Mr. Edwards, however, was slow to believe that we had hit the
animal, and refused to dress and go out. It was now about two o'clock. I
did not like to go home alone, and so went to bed with Tom. In
consequence of our vigils we slept till sunrise. Meanwhile, on going out
to milk, Tom's father had had the curiosity to visit the scene of our
adventure. A trail of blood spots leading from the knoll into the woods
convinced him that we had really damaged the prowler; and picking up the
axe that I had dropped, he followed the trail. Large red stains at
intervals showed that the animal had stopped frequently to grovel on the
snow. About half a mile from the knoll, Mr. Edwards came upon the beast,
in a fir thicket, making distressful sounds, and quite helpless to
defend itself. A blow on the head from the poll of the axe finished the
creature; and, taking it by the tail, Mr. Edwards dragged it to the
house. The carcass was lying in the dooryard when Tom's mother waked us.

"Get up and see your striped catamount!" she called up the chamber
stairs.

Hastily donning our clothes we rushed down. Truth to say, the "monster"
of so many startling stories was somewhat disappointing to contemplate.
It was far from being so big as we had thought it in the night--indeed,
it was no larger than a medium-sized dog. It had coarse black hair with
two indistinct, yellowish-white stripes, or bands, along its sides. Its
legs were short, but strong, its claws white, hooked and about an inch
and a quarter long. The head was broad and flat, and the ears were low
and wide apart. It was not in the least like a catamount. In short, it
was, as the reader may have guessed, a wolverene, or glutton, an animal
rarely seen in Maine even by the early settlers, for its habitat is much
farther north.

As Tom and I stood looking the creature over, my cousin Theodora
appeared, coming from the old Squire's to make inquiries for me. They
had missed me and were uneasy about me.

During the day every boy in the neighborhood came to see the animal, and
many of the older people, too. In fact, several people came from a
considerable distance to look at the beast. The "glory" was Tom's for
making so good a shot in the night, yet, in a way, I shared it with him.

"Don't you ever say a word about our running from the sleigh," Tom
cautioned me many times that day, and added that he would never have run
except for my bad example.

I was obliged to put up in silence with