ent! The panther makes for the female
squatter an' her litter, we pantin' an' pressin' clost behind. The
panther is among 'em; the woman an' the children seems transfixed by
the awful spectacle an' stands rooted with open eyes an' mouths. Our
emotions shore beggars deescriptions.

"'Now ensooes a scene to smite the hardiest of us with dismay. No
sooner does the panther find himse'f in the midst of that he'pless bevy
of little ones, than he stops, turns round abrupt, an' sets down on his
tail; an' then upliftin' his muzzle he busts into shrieks an' yells an'
howls an' cries, a complete case of dog hysterics! That's what he is,
a great yeller dog; his reason is now a wrack because we harasses him
the eighteen miles.

"'Thar's a ugly outcast of a squatter, mattock in hand, comes tumblin'
down the hillside from some'ers out back of the shanty where he's been
grubbin':

"'"What be you-all eediots chasin' my dog for?" demands this onkempt
party. Then he menaces us with the implement.

"'We makes no retort but stands passive. The great orange brute whose
nerves has been torn to rags creeps to the squatter an' with mournful
howls explains what we've made him suffer.

"'No, thar's nothin' further to do an' less to be said. That
cavalcade, erstwhile so gala an' buoyant, drags itself wearily
homeward, the exhausted dogs in the r'ar walkin' stiff an' sore like
their laigs is wood. For more'n a mile the complainin' howls of the
hysterical yeller dog is wafted to our y'ears. Then they ceases; an'
we figgers his sympathizin' master has done took him into the shanty
an' shet the door.

"'No one comments on this adventure, not a word is heard. Each is
silent ontil we mounts the Big Murray hill. As we collects ourse'fs on
this eminence one of the Brackenridge boys holds up his hand for a
halt. "Gents," he says, as--hosses, hunters an' dogs--we-all gathers
'round, "gents, I moves you the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club yereby stands
adjourned _sine die_." Thar's a moment's pause, an' then as by one
impulse every gent, hoss an' dog, says "Ay!" It's yoonanimous, an'
from that hour till now the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club ain't been nothin'
save tradition. But that panther shore disappears; it's the end of his
vandalage; an' ag'in does quadrilles, pra'rs, an poker resoom their
wonted sway. That's the end; an' now, gents, if Black Jack will caper
to his dooties we'll uplift our drooped energies with the usual forty
drops."