The negroes shouted and swung their torches. Perhaps they made so much noise and had so many lights because they somewhat feared the "ha'nts" that many of them talked about and believed in.
But the two white men were not thinking of ghosts. They feared what might have happened to the two children if they had met the panther.
Just at this time, too, Russ and Rose were not thinking of ghosts. The panther was not at all ghostly. He had four great paws, each armed with claws that seemed quite capable of tearing to pieces the roof boards of the cabin the children had taken refuge in.
"He'll get to us! He will! He will!" Rose cried over and over.
"No, he won't," said her brother, but his voice trembled. "I—I don't see how he can."
"Let's run out again while he's on the roof, and run home," said Rose.
"We don't know the way home," objected her brother.
"We can find it. I don't want to be shut up here with that cat."
"It's not so bad. He hasn't got in yet."
But Rose ran to the door, and then she made another discovery that added to her fright. The door could not be opened! The spring lock on the outside had snapped and there was no way of springing the bolt from inside the shack.