Colonel Sterett's Panther Hunt,
"Panthers, what we-all calls 'mountain lions,'" observed the Old
Cattleman, wearing meanwhile the sapient air of him who feels equipped
of his subject, "is plenty furtive, not to say mighty sedyoolous to
skulk. That's why a gent don't meet up with more of 'em while
pirootin' about in the hills. Them cats hears him, or they sees him,
an' him still ignorant tharof; an' with that they bashfully withdraws.
Which it's to be urged in favour of mountain lions that they never
forces themse'fs on no gent; they're shore considerate, that a-way, an'
speshul of themse'fs. If one's ever hurt, you can bet it won't be a
accident. However, it ain't for me to go 'round impugnin' the motives
of no mountain lion; partic'lar when the entire tribe is strangers to
me complete. But still a love of trooth compels me to concede that if
mountain lions ain't cowardly, they're shore cautious a lot. Cattle
an' calves they passes up as too bellicose, an' none of 'em ever faces
any anamile more warlike than a baby colt or mebby a half-grown deer.
I'm ridin' along the Caliente once when I hears a crashin' in the
bushes on the bluff above--two hundred foot high, she is, an' as sheer
as the walls of this yere tavern. As I lifts my eyes, a fear-frenzied
mare an' colt comes chargin' up an' projects themse'fs over the
precipice an' lands in the valley below. They're dead as Joolius
Caesar when I rides onto 'em, while a brace of mountain lions is
skirtin' up an' down the aige of the bluff they leaps from, mewin' an'
lashin' their long tails in hot enthoosiasm. Shore, the cats has been
chasin' the mare an' foal, an' they locoes 'em to that extent they
don't know where they're headin' an' makes the death jump I relates. I
bangs away with my six-shooter, but beyond givin' the mountain lions a
convulsive start I can't say I does any execootion. They turns an'
goes streakin' it through the pine woods like a drunkard to a barn
raisin'.
"Timid? Shore! They're that timid seminary girls compared to 'em is
as sternly courageous as a passel of buccaneers. Out in Mitchell's
canyon a couple of the Lee-Scott riders cuts the trail of a mountain
lion and her two kittens. Now whatever do you-all reckon this old
tabby does? Basely deserts her offsprings without even barin' a tooth,
an' the cow-punchers takes 'em gently by their tails an' beats out
their joovenile brains. That's straight; that mother lion goes
swarmin' up the canyon like she ain't got a minute to live. An' you
can gamble the limit that where a anamile sees its children perish
without frontin' up for war, it don't possess the commonest roodiments
of sand. Sech, son, is mountain lions.
"It's one evenin' in the Red Light when Colonel Sterett, who's got
through his day's toil on that Coyote paper he's editor of, onfolds
concernin' a panther round-up which he pulls off in his yooth.
"'This panther hunt,' says Colonel Sterett, as he fills his third
tumbler, 'occurs when mighty likely I'm goin' on seventeen winters.
I'm a leader among my young companions at the time; in fact, I allers
is. An' I'm proud to say that my soopremacy that a-way is doo to the
dom'nant character of my intellects. I'm ever bright an' sparklin' as
a child, an' I recalls how my aptitoode for learnin' promotes me to be
regyarded as the smartest lad in my set. If thar's visitors, to the
school, or if the selectmen invades that academy to sort o' size us up,
the teacher allers plays me on 'em. I'd go to the front for the
outfit. Which I'm wont on sech harrowin' o'casions to recite a
ode--the teacher's done wrote it himse'f--an' which is entitled
Napoleon's Mad Career. Thar's twenty-four stanzas to it; an' while
these interlopin' selectmen sets thar lookin' owley an' sagacious, I'd
wallop loose with the twenty-four verses, stampin' up and down, an'
accompanyin' said recitations with sech a multitood of reckless
gestures, it comes plenty clost to backin' everybody plumb outen the
room. Yere's the first verse:
I'd drink an' sw'ar an' r'ar an' t'ar
An' fall down in the mud,
While the y'earth for forty miles about
Is kivered with my blood.
"'You-all can see from that speciment that our schoolmaster ain't
simply flirtin' with the muses when he originates that epic; no sir, he
means business; an' whenever I throws it into the selectmen, I does it
jestice. The trustees used to silently line out for home when I
finishes, an' never a yeep. It stuns 'em; it shore fills 'em to the
brim!
