"There he is now, all right, I guess," exclaimed the husband, as he heard the cattle going into the barn. "I'll go out and help him turn them in."
As he opened the door, in rushed Tiger, uttering fearful moans, and shaking like an aspen leaf. The mastiff was in a terrible condition. His brindled hide was all covered with blood, and there were torn places and gaping wounds on his neck and shoulders, showing conclusively that he had been engaged in a fight with some powerful animal. Mrs. Goodwin sat down, white and faint, in a chair.
"Charley is dead. I know he is. The beast has killed my boy. Oh, what shall I do?" she sobbed, half frantic in her grief.
"Be calm, mother," said the settler. "I don't believe it's as bad as that. The creature attacked the dog. Perhaps Charley is hiding somewhere. I'll get Neighbor Savary to go with me, and we'll see if he can't be found."
He lit a candle and placed it in an old tin lantern, and went to the house of his next-door neighbor. Together the two men followed the path to the pasture, and searched that inclosure all over; but they were unable to find any trace of the boy.
Once or twice they stopped and called his name, but there was no answer. As they were passing through the thick underbrush by the banks of the brook, a fierce scream stayed their steps. There was the sound of a large body tearing through the shrubbery, and by the light of their lantern they saw the fierce beast spring up into a tree and begin tearing the bark with its claws.
"It's a painter, sure enough," said Goodwin's neighbor. "We'd better start for the house, seeing as how we ain't armed."
"And must I go home without my boy? How can I? It will kill my poor wife."
"It's the only thing left us. There, the painter's going away. It's useless to stand here any longer."
The beast was heard moving off; and they turned sadly toward home.