bout
four feet above the floor, his back arched, every hair in his body
sticking toward his head, his mouth open, displaying a frightful array
of teeth, his ears laid back close to his head, and his sharp claws
spread out, presenting altogether a savage appearance; and you are
glad that you see him dead and stuffed, and not alive and running at
liberty in the forest in the full possession of strength. But the
young naturalist once stood face to face with this ugly customer under
very different circumstances.

About forty miles north of Lawrence lives an old man named Joseph
Lewis. He owns about five hundred acres of land, and in summer he
"farms it" very industriously; but as soon as the trapping season
approaches he leaves his property to the care of his hired men, and
spends most of the time in the woods. About two-thirds of his farm is
still in its primeval state, and bears, wild-cats, and panthers abound
in great numbers. The village boys are never more delighted than when
the winter vacation comes, and they can gain the permission of their
parents to spend a fortnight with "Uncle Joe," as they call him.

The old man is always glad to see them, and enlivens the long winter
evenings with many a thrilling story of his early life. During the
winter that had just passed, Frank, in company with his cousin Archie
Winters, of whom more hereafter, paid a visit to Uncle Joe. One cold,
stormy morning, as they sat before a blazing fire, cracking
hickory-nuts, the farmer burst suddenly into the house, which was
built of logs, and contained but one room, and commenced taking down
his rifle.

"What's the matter, Uncle Joe?" inquired Archie.

"Matter!" repeated the farmer; "why, some carnal varmint got into my
sheep-pen last night, and walked off with some of my mutton. Come," he
continued, as he slung on his bullet-pouch, "let's go and shoot him."

Frank and Archie were ready in a few minutes; and, after dropping a
couple of buck-shot into each barrel of their guns, followed the
farmer out to the sheep-pen. It was storming violently, and it was
with great difficulty that they could find the "varmint's" track.
After half an hour's search, however, with the assistance of the
farmer's dogs, they discovered it, and began to follow it up, the dogs
leading the way. But the snow had fallen so deep that it almost
covered the scent, and they frequently found themselves at fault.
After following the track for two hours, the dogs sudd