"'As I gazes r'arward,' goes on the Colonel, as by one rapt impulse he
uplifts both his eyes an' his nosepaint, 'as I gazes r'arward, I says,
on them sun-filled days, an' speshul if ever I gets betrayed into
talkin' about 'em, I can hardly t'ar myse'f from the subject. I
explains yeretofore, that not only by inclination but by birth, I'm a
shore-enough 'ristocrat. This captaincy of local fashion I assoomes at
a tender age. I wears the record as the first child to don shoes
throughout the entire summer in that neighbourhood; an' many a time an'
oft does my yoothful but envy-eaten compeers lambaste me for the
insultin' innovation. But I sticks to my moccasins; an' to-day shoes
in the Bloo Grass is almost as yooniversal as the licker habit.
"'Thar dawns a hour, however, when my p'sition in the van of Kaintucky
_ton_ comes within a ace of bein' ser'ously shook. It's on my way to
school one dewey mornin' when I gets involved all inadvertent in a
onhappy rupture with a polecat. I never does know how the
misonderstandin' starts. After all, the seeds of said dispoote is by
no means important; it's enough to say that polecat finally has me
thoroughly convinced.
Followin' the difference an' my defeat, I'm witless enough to keep
goin' on to school, whereas I should have returned homeward an' cast
myse'f upon my parents as a sacred trust. Of course, when I'm in
school I don't go impartin' my troubles to the other chil'en; I
emyoolates the heroism of the Spartan boy who stands to be eat by a
fox, an' keeps 'em to myself. But the views of my late enemy is not to
be smothered; they appeals to my young companions; who tharupon puts up
a most onneedful riot of coughin's an' sneezin's. But nobody knows me
as the party who's so pungent.
"'It's a tryin' moment. I can see that, once I'm located, I'm goin' to
be as onpop'lar as a b'ar in a hawg pen; I'll come tumblin' from my
pinnacle in that proud commoonity as the glass of fashion an' the mold
of form. You can go your bottom peso, the thought causes me to feel
plenty perturbed.
"'At this peril I has a inspiration; as good, too, as I ever entertains
without the aid of rum. I determines to cast the opprobrium on some
other boy an' send the hunt of gen'ral indignation sweepin' along his
trail.
"'Thar's a innocent infant who's a stoodent at this temple of childish
learnin' an' his name is Riley Bark. This Riley is one of them giant
children who's only twelve an' weighs three hundred pounds. An' in
proportions as Riley is a son of Anak, physical, he's dwarfed mental;
he ain't half as well upholstered with brains as a shepherd dog.
That's right; Riley's intellects, is like a fly in a saucer of syrup,
they struggles 'round plumb slow. I decides to uplift Riley to the
public eye as the felon who's disturbin' that seminary's sereenity.
Comin' to this decision, I p'ints at him where he's planted four seats
ahead, all tangled up in a spellin' book, an' says in a loud whisper to
a child who's sittin' next:
"'Throw him out!'
"'That's enough. No gent will ever realise how easy it is to direct a
people's sentiment ontil he take a whirl at the game. In two minutes
by the teacher's bull's-eye copper watch, every soul knows it's pore
Riley; an' in three, the teacher's done drug Riley out doors by the
ha'r of his head an' chased him home. Gents, I look back on that
yoothful feat as a triumph of diplomacy; it shore saves my standin' as
the Beau Brummel of the Bloo Grass.
"'Good old days, them!' observes the Colonel mournfully, 'an' ones
never to come ag'in! My sternest studies is romances, an' the
peroosals of old tales as I tells you-all prior fills me full of moss
an' mockin' birds in equal parts. I reads deep of _Walter Scott_ an'
waxes to be a sharp on Moslems speshul. I dreams of the Siege of Acre,
an' Richard the Lion Heart; an' I simply can't sleep nights for honin'
to hold a tournament an' joust a whole lot for some fair lady's love.
"'Once I commits the error of my career by joustin' with my brother
Jeff. This yere Jeff is settin' on the bank of the Branch fishin' for
bullpouts at the time, an' Jeff don't know I'm hoverin' near at all.
Jeff's reedic'lous fond of fishin'; which he'd sooner fish than read
_Paradise Lost_. I'm romancin' along, sim'larly bent, when I notes
Jeff perched on the bank. To my boyish imagination Jeff at once turns
to be a Paynim. I drops my bait box, couches my fishpole, an' emittin'
a impromptoo warcry, charges him. It's the work of a moment; Jeff's
onhossed an' falls into the Branch.
"'But thar's bitterness to follow vict'ry. Jeff emerges like Diana
from the bath an' frales the wamus off me with a club. Talk of puttin'
a crimp in folks! Gents when Jeff's wrath is assuaged I'm all on one
side like the leanin' tower of Pisa. Jeff actooally confers a skew-gee
to my spinal column.
"'A week later my folks takes me to a doctor. That practitioner puts
on his specs an' looks me over with jealous care.
"'"Whatever's wrong with him, Doc?" says my father.
"'"Nothin'," says the physician, "only your son Willyum's five inches
out o' plumb."
