ere our difficulty began, it being
broken and indistinct, owing to the leaves which the snow was not thick
enough to cover.

We proceeded with great caution, and the trees being fairly wide apart,
and the brush not very thick, Vidler remained mounted, whilst I
continued at his side. It was evident from the tremulous excitement and
frequent sniffing of the mare that she was aware that something unusual
was up, and from this we inferred the need of a keen look-out.

We had thus proceeded some three hundred yards, when we suddenly came
upon a dip in the ground. We each lifted our eyes from the land, which
we had continued to closely scan for traces of the trail, when we were
startled by a snarl, and just ahead, lying under the trunk of a big tree
which had fallen across the dip, was a huge panther, apparently just
awakened from its sleep by our approach. The brute was lashing its tail
and quivering with rage, and was evidently preparing to spring upon us.

Here, then, undoubtedly was the cause of all the recent trouble. For a
moment the mare stood trembling with alarm, and the next she swung
round, almost hurling Vidler from her back, and flew like the wind along
the way by which we had come. Though it all took place in much less time
than it takes to record, every detail is indelibly registered on my mind
till this day.

There was no time, even had I had the necessary self-possession, for me
to take aim and fire, and had I done so it would almost certainly have
increased the danger, for my gun was loaded only with a charge for a
partridge or woodchuck.

As the mare swung round away from me, I seized Vidler's foot, which was
most fortunate both for him and myself, for it was my weight that
prevented him from being thrown, and, holding on for dear life, I was
dragged clear of danger. The suddenness of the movement jerked my gun
from my grasp, and as Vidler possessed no weapon we were defenceless,
and it would have been madness to think of returning for mine.

It seemed but a moment before we reached the open "lot," where with
difficulty we reined the mare in. After a brief deliberation we decided
to make our way to the village and organise a hunting-party. We made our
way to the store of Wack Stillman, a favourite rendezvous for the
loafers and off-works. Here we found Orson Clark, one of the best
hunters in all the countryside, with two others with a large strain of
the swashbuckler in their characters, who were alwa