With a twisted withe for a rope we laboriously dragged our prize to the canoe, and so got it across the river. Here we met the Indian who had been Johnston’s teacher in the art of tomahawk-throwing. He seemed immensely relieved at seeing us. "Me see you boys go over this morning, then hear devil scream this afternoon, and hear you go bang. Me ’fraid you all deaded this time." Then as he discovered the fatal gash in the brute’s head, his face lit up with pride. "Johnston, you do that!" he cried. "Ah! smart boy. Me learn you how throw tomahawk like that." Jack blushingly acknowledged the fact, and gave his Indian instructor due meed of praise for having taught him so well. It was too big a job to get the heavy carcass of the panther any further, so the Indian took off the head and skin for us, and we presented him with the body, which he said was good to eat, and would "make Indian strong." Our arrival at home with the trophies of our triumph over the terror of the forest caused great rejoicing. We were the heroes of the hour, and Charlie quite forgot his bruised shoulder in the pleasant excitement of the occasion. We often revisited Indian Devil Run after that, and took many a fine fare of fish from its well-stocked waters, but we never saw another panther. We had apparently killed the last of the brood. *IN THE NICK OF TIME.* "Will you be out to practice this evening, Charlie?" asked Rob M’Kenzie of his friend Kent, as the two, who had been walking home from the high school together, parted at a corner. "Indeed, that I will," was the reply; "and every evening, too, until the match comes off. It’ll take all the practice we can put in to beat those Riverside chaps, I can tell you." "Pshaw! What makes you think they’ll be so hard to beat this time?" returned Rob. "We’ve always had our fair share of the games so far." "So we have; but they didn’t have Sam Massie playing with them." "Sam Massie! who’s Sam Massie?" exclaimed Rob, in surprise. "Don’t you know who Sam Massie is? Why, he’s one of the first twelve of the Torontos," replied Charlie, looking somewhat astonished at his friend’s ignorance. "Then how on earth can he play with the Riversides?" asked Rob. "Can’t we protest?" "Oh, that’s all right enough. His uncle lives in Riverside, and he is staying with him for a while, so we can’t object to his playing." "Humph!" growled Rob. "It’s a pity we can’t. We’ve got nobody to match him." "I don’t think it’s a pity at all," returned Charlie cheerfully. "I’d a good deal rather see a crack player like Sam Massie, and get some points from him, than object to his playing, even if he gains the match for the other fellows. We’ll do our best to give him a good day’s work, any way. So let’s practise hard." And Charlie went off whistling.