"'Then he rigs a contraption made up of guy-ropes an' stay-laths, an' I
has to wear it; an' mebby in three or four weeks he's got me warped
back into the perpendic'lar.'
"'But how about this cat hunt?" asks Dan Boggs. 'Which I don't aim to
be introosive none, but I'm camped yere through the second drink
waitin' for it, an' these procrastinations is makin' me kind o' batty.'
"'That panther hunt is like this,' says the Colonel turnin' to Dan.
'At the age of seventeen, me an' eight or nine of my intimate brave
comrades founds what we-all denom'nates as the "Chevy Chase Huntin'
Club." Each of us maintains a passel of odds an' ends of dogs, an' at
stated intervals we convenes on hosses, an' with these fourscore curs
at our tails goes yellin' an' skally-hootin' up an' down the
countryside allowin' we're shore a band of Nimrods.
"'The Chevy Chasers ain't been in bein' as a institootion over long
when chance opens a gate to ser'ous work. The deep snows in the
Eastern mountains it looks like has done drove a panther into our
neighbourhood. You could hear of him on all sides. Folks glimpses him
now an' then. They allows he's about the size of a yearlin' calf; an'
the way he pulls down sech feeble people as sheep or lays desolate some
he'pless henroost don't bother him a bit. This panther spreads a
horror over the county. Dances, pra'er meetin's, an' even poker
parties is broken up, an' the social life of that region begins to bog
down. Even a weddin' suffers; the bridesmaids stayin' away lest this
ferocious monster should show up in the road an' chaw one of 'em while
she's _en route_ for the scene of trouble. That's gospel trooth! the
pore deserted bride has to heel an' handle herse'f an' never a friend
to yoonite her sobs with hers doorin' that weddin' ordeal. The old
ladies present shakes their heads a heap solemn.
"'"It's a worse augoory," says one, "than the hoots of a score of
squinch owls."
"'When this reign of terror is at its height, the local eye is rolled
appealin'ly towards us Chevy Chasers. We rises to the opportoonity.
Day after day we're ridin' the hills an' vales, readin' the milk white
snow for tracks. An' we has success. One mornin' I comes up on two of
the Brackenridge boys an' five more of the Chevy Chasers settin' on
their hosses at the Skinner cross roads. Bob Crittenden's gone to turn
me out, they says. Then they p'ints down to a handful of close-wove
bresh an' stunted timber an' allows that this maraudin' cat-o-mount is
hidin' thar; they sees him go skulkin' in.
"'Gents, I ain't above admittin' that the news puts my heart to a
canter. I'm brave; but conflicts with wild an' savage beasts is to me
a novelty an' while I faces my fate without a flutter, I'm yere to say
I'd sooner been in pursoot of minks or raccoons or some varmint whose
grievous cap'bilities I can more ackerately stack up an' in whose merry
ways I'm better versed. However, the dauntless blood of my grandsire
mounts in my cheek; an' as if the shade of that old Trojan is thar
personal to su'gest it, I searches forth a flask an' renoos my sperit;
thus qualified for perils, come in what form they may, I resolootely
stands my hand.
"'Thar's forty dogs if thar's one in our company as we pauses at the
Skinner crossroads. An' when the Crittenden yooth returns, he brings
with him the Rickett boys an' forty added dogs. Which it's worth a
ten-mile ride to get a glimpse of that outfit of canines! Thar's every
sort onder the canopy: thar's the stolid hound, the alert fice, the
sapient collie; that is thar's individyool beasts wherein the hound, or
fice, or collie seems to preedominate as a strain. The trooth is
thar's not that dog a-whinin' about our hosses' fetlocks who ain't
proudly descended from fifteen different tribes, an' they shorely makes
a motley mass meetin'. Still, they're good, zealous dogs; an' as
they're going to go for'ard an' take most of the resks of that panther,
it seems invidious to criticise 'em.
"'One of the Twitty boys rides down an' puts the eighty or more dogs
into the bresh. The rest of us lays back an' strains our eyes. Thar
he is! A shout goes up as we descries the panther stealin' off by a
far corner. He's headin' along a hollow that's full of bresh an' baby
timber an' runs parallel with the pike. Big an' yaller he is; we can
tell from the slight flash we gets of him as he darts into a second
clump of bushes. With a cry--what young Crittenden calls a "view
halloo,"--we goes stampedin' down the pike in pursoot.
"'Our dogs is sta'nch; they shore does themse'fs proud. Singin' in
twenty keys, reachin' from growls to yelps an' from yelps to shrillest
screams, they pushes dauntlessly on the fresh trail of their terrified
quarry. Now an' then we gets a squint of the panther as he skulks from
one copse to another jest ahead. Which he's goin' like a arrow; no
mistake! As for us Chevy Chasers, we parallels the hunt, an'
continyoos poundin' the Skinner turnpike abreast of the pack, ever an'
anon givin' a encouragin' shout as we briefly sights our game.
