174 HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



not a shot did we fire. Next day was almost as bad, 

 and if Conwell had not knocked over a turkey, we should 

 have been reduced to chew sassafras. At length on the 

 third day, he shot a deer, and I a turkey, which put a 

 little life into the dogs. Disgusted with our bad luck, 

 we decided on returning home next day, besides, the 

 weather was bad, and threatened to be worse. To our 

 inexpressible joy, snow fell during the night, and all 

 thoughts of return vanished. We took different direc- 

 tions, with the agreement to return to camp in the 

 evening. I had not gone far when I saw footsteps of a 

 young buck in the four-inch deep snow, followed him up 

 and shot him. I heard the report of Conwell's rifle 

 about the same time. Hanging up the deer, I walked 

 on. After lounging along slowly for above an hour, 

 without seeing anything, I came across the track of 

 Conwell, who, with his dog, had been following up the 

 bloody trail of a panther ; I gathered from the signs 

 that he had broken his left hind leg. I followed it up 

 on the instant, as fast as my legs could carry me; 

 in rather more than an hour, I arrived at the mouth of 

 a cave, where Conwell was awaiting me, knowing that I 

 should cross his trail, and follow it up as soon as I saw 

 the marks of the panther. 



The wounded brute had taken refuge in the cave, 

 leaving us to act as we pleased, probably thinking him- 

 self quite safe. We held a short consultation Conwell 

 Baid that he had hidden a bundle of kindlers in a hole, 

 and that if I would keep watch here, he would go and 

 fetch them. I consented, of course, and laid myself 

 down before the cave, with bare knife and cocked rifle. 



