"That panther was nothing to my first," said Uncle Harry, with a laugh.
"Tell us about it," pleaded Charlie, as he drew his chair closer to his uncle's.
Uncle Harry laughed again good-naturedly, and commenced as follows:
It was the summer your father got married that I took my first trip into the Adirondacks. I went up to Martin's, hired a guide, and we started off for Little Tupper Lake, where we were to camp. We selected a camping-place at the head of the lake, where there was a good spring of water, and soon had our tent up, and the camp fixed. Certain bear and panther tracks around the spring did not add to our sense of security; but the guide assured me that they would not come into camp in the daytime, and that at night the dog would give warning. For the first three or four days all went well; we shot a deer, caught plenty of trout, and had a good time generally. But one afternoon, about four o'clock, Hank Sweeny, my guide, came to me with the announcement that the dog was gone.
"Chawed up his rope, and skedaddled," as Hank expressed it. "I reckon he must 'a smelled that thar panther that was to the spring last night. He's death on panthers."
"What are you going to do?" I inquired, anxiously.
"Well, I reckon I'll fetch some more wood into camp, so as you can keep up a fire, then I'll take and row around the lake and up the creek, and yell for him; he won't go fur," answered Hank.
"Then why not let him come home himself?" I suggested, for I had no fancy for being left in camp alone; for we had been in camp all the morning, and Hank had filled my head so full of panther stories that I trembled at every sound.
"Why, you see, he'd start out for home over on Long Lake ef he got lost," explained Hank. "And then ef he should tree a panther, he'd set at the foot of the tree till 1976 ef I didn't call him off. You ain't afraid to keep camp for an hour or two?" he added.
"O-h-h n-o-o!" I murmured.