CHAPTER VII.
A Midnight Attack.
After supper, the hunters stretched themselves out on their blanketsaround the fire; but the usual evening conversation was omitted. Theirday's work had fatigued them all, and soon their regular breathingtold that sleep had overpowered them.
About midnight Frank, who slept away from the fire, and almost againstthe door, was aroused by a slight noise outside the cabin, like thestealthy tread of some animal in the snow. He had begun to acquiresomething 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 stoodlooking at the door, with every hair sticking toward their heads, butwithout uttering a sound. Frank reached for his gun, which hung onsome pegs just above his head, and at that moment he heard a soundresembling the "wheeze" of a glandered horse.
"Bars and buffaler!" exclaimed Dick, suddenly arousing from a soundsleep, and drawing his long hunting-knife, which he always carried inhis belt; "there's a painter around here somewhere--I'm sartin Iheered 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 wasa hurried reaching for guns, and a putting on of fresh caps.
"Lend me your rifle, Dick," said Frank, "and I'll shoot him. I havenever 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 whitebuck--he are, that's sartin!"
As Dick spoke there was a violent rustling in the bushes, and a soundas of a heavy body falling on the snow. Then there was a slightstruggle, and all was still again. Frank quickly threw open the door,and hunters and dogs all rushed out together. It was very dark; butFrank, who was in advance of his companions, could just distinguish ablack object crouching in the snow near the tree where the white buckhad been fastened. In an instant his rifle was at his shoulder, and asthe whip-like report resounded through the woods, the panther uttereda howl that sounded very much like the voice of a human being indistress, and, with one bound, disappeared in the bushes.
The quick-scented dogs found his trail in a twinkling. Guided by theirbarking, the hunters followed after them as rapidly as possible, inhopes that the dogs would soon overtake the panther and compel him totake to a tree. Running through a thick woods in a dark night is not apleasant task; and the hunters made headway very slowly. But at lengththey came up with three of the dogs, which were standing at the footof 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 heain't, neither," he continued. "Useless, ye're fooled for onct in yourlife. 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 varmintmay 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 restof 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 meinto 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, andthe boys were about to fire, when the trapper, who had thrown himselfalmost flat on the snow, to obtain a better view of the animal, hearda 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. Ishouldn't wonder if he had been follerin' the painter all alone byhimself."
The boys lowered their guns, and, in a few moments, to the infinitejoy of Frank, Brave came up. He crawled slowly and with difficultytoward his master, and the hunters could see that he had been severelyhandled. He had several long, ugly wounds on his body, which werebleeding profusely.
"Wal, I'll be shot!" exclaimed the trapper, "if that ar fool of a dogdidn't tackle the painter! He ought to knowed better. The varmintcould 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 wemight 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 ofhis capture. But the panther had put an end to these anticipations;and Frank determined, as long as he remained in the woods, to wage amerciless war against all his tribe.
A few moments' walk brought the hunters to the cabin, and they went atonce to the place where they had left the white buck. The panther hadtorn an ugly-looking hole in his throat, and he was stone dead. It wasevident, from the position in which he lay, that the panther hadendeavored to drag him away, but was prevented by the rope and thetimely interference of the hunters. As regrets were useless, Frank andhis cousin carried the remains of the buck into the cabin. Afterfastening the door and replenishing the fire, the hunters again soughttheir blankets.
The next morning they were stirring long before daybreak, and Archiebusied himself in removing the skin of the white buck, while hiscousin, who was impatient to commence his war upon the panthers, wasemployed in cleaning his gun and sharpening his hunting-knife. Braveseemed to understand that something unusual was on hand. In spite ofthe rough treatment he had received the night before, he appeared tohave plenty of spirit left in him still, and acted as though he wereimpatient to be off.
"Dick, will you lend me your trap?" inquired Frank, after he hadfinished 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 tomake up for the killing of the white buck. He was worth more to methan my entire museum."
"Wal," said Dick, as he handed Frank the trap, "if you can get him tostick his foot in the 'Ole Settler,' he's yourn, an' no mistake. Thatar 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 Icome back."
He set out, with Brave as his only companion. The trapper did notaccompany him, for the reason that he had work of his own to attendto; and besides, although he was constantly scolding and finding faultwith Frank for his "carelessness," he was proud of his courage, andadmired the spirit that prompted this somewhat hazardous undertaking,and wished to allow him to reap all the honors himself. Archie andGeorge 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 theidea of panther-hunting, and had tried every means in their power toinduce Frank to abandon his project. Harry thought at first that hewould be delighted to go, but, on reflection, he remembered hisadventure with the wolves, and was fearful of another similar"scrape." So, as we have said, Frank started out alone, with nothingon which to depend except the faithful Brave, and his own courage andskill as a marksman. He was well enough acquainted with the woods, andthe animals that inhabited them, to know that there was danger in theundertaking; but he thought only of the disappointment he had sufferedin the death of the white buck, and the pleasure there would be inseeing the panther that had killed him stuffed and mounted in hismuseum.
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 andescaped, Here the trail, of course, ended; but Brave had nodifficulty in finding it again, and from this Frank concluded that hemust have seen the panther jumping from tree to tree
, and had followedhim, until the latter, seeing that he was pursued by only one of hisenemies, had descended to the ground and given battle, which had, ofcourse, ended in Brave's defeat.
After a careful examination, Frank could discover but threefoot-prints in the trail, which looked as though some one hadendeavored to obliterate it, by drawing a heavy stick over it. Hecould 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 athim; so, without stopping to make any more observations, he orderedBrave to "Hunt 'em up."
The dog immediately set off on the trail, and Frank kept as close tohim as possible. The panther had made good use of his time, for theyfollowed the trail until almost four o'clock in the afternoon, withoutcoming up with him. In the excitement of the chase, Frank had notthought of stopping to eat his dinner, and he was both tired andhungry. A few moments' rest, and a piece of the cold venison andbread, with which his haversack was well stored, he thought wouldenable him to follow the trail until dark. He began to look around tofind a good place to build a fire, when a loud bark from Brave droveall such thoughts out of his mind, and he ran forward to the placewhere 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 atree, just ready to begin his meal.
One of his hind-legs was entirely useless, having been broken by theshot from the rifle; and that it was which had given that peculiarlook to his trail. How he had managed to climb so many trees, andtravel such a distance, with his leg in that condition, Frank couldnot imagine. But he was not allowed much time to make observations,for the panther crouched lower over his prey, and lashed his sideswith his tail, as if about to spring toward him. He was within easyrange, and Frank cocked both barrels of his gun, and slowly raised theweapon to his shoulder. His hand could not have been more steady if hehad been aiming at a squirrel. He glanced along the clean, brown tubesfor a moment, and fired both barrels in quick succession. The gun hadbeen heavily loaded, in order to "make sure work" of the panther, andthe immense recoil threw Frank flat on his back. When he recovered hisfeet, he saw the panther stretched out motionless on the ground. Thebuck-shot had done its work.
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