I may explain that strictly it was not a panther that
figures in this story, but that is the name--or more commonly
"painter"--given to the puma, or cougar, of North America. At one time
this animal was as common all the country over as the fox is in England
at present, and even more so, but as the result of the increase and
spread of population it is now found only in remote parts, and is
becoming increasingly rare.

Thirty years ago, however, when I resided in America, and when the
incident happened which I am about to relate, there were considerable
numbers to be found in parts of the Alleghany Mountains, and not
infrequently an odd one would travel farther afield on a marauding
expedition.

At the time of which I write I was residing at Brookfield, about thirty
miles north of Utica. It was near the end of October, when, according to
custom, all were busy banking up the sides of their houses, and in other
ways preparing for winter, when complaints began to be made by the
farmers of depredations among their sheep, by, as was supposed, some dog
or dogs unknown. Hardly a morning came but some farmer or other found
his flock reduced in this way, until the whole neighbourhood was roused
to excited indignation against the whole dog tribe. Suspicion fell in
turn upon almost every poor cur of the neighbourhood, and many a poor
canine innocent was done to death, some by drowning, others by poison,
and more by shooting; until it seemed as if all the sheep and dogs of
the countryside would be wiped out.

What served only to deepen the mystery was the fact that here and there
a calf was killed and partly eaten, indicating that if it were the work
of a dog it must be one of unusual size, strength, and ferocity. So
exasperated did the farmers become at length, that a meeting was held at
Brookfield, at which it was resolved to offer a reward of two hundred
dollars, "to any one killing the dog, _or other animal_, or giving such
information as would lead to its discovery." The words "or other animal"
had been inserted at the suggestion of a man who had heard unusual
noises at night proceeding from the Oneida Swamp, a desolate, densely
wooded tract of country, extending to within a mile or so of his
dwelling. This circumstance had created in his mind the suspicion that
the cause of all the trouble might not, after all, be a dog, but this he
kept to himself.

One morning my brother and I, with three others, started early for a
day