THE PANTHER'S CUB. 77 



heerd Yowler, who was some ways ahead, stop his 

 yelpin', and back he come, with somethin' arter him, 

 tight as he could buckle. As they come up I let drive 

 at what was arter him kind o' promiscuously, for it 

 wasn't fairly dawn yet. The shot hit, I knew, for the 

 varmint held up, and then run off. 



" * Now,' says I ter myself, ' isn't a painter a mighty on- 

 sartin varmint ? Here is one that gets wounded, and yet 

 don't pitch inter a fellar. Who'd ha' looked for sich a 

 coward in a painter?' Then, after loadin', I put on 

 Yowler again, and we bowled along, not quite so lively 

 as afore, for Yowler was a leetle kind o' shy, but still we 

 did some pretty loud goin'. 



" ' Whar's that air painter ?' sez I to myself; ' did any 

 painter ever run so far before ?' It come on to be light, 

 and I could see the trail, and it was an all-fired big trail. 

 Presently it got into a cane-brake, and then tuck a turn. 

 Yowler guv tongue. I could hear the canes rattle as he 

 jumped, but the painter broke out of this on the fur 

 side, and made a bee-line agin right straight for the 

 Ouithlacouchee River. 



" When we got to the river it was noon. I looked 

 down the bank, and saw the tracks along in the mud 

 where the varmint had been lookin' for a good place to 

 cross. Presently I could see where he had laid down in 

 the mud, and then for the fust time I saw it was a she 

 painter with sucking young ones. As near as I could 

 make out by the marks in the mud she had two cubs 

 lugging at her, the rest of her tits being of no account. 



