A Midnight Attack.
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 fatigued 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 pegs 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 sniff of one."
"I heard something," replied Frank, "but I didn't know what it was."
By this time all the inmates 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
buck--he are, that's sartin!"
As Dick spoke there was a violent rustling 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 crouching 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 resounded through the woods, the panther uttered
a howl that sounded very much like the voice of a human being in
distress, 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 standing 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 mighty 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 belly."
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 whine. 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 severely
handled. He had several long, ugly wounds on his body, which were
bleeding profusely.
"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 naturalist 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 anticipations;
and Frank determined, 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 remains 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 killing 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 hazardous undertaking,
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. Harry 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 descended 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 obliterate 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 entirely useless, having been broken by the
shot from the rifle; and that it was which had given that peculiar
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 crouched lower over his prey, and lashed 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 recoil 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.