“Hump yourself,” says I, and we both darted—_well_; I worked my passage through cane, palmetto, and vines, until I war tired—I haddent hearn Jem’s horn, and pushed on the harder to meet him; every once and a while I’d think _hears the turn of the Lake_, but when I’d git to the place, _thar it was_ stretchin’ out as big as ever. Once I thought I hearn Jem’s horn, but couldent quite make it out. I kept movin’; hours passed and no Jem or end of the Lake; I’d seen lots of bar and panter sign, lots of deer, and more swan, wild-goose, and duck, than you ever will see; but I paid no attention to ’em, as I ’spected I’d taken some wrong arm of the Lake and war lost. It war gettin’ towards night, and I ’spected I’d have to sleep by myself, but you know I diddent mind that, as I war used to it. But it war the first time in my life that I’d bin lost, and that _did_ pester me mightily. Well, Sir, after studyin’ awhile, I thought I’d better put back towards the camp, mighty tired and discouraged. I then throw’d my gourd round to take a drop of liker, and it were _filled with water_! fact!—Thinks I, Chunkey, you must have been _mighty_ drunk last night; that made me sorter low-spirited like a a ’oman, and my heart war weak as water. It had commenced gittin’ sorter dark; the wind were blowin’ and groanin’ through the trees and rivers, and the black clouds were flyin’, and I war goin’ along sorter oneasy and cross-grained, when _a panter yelled out, close to me_! I turned with my gun cocked, but couldent see it; presently I hearn it again, and out it come, and then another! “Is that you?” said I, takin’ a crack and missin’ to a sartainty; and away they darted through the cane. I drap’d my gun to load, and by the great Jackson, there warn’t a full load of powder in my gourd!—I loaded _mighty_ carefully, and started on to pick out some holler tree to sleep in. Every once and awhile I’d git a glimpse of the panters on my trail. “Panters,” says I, “I’ll make a child’s bargain with you; if you will let _me_ alone, _you_ may _golong_;—and if you don’t, here’s a ball into the head of one of ye’er, and this knife!”—_hush_, if my knife warn’t gone, I wish I may never taste bar’s meat? I raised my arm, trimblin’ like a leaf, and says I, “Jem!—_I’ll have your melt!_” Well, I _war_ in trouble sure!—I thought I war on the _Tchule a Leta Lake_, and _witched_. Well I did! Oh, you may larph, but jist imagin’ _yourself_ lost in the cane on Sky Lake, (the cane on Sky Lake _is some_—thirty miles long, from one to three miles wide, thick as the har on a dog’s back, and about thirty feet high!) out of licker, out of powder, your knife gone, the ground kivered with snow, you very hungry and tired, _and two panters follerin’ your trail_, and you’d think you was bewitched too!