“As for you two other young men,” said Mr. Pitman, “the best thing you can do is to get into your boat and anchor her a little way out in the river. You can see the sport from there as well as anywhere, if you can see it at all; and if there’s too many folks ashore, I’m afraid the painter will smell us out, or see somebody; and besides, I wouldn’t want to have him ranging ’round here, and two young fellows in the bushes with no way to take care of themselves.” Chap and Phœnix did not like this plan very much, but they preferred being in the boat to going into the house and peeping through a crack. It was lighter on the water than on the land, and Mr. Pitman assured them that if they kept themselves pretty much out of sight, and quiet, they could look all they liked, for the panther wouldn’t mind a boat, for there had been boats around when he came the night before. So Chap and Phœnix went on board The Rolling Stone, taking the smaller shot-gun with them, and, pushing out a couple of hundred feet from shore, anchored and lay down to await events. Adam and Phil were then placed behind some low-growing bushes a little distance up the beach; while Mr. Pitman took his position behind the roots of a fallen palmetto, not far away. The panther was expected to come from the woods below the house, and from their places of concealment each of the party could get a good view of the little pier where the dog had been killed, and which was still stained with his blood. The wind was blowing gently from the south, so that if the panther carried out the plan as Mr. Pitman had arranged it, there would be no danger of his catching the scent of his concealed enemies. [Illustration] CHAPTER XX. THE VISITOR ARRIVES. For a long, long time our friends behind the bushes and the uprooted tree, as well as those in the boat, waited and waited for the appearance of the panther. It was now as dark as it would be, but the stars were out, and, with eyes accustomed to the gloom, objects could be easily seen upon the beach or on the water. But, so far, nothing moved from the woods toward the little pier. “I might just as well have had another cup of coffee,” whispered Adam, “for there was plenty in the pot, and have smoked my pipe. I knowed he’d be a long time comin’.” “You mustn’t talk so much,” said Mr. Pitman, from his post near by, “for painters have mighty sharp ears. And mind, I don’t want any of you to fire till he’s out on the pier, for if you crack at him while he’s on the beach, you might send a ball into the house. That ’ud make it lively for mother and the girls. I put us all here close together, so that we shouldn’t fire into one another.” “Who’s talking now?” thought Phil, but he said nothing.