WOLF DAYS IN PENNSYLVANIA. 113 



where it emptied into the Susquehanna. A panther's 

 tracks were noticed in the snow, and young Quinn 

 went after it, accompanied by his faithful bull dogs. 

 After a long chase he overtook it at the head of Rat- 

 tlesnake Run, where the Blanchard cabin was after- 

 wards built. Far up in an enormous white pine, the 

 stab of which is still standing, the panther was 

 crouched, its bright eyes, to use the hunter's own 

 words, "glowed like the eyes of a demon." Quietly 

 and quickly he raised his gun and fired, then stepped 

 back and began to reload his muzzle-loader. As he 

 did so the mammoth brute came tumbling down, its 

 dead body falling in the big spring. Carrying the hand- 

 some hide, the hunter returned towards his cabin, 

 thinking to cheer his sick companion with the story of 

 his exploit. As he neared the shack the bull dogs be- 

 gan showing signs of alarm. It was almost dark, but 

 he could make out four wolves crouched close to- 

 gether outside the door, motionless, their long noses 

 scenting the warm air which came from beneath the 

 door. His gun being reloaded with a heavy bullet, he 

 took careful aim and fired, before the wolves could 

 become aware of his proximity. The heavy charge 

 penetrated the throats of all four wolves, killing them 

 instantly. The shot aroused the sick man and he 

 called out: "Is that you, Mickey?" to which the young 

 hunter replied in cheery affirmative. He pushed open 

 the door, kicking the carcasses of the four wolves be- 

 fore him. Peter Farley, who lived to be nearly ninety, 

 said that he could never forget the sight which greeted 



