“I was just thinking so myself,” exclaimed Featherweight, and his voice trembled a little with excitement. “He keeps too still for a bear, and when the fire blazes up so that I can see him quite plainly, I can make out a long, slim body. If I know anything, it is a panther.”
A panther! The boys repeated the word in tones of excitement, cocked their guns rather hurriedly, and their fingers trembled as they rested on the triggers. Mr. Gaylord walked around the tree, looking at the animal from different positions, and several times raised his rifle as if he were about to shoot. Finally he announced that they had certainly treed a panther, adding that he was so effectually protected by the branches that it would be a waste of ammunition to fire at him. They must cut the tree down.
This decision had no sooner been rendered, than the hunters proceeded to act upon it. Walter and Bab pulled off their coats, and stationing themselves on opposite sides of the tree went manfully to work, while the others stood around with their guns in their hands, keeping their eyes fastened on the game, and ready to take the place of the choppers as soon as the latter grew tired. They were all intensely excited—they could not be otherwise, standing as they were under a tree containing a panther, and knowing that he could come down from his perch and make short work with them at any moment. They all thought of the danger, but there was not one among them who had any idea of standing back and allowing the others to do all the work and gain all the applause. A panther was something worth killing in those days. Aside from the honor, there was money to be made by it, for the authorities of the parish paid twenty-five dollars for the scalp of every one of these animals that was killed within its limits.
The choppers were at work upon the tree fully twenty minutes, and during all this time the panther sat upon his perch glaring down at his foes, and never once changing his position. But as the top of the oak began to waver he looked about him uneasily, and when a loud crack announced that it was about to fall, he started up and gathered himself for a spring.
“Shoot away, boys!” cried Mr. Gaylord; “he’s going to run. If we allow him to reach the woods we shall lose him.”
Six guns cracked in quick succession, and bullets and buckshot rattled through the top of the oak, bringing twigs and dead leaves down in a perfect shower. But if any of the missiles struck the panther they failed to reach a vital part, for the animal sprang into the air with all the ease and agility of a squirrel, and alighting among the branches of a tall hickory fully twenty feet distant, quickly disappeared from sight. While the hunters stood looking at him the oak came down with a crash, and in an instant the dogs were tumbling about among the branches, searching everywhere for the game, and seemingly very much astonished at not finding him.
“The fun is over for to-night, boys,” said Mr. Gaylord, who being an old sportsman took matters very coolly. “We’ll go to bed now, and in the morning we’ll put the dogs on his trail and follow him up and finish him.”
The Club exchanged significant glances when they heard this; but said nothing until they reached the house, and then they stopped to hold a consultation.