THE PANTHER'S CUB. 81 



trail in the swamp, and was busy pickin' it out over logs 

 and under vines whar the moss grew so thick it didn't 

 leave room for a track. The scent was cold, and Yow- 

 ler could jist ketch it, but what with puttin' our two noses 

 together we fetched up in a big windfall, and jist in the 

 snarl of trees, whar the splinters and branches, and 

 growin' vines was the wickedest, there was a little bed 

 of strips of bark and leaves, and the young painter cub 

 was curled up, dreamin' of supper-time. He was about 

 as big as two tomcats tied together by the tails, and his 

 natur', when I come to prick him up, was not quite so 

 sweet. He meowed, and sneezed, and about chawed up 

 my coat-sleeve afore I could bag him, which I did by 

 takin' off my huntin' coat, jammin' his head into one of 

 the sleeves, and buttonin' and tyin' him in bag like. 



" When I got all this done, I thought of the old pain- 

 ter, and what she would say to me when she come home 

 with her t'other young 'un. The more I calkelated, the 

 more it seemed onpleasant, for though the varmint was 

 so perlite when she was outwittin' me, I reckoned that 

 she wouldn't be so much so when the boot got on t'other 

 leg. Fust I thought I would get out of that air windfall, 

 and wait for the old lady on the bank of the river, whar we 

 could have a clare field, fur I knew it was sartin she would 

 be arter me, and I'd a leetle reether the fight wouldn't 

 be fit out in that swamp. So I put out for the river, 

 and when I got thar took a clare spot, and puttin' the cub 

 down for the stakes, sat down to wait fur the other party. 



" The wind was still, and I could hear around a con 



