STORY OF A c PAINTER/ 195 



out purpose, into the air, falling a moment after- 

 wards on the earth, where it lay struggling, mortally 

 wounded. 



By the time the carcase was skinned it was time 

 to retrace my steps. That night I narrated to an 

 attentive body of listeners the circumstances of the 

 panther's death ; and I was heartily congratulated 

 that, in consequence of the correctness of my aim, I 

 had not got into a 'darn'd ugly muss/ But Jem 

 Green, who had generally something to say on every 

 subject, cleared his throat, as if about to speak ; and 

 the respect in which he was held induced all to look 

 towards him, temporarily suspending their remarks. 

 When silence was obtained, he prefaced the story he 

 was about to tell by informing the company, in a 

 half-diffident manner, that he was only thinking of a 

 scrape with a painter (Anglice, panther) he and his 

 old dad had in Pensilvany. The bait took, and three 

 or four voices requested him to narrate the circum- 

 stance. 



' Spit it out, old hoss !' said they, in the elegant 

 language of these dwellers in the wilds. And the 

 old hoss proceeded to comply with their request. 

 The yarn I will give as closely as I remember. 



' It was when I was about old enough to do some 

 of the "chores" around the homestead, that one cold 

 stormy night in winter, when we were 'going to turn 

 in to roost, both the old man and myself heard a 

 muss among the calves. Now, we had a good dozen 

 of these yearlings in a pound enclosed with rails 



