Smull was oblivious to all this; he had ears for nothing, and eyes only for the scrap of paper beneath the tree. Relieved momentarily from the hindrance which Bob had caused to his movements, he staggered and plunged toward dry ground.
The limb creaked again. A long, savage snarl rose harshly upon the still night air.
"A painter!" cried Tom Smull. His voice was hoarse with sudden terror. "It's a painter! The two of us is goners!"
CHAPTER XX
GOLD CREEK
Madly the lumberman hurled himself forward, seized the map, and turned in the direction of his broncho, while, but an instant afterward, a long, tawny body sprang from the limb and landed on the edge of the marsh.
All thoughts of Wanatoma's drawing vanished from Bob Somers' mind, as he stood with but a few yards between him and a panther. The moonlight revealed the animal's ears thrown far back; his tail was lashing fiercely; he seemed on the point of leaping again.
"Great Scott!" breathed Bob.
The boy's hand flew to his holster. Backing slowly away, he kept his revolver leveled at the animal's head; his hand was steady, though his heart thumped hard. It was a moment of great suspense. Almost mechanically, he saw the riders looming up clearly in the moonlight.