I ran to the window. The same impressions were on the snow-covered sill, and then beyond on the near ledge of the cliff. Some animal had entered by the window, rushed through the cabin, and then re-entering, had retreated by the same way to the cliff. That it was a wild-cat or panther I was convinced; and this conviction was strengthened when my mind reverted to the cries, which were similar to those made by the cat species.
The whole mystery seemed cleared up. The wild, rugged precipice held on its face a den of panthers; the cabin was another retreat of theirs, and the bloody pool on the floor was the mark of some recent feast.
Gathering up the blankets I followed in Tabal’s footprints for half a mile, when I met him coming towards me with the settler he had remained with during a part of the previous night. My appearance to him was like one raised from the dead. We returned to the cabin, and my conclusions were confirmed by their immediate affirmations that, “nairy varmint but a painter hed made them tracks, an’ they ’lowed the cabin mought not be hanted arter all.”
Soon after this night’s adventure, a systematic hunt was organized; and in the chase four panthers which had had their hereditary den in the cliff’s face were killed. With this slaughter all reasonable fears of the cabin’s being haunted vanished, and now it is made the usual rendezvous for hunters driving bears or deer in that locality.
“Wal,” exclaimed one of the Federal court witnesses, “thet’s a blamed good way to git red o’ hants!”
“Now,” said Upson, directing his speech toward me, “we would like to hear from you.”
“I have no personal experience to relate,” I replied, “but can tell you something, similar in nature to your story, as it was told me by an old resident of Graham county.”
Immediately there was a hearty invitation extended me to begin; so without ceremony I preluded what follows with the announcement that the tale was the one of
THE PHANTOM MILLERS.