"'Gents,' says Colonel Sterett, as he ag'in refreshes himse'f, 'it's
needless to go over that hunt in detail. We hustles the flyin' demon
full eighteen miles, our faithful dogs crowdin' close an' breathless at
his coward heels. Still, they don't catch up with him; he streaks it
like some saffron meteor.
"'Only once does we approach within strikin' distance; that's when he
crosses at old Stafford's whiskey still. As he glides into view,
Crittenden shouts:
"'"Thar he goes!"
"'For myse'f I'm prepared. I've got one of these misguided
cap-an'-ball six-shooters that's built doorin' the war; an' I cuts that
hardware loose! This weepon seems a born profligate of lead, for the
six chambers goes off together. Which you should have seen the Chevy
Chasers dodge! An' well they may; that broadside ain't in vain! My
aim is so troo that one of the r'armost dogs evolves a howl an' rolls
over; then he sets up gnawin' an' lickin' his off hind laig in frantic
alternations. That hunt is done for him. We leaves him doctorin'
himse'f an' picks him up two hours later on our triumphant return.
"'As I states, we harries that foogitive panther for eighteen miles an'
in our hot ardour founders two hosses. Fatigue an' weariness begins to
overpower us; also our prey weakens along with the rest. In the half
glimpses we now an' ag'in gets of him its plain that both pace an'
distance is tellin' fast. Still, he presses on; an' as thar's no spur
like fear, that panther holds his distance.
"'But the end comes. We've done run him into a rough, wild stretch of
country where settlements is few an' cabins roode. Of a sudden, the
panther emerges onto the road an' goes rackin' along the trail. We
pushes our spent steeds to the utmost.
"'Thar's a log house ahead; out in the stump-filled lot in front is a
frowsy woman an' five small children. The panther leaps the rickety
worm-fence an' heads straight as a bullet for the cl'arin'! Horrors!
the sight freezes our marrows! Mad an' savage, he's doo to bite a hunk
outen that devoted household! Mutooally callin' to each other, we
goads our hosses to the utmost. We gain on the panther! He may wound
but he won't have time to slay that fam'ly.
"'Gents, it's a soopreme moment! The panther makes for the female
squatter an' her litter, we pantin' an' pressin' clost behind. The
panther is among 'em; the woman an' the children seems transfixed by
the awful spectacle an' stands rooted with open eyes an' mouths. Our
emotions shore beggars deescriptions.
"'Now ensooes a scene to smite the hardiest of us with dismay. No
sooner does the panther find himse'f in the midst of that he'pless bevy
of little ones, than he stops, turns round abrupt, an' sets down on his
tail; an' then upliftin' his muzzle he busts into shrieks an' yells an'
howls an' cries, a complete case of dog hysterics! That's what he is,
a great yeller dog; his reason is now a wrack because we harasses him
the eighteen miles.
"'Thar's a ugly outcast of a squatter, mattock in hand, comes tumblin'
down the hillside from some'ers out back of the shanty where he's been
grubbin':
"'"What be you-all eediots chasin' my dog for?" demands this onkempt
party. Then he menaces us with the implement.
"'We makes no retort but stands passive. The great orange brute whose
nerves has been torn to rags creeps to the squatter an' with mournful
howls explains what we've made him suffer.
"'No, thar's nothin' further to do an' less to be said. That
cavalcade, erstwhile so gala an' buoyant, drags itself wearily
homeward, the exhausted dogs in the r'ar walkin' stiff an' sore like
their laigs is wood. For more'n a mile the complainin' howls of the
hysterical yeller dog is wafted to our y'ears. Then they ceases; an'
we figgers his sympathizin' master has done took him into the shanty
an' shet the door.
"'No one comments on this adventure, not a word is heard. Each is
silent ontil we mounts the Big Murray hill. As we collects ourse'fs on
this eminence one of the Brackenridge boys holds up his hand for a
halt. "Gents," he says, as--hosses, hunters an' dogs--we-all gathers
'round, "gents, I moves you the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club yereby stands
adjourned _sine die_." Thar's a moment's pause, an' then as by one
impulse every gent, hoss an' dog, says "Ay!" It's yoonanimous, an'
from that hour till now the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club ain't been nothin'
save tradition. But that panther shore disappears; it's the end of his
vandalage; an' ag'in does quadrilles, pra'rs, an poker resoom their
wonted sway. That's the end; an' now, gents, if Black Jack will caper
to his dooties we'll uplift our drooped energies with the usual forty
drops."