, but without uttering a sound. Frank reached for his gun, which hung on some pegs² just above his head, and at that moment he heard a sound resembling the “wheeze” of a glandered horse.
 
“Bars and buffaler!” exclaimed Dick, suddenly arousing from a sound sleep, and drawing his long hunting-knife, which he always carried in his belt; “there’s a painter around here somewhere—I’m sartin I heered the sniff³ of one.”
 
“I heard something,” replied Frank, “but I didn’t know what it was.”
 
By this time all the inmates⁴ of the cabin were aroused, and there was a hurried reaching for guns, and a putting on of fresh caps.
 
“Lend me your rifle, Dick,” said Frank, “and I’ll shoot him. I have never killed a panther.”
 
“Wal, don’t be keerless, like you generally are,” said the trapper, handing him the weapon. “Be keerful to shoot right between his eyes. Hist—I’ll be shot if the varmint ain’t a pitchin’ into the white buck⁵—he are, that’s sartin!”
 
As Dick spoke⁶ there was a violent rustling⁷ in the bushes, and a sound as of a heavy body falling on the snow. Then there was a slight struggle, and all was still again. Frank quickly threw open the door, and hunters and dogs all rushed out together. It was very dark; but Frank, who was in advance of his companions, could just distinguish a black object crouching⁸ in the snow near the tree where the white buck had been fastened. In an instant his rifle was at his shoulder, and as the whip-like report resounded⁹ through the woods, the panther uttered a howl that sounded very much like the voice of a human being in distress¹⁰, and, with one bound, disappeared in the bushes.
 
The quick-scented dogs found his trail in a twinkling. Guided by their barking, the hunters followed after them as rapidly as possible, in hopes that the dogs would soon overtake the panther and compel him to take to a tree. Running through a thick woods in a dark night is not a pleasant task; and the hunters made headway very slowly. But at length they came up with three of the dogs, which were standing¹¹ at the foot of a large tree, barking furiously. Brave was nowhere to be seen.
 
“I shouldn’t wonder if the varmint war up here,” said the trapper, walking around the tree and peering upward into the darkness. “No he ain’t, neither,” he continued. “Useless, ye’re fooled for onct in your life. You see, youngsters, where that big limb stretches out? Wal, the painter ran out on that, an’ has got out of our way.”
 
“I wonder where Brave is?” said Frank, anxiously.
 
“That ar is a hard thing to tell,” answered the trapper. “The varmint may have chawed him up too, as well as the white buck.”
 
“If he has,” said Frank, bitterly, “I won’t do any thing all the rest of my life but shoot panthers. Hold on! what’s that?” he added, pointing through the trees.
 
“It looks mighty¹² like somethin’ comin’ this way,” said Dick. “Turn me into a mullen-stalk if I don’t believe it’s the painter! He’s creepin’ along a’most on his belly¹³.”
 
In an instant four guns were leveled at the approaching object, and the boys were about to fire, when the trapper, who had thrown himself almost flat on the snow, to obtain a better view of the animal, heard a suppressed whine¹⁴. Springing to his feet, he knocked up the weapons, and quietly said,
 
“I guess I wouldn’t shoot, boys. That’s the dog comin back. I shouldn’t wonder if he had been follerin’ the painter all alone by himself.”
 
The boys lowered their guns, and, in a few moments, to the infinite joy of Frank, Brave came up. He crawled slowly and with difficulty toward his master, and the hunters could see that he had been severely¹⁵ handled. He had several long, ugly wounds on his body, which were bleeding profusely¹⁶.
 
“Wal, I’ll be shot!” exclaimed the trapper, “if that ar fool of a dog didn’t tackle the painter! He ought to knowed better. The varmint could chaw him up in two minits. Useless here wouldn’t have thought o’ doin’ sich a thing. But it’ll do no good for us to stay here, so we might as well travel back to the shantee. Ye’re minus a white buck, Frank,” he continued, as he led the way through the woods.
 
The young naturalist¹⁷ made no reply, for it was a severe blow to him. He had anticipated a great deal of pleasure in taming the white buck, and in showing him to his friends, and relating the circumstances of his capture. But the panther had put an end to these anticipations¹⁸; and Frank determined¹⁹, as long as he remained in the woods, to wage a merciless war against all his tribe.
 
A few moments’ walk brought the hunters to the cabin, and they went at once to the place where they had left the white buck. The panther had torn an ugly-looking hole in his throat, and he was stone dead. It was evident, from the position in which he lay, that the panther had endeavored to drag him away, but was prevented by the rope and the timely interference of the hunters. As regrets were useless, Frank and his cousin carried the remains²⁰ of the buck into the cabin. After fastening the door and replenishing the fire, the hunters again sought their blankets.
 
