If Sandy was in danger, then it must be some of those hateful French trappers again. Bob could remember how they had first met them, and there were three at that time. A fine deer had fallen before the gun of one of the brothers, and, upon rushing forward to bleed the prize, they found themselves confronted by a trio of burly men whose appearance told the lads that they were French trappers, even before they proved this fact by their speech. These fellows had claimed that they shot the deer, and there was trouble in prospect that might have ended seriously, but for the fortunate coming of Kenton and two companions, who proved the right of the boys to the spoils, and sent the Frenchmen away, with a warning not to look back or they would rue it. Quickly Bob covered the ground. All the while he had his gun ready for use in case of necessity. Now he could see Sandy, and, when he discovered the other on hands and knees, great was his wonder, until he heard him cry out: "Take care, Bob, there's a big panther in the brush close by, and bent on jumping on you! My foot's fast in the trap, and I can't get free. Go slow, and be ready to shoot, for he's savage with hunger, and as fierce as they make them. Look out! there he comes now!" CHAPTER III FROM ONE PERIL TO ANOTHER BOB did not need the warning from Sandy to put him on his guard. The mere fact that there was a panther near by was sufficient reason for his alertness, because no animal that roamed the woods was more respected than this sleek gray beast with the square jaws, the powerful muscles and the sharp claws. Every slight movement of the bushes caused Bob to turn his eyes in that direction, with his gun half raised, ready to take a quick shot. And, yet, he knew well how important it was that he use extreme care, when the time came for firing. A wounded panther was a thing to be dreaded by even the stoutest-hearted hunter. He had heard many stories told around the family hearth at home about these animals, by such men as Pat O'Mara, the jolly Irish borderer, old Reuben Jacks, the veteran hunter, and others; all of whom agreed that they would sooner face a bear, or a pack of wolves than a big "cat" that was wild with pain and rage. Bob could see his brother now, on his knees, still struggling to release himself from the hold of the fox trap, that seemed to grip his ankle with a stubborn determination to keep him from reaching his gun, standing there so close, but beyond his itching fingers. Once Bob thought he saw the beast crouching among some bushes that ran down to the edge of the water; but he dared not waste his one shot on an uncertainty, since he would then be compelled to defend himself with his knife or hatchet. And, as it turned out, he showed considerable wisdom in repressing his boyish desire to fire, for just then there was a movement in an entirely different direction, and he had a glimpse of a gray beast slinking past a small opening.