“Why, it was ’bout this time last fall, I and Dudley went out and ’camped on Sperit Creek. Well, he tuck his pan and went out one way, and I went another. I went shinin’ along jest like you seed me to-night, till I got a good bit from the camp, and bimeby, shore enough, I sees eyes not more’n forty yards off. I fotched old Betsey up to my face and cut loose, and the deer drapped right in his tracks, but somehow in my hurryment I drapt my pan, jest like I did to-night when I heard old Blaze squeel. While I was tryin’ to kindle up a light, what should I see but more eyes shinin’ way down in the holler. I drapt the fire and loaded up old Betsey as quick as I could, to be ready for the varmint, whatever it was. Well, the eyes kep comin’ closer and closer, and gettin’ bigger and brighter, and the fust thing I know’d ther was a whole grist of ’em all follerin’ right after the fust ones, and dodgin’ up and down in the dark like they was so many dancin’ devils. Well, I begun to feel sort o’ jubous of ’em, so I raised old Betsey and pulled at the nearest eyes, but she snapped—I primed her agin, and she flashed—and when I flashed, sich another squallin’ and yellin’ you never did hear, and up the trees they went all round me. Thinks I them must be somethin’ unnatural, bein’ as my gun wouldn’t shoot at ’em—so I jest drapt old Betsey, and put out for the camp as hard as I could split. Well, we went back the next mornin’, and what do you think them infernal critters had done?—eat the deer up slick and clean, all but the bones and horns, and a little ways off lay old Betsey, with four fingers of buck-shot and bullets, but not a bit of powder in her. Then I know’d they was panters.” “Why, they might have eaten you too.” “That’s a fact. Dudley said he wondered they didn’t take hold of me.” The drizzling shower which had already nearly wet us to the skin, now turned to a drenching storm, which continued for more than an hour without intermission. When the storm abated, we discovered the dawn approaching, and, shortly after, were enabled to ascertain our whereabouts. We were not more than five hundred yards from the clearing, and probably had not been, during the night, at a greater distance than a mile from the house which we had left in the evening. As we stepped from the wood into the open road, I contemplated, for a moment, the ludicrous appearance of my unfortunate companion. Poor Sam!—daylight, and the prospect of home, brought no joy to him—and as he stood before me, with the saddle and bridle of the deceased Blaze girded about his neck, his musket in one hand, and pan in the other, drenched with rain, his clothes torn, and a countenance that told of the painful conflict within, I could not but regard him as an object of sympathy rather than ridicule. “Well,” said he, with a heavy sigh, and without looking me in the face, “good mornin’, Major.”