The next morning they were stirring long before daybreak, and Archie busied himself in removing the skin of the white buck, while his cousin, who was impatient to commence his war upon the panthers, was employed in cleaning his gun and sharpening his hunting-knife. Brave seemed to understand that something unusual was on hand. In spite of the rough treatment he had received the night before, he appeared to have plenty of spirit left in him still, and acted as though he were impatient to be off.
 
 
“Dick, will you lend me your trap?” inquired Frank, after he had finished his breakfast, and was preparing to set out.
 
“The ‘Ole Settler’ do you mean?” asked the trapper. “Sartin I will. Goin’ to ketch the painter, ain’t you?”
 
“Yes; I’m going to try. I must have at least three panther-skins to make up for the killing²¹ of the white buck. He was worth more to me than my entire museum.”
 
“Wal,” said Dick, as he handed Frank the trap, “if you can get him to stick his foot in the ‘Ole Settler,’ he’s yourn, an’ no mistake. That ar trap sticks tighter nor a brother when it gets a hold o’ any thing. Now, be mighty keerful o’ yourself.”
 
“All right,” answered Frank. “I’ll have something to show you when I come back.”
 
He set out, with Brave as his only companion. The trapper did not accompany him, for the reason that he had work of his own to attend to; and besides, although he was constantly scolding and finding fault with Frank for his “carelessness,” he was proud of his courage, and admired the spirit that prompted this somewhat hazardous²² undertaking²³, and wished to allow him to reap all the honors himself. Archie and George did not go, for they were very anxious to visit their traps, and see whether there were any foxes in them. They did not like the idea of panther-hunting, and had tried every means in their power to induce Frank to abandon his project. Harry²⁴ thought at first that he would be delighted to go, but, on reflection, he remembered his adventure with the wolves, and was fearful of another similar “scrape.” So, as we have said, Frank started out alone, with nothing on which to depend except the faithful Brave, and his own courage and skill as a marksman. He was well enough acquainted with the woods, and the animals that inhabited them, to know that there was danger in the undertaking; but he thought only of the disappointment he had suffered in the death of the white buck, and the pleasure there would be in seeing the panther that had killed him stuffed and mounted in his museum.
 
He followed the same course the panther had taken the night before, until he reached the place where the animal had taken to the tree and escaped, Here the trail, of course, ended; but Brave had no difficulty in finding it again, and from this Frank concluded that he must have seen the panther jumping from tree to tree, and had followed him, until the latter, seeing that he was pursued by only one of his enemies, had descended²⁵ to the ground and given battle, which had, of course, ended in Brave’s defeat.
 
After a careful examination, Frank could discover but three foot-prints in the trail, which looked as though some one had endeavored to obliterate²⁶ it, by drawing a heavy stick over it. He could not account for this, but he knew, by the blood on the snow, that the panther had been severely wounded by the shot he had fired at him; so, without stopping to make any more observations, he ordered Brave to “Hunt ’em up.”
 
The dog immediately set off on the trail, and Frank kept as close to him as possible. The panther had made good use of his time, for they followed the trail until almost four o’clock in the afternoon, without coming up with him. In the excitement of the chase, Frank had not thought of stopping to eat his dinner, and he was both tired and hungry. A few moments’ rest, and a piece of the cold venison and bread, with which his haversack was well stored, he thought would enable him to follow the trail until dark. He began to look around to find a good place to build a fire, when a loud bark from Brave drove all such thoughts out of his mind, and he ran forward to the place where the dog was standing, and suddenly came in sight of the panther, which had killed a wild turkey, and was crouching at the foot of a tree, just ready to begin his meal.
 
One of his hind-legs was entirely²⁷ useless, having been broken by the shot from the rifle; and that it was which had given that peculiar²⁸ look to his trail. How he had managed to climb so many trees, and travel such a distance, with his leg in that condition, Frank could not imagine. But he was not allowed much time to make observations, for the panther crouched²⁹ lower over his prey³⁰, and lashed³¹ his sides with his tail, as if about to spring toward him. He was within easy range, and Frank cocked both barrels of his gun, and slowly raised the weapon to his shoulder. His hand could not have been more steady if he had been aiming at a squirrel. He glanced along the clean, brown tubes for a moment, and fired both barrels in quick succession. The gun had been heavily loaded, in order to “make sure work” of the panther, and the immense recoil³² threw Frank flat on his back. When he recovered his feet, he saw the panther stretched out motionless on the ground. The buck-shot had done its work.