“But the trouble is, I don’t seem able to fire from here without taking some chances of hitting one of the people,” Frank went on, betraying what was worrying him so much. “A bullet can strike the hard limb of a tree, and be deflected in all sorts of queer ways, you know.” “Frank, you are right, there,” said old Luther Snow, admiringly. “But we must do something to help them, Frank!” ejaculated Will, himself ready to undertake the work of rescue if his companions failed to think up a remedy for the trouble. “That’s right!” cried Bluff; and immediately he disappeared in the cabin; which the others knew meant that he was after the pump-gun, upon which he seemed to place so much dependence, though it hardly seemed the right kind of weapon when facing a panther. “I was thinking,” Frank went on, as if making up his mind; “that if I dropped into our little dinghy, I might paddle around to the other side of the tree, and get a crack at the beast.” “You’re just right you could, Frank!” admitted Jerry; and even Will, although not used to much in this line, nodded his head. Then he vanished, as though an idea had struck him; and Frank understood. Will, too, had gone to arm himself, not with a gun, but his snapshot camera, which he meant to use in taking several pictures of the strange scene, with the floating tree, the family hanging in the branches; and perhaps a glimpse of the savage beast crouching there. Will and Bluff appeared at almost the same time, and it was to find Frank hastening to drop into the little skiff which they dignified by the better sounding name of dinghy or “dinky.” Frank had already placed his rifle aboard, with the muzzle turned away from him, as every careful hunter always makes sure of doing. “Set me loose, Jerry,” he remarked. They had almost overtaken the big tree, in the branches of which this strange little comedy, that threatened to become a tragedy at any minute, was taking place. “Can you see him from up there, boys?” called out Frank, as, paddle in hand, he started the boat down the current, and in a direction that would allow him to get below the tree. “There! I got a fine shot at him then!” cried Will; who, being an artist, was always on the lookout for a pose, and a picture that would do him credit when exposed to the gaze of his friends at home. “But he dodged right afterwards,” added Jerry; “and I don’t see him now, Frank.” “Say, he’s climbing up among the branches, I do believe!” called Bluff, who was again on the lookout, gun in hand. The people in the tree were shouting at a great rate, the man trying to urge Frank to hurry and shoot, the woman and children shrieking in their terror, as they saw the treacherous, sleek beast constantly drawing nearer. But Frank on his part did not really believe that the panther meant to attack the fugitives of the flood. With the instinct of his kind the beast, no doubt, understood that all he had to fear lay in the direction of these newcomers.