If the vision of James Boone had not been trained, and unusually keen, the sight of the crouching animal would have escaped him. Its tawny skin was of a colour not unlike that of the tinged foliage of the branches of the chestnut upon which it was lying. There was an occasional nervous twitching of its tail, but otherwise it was as motionless as if it had been carved of marble.

So intense was the interest of the savage beast in the young hunter directly beneath it that it was unaware of the approach of James Boone. Even as he perceived the animal, however, its muscles tightened, and it prepared for a leap upon the unsuspecting boy.

Instantly bringing his rifle to his shoulder, and taking careful aim, James fired at the motionless target. He ignored the exclamation of the startled Peleg, who leaped to one side at the report of the rifle, and then, glancing at his friend, followed the direction of his gaze, and became aware of the peril above him.

For a moment the beast seemed to be unharmed. It remained in the same position, motionless, and with its head leaning below the limb to which it clung.

Young Boone did not move from the place where he was standing, but instantly began to reload his rifle, all the time keeping careful watch upon the movements of the beast.

Suddenly the panther began to claw at the limb to which it had been clinging. It was manifest that its hold was broken or breaking. The long claws were driven savagely into the bark, but in spite of all its efforts the creature plainly was slipping. There were two or three snarls, and once it turned and snapped savagely at its side. The tail began to lash the branch, and then suddenly became motionless.

Slowly the ability of the savage beast to maintain itself was departing. A stream of red showed the effect which young Boone's bullet had taken. He had aimed just a little back of the fore-shoulder, and it was difficult for him now to understand how even a panther, tenacious of life as the beast was known to be, was still able to cling to the branch.

Struggling, snarling, the great beast turned and gradually but surely began to slip from its perch. For a moment it almost seemed that it would be able to maintain its grasp even after its body had turned to the underside of the huge branch. But all at once, without a sound, the long body fell, striking hard upon the ground twenty feet or more below.

Before the animal could show whether or not it was still alive, Peleg, who now had recovered from his first alarm, raised his rifle and fired at the prostrate body.

There was slight question now as to the approaching death of the savage beast. It lay almost motionless on the ground, but there was still an occasional nervous twitching of its long tail. Both boys, however, were too skilled in the art of the hunter to venture within reach of the terrible claws until they were satisfied that the dreaded enemy was indeed dead.

"There may be another," said Peleg nervously, as he glanced into the woods after he had hastily reloaded his rifle. "That cry we heard probably was the call of this one's mate."

"That may be so," said young Boone.

"What are you going to do?" inquired Peleg in surprise, as he saw his companion place his rifle against a tree and draw his hunting-knife from his belt.

"I am going to skin this big cat."

"Do you think we ought to stop for that?" asked Peleg.

"Yes."

"Then let me help."

"No, you keep guard. Our guns may have stirred up more trouble than we know."

Acting upon this suggestion, both boys became silent while young Boone began his task.

Swiftly and deftly he slit the beautiful skin the length of the body, and then did likewise on each leg. So skilful was the young hunter that in a brief time he had drawn back the skin sufficiently to cause him to call to his companion, "Come here and help me."

Together the two boys then tore the skin from the body, and young Boone rolled the panther's hide into a small, compact bundle. He tied this securely with a deerskin thong, and then added it to his burden.

At once the boys began to run swiftly to regain the distance they had lost. They had not advanced far, however, before they saw some one approaching them on the trail.

"'Tis as I thought," said James Boone with a smile. "Our guns have 'roused our friends."

"That's Sam Oliver."

"I see it is," replied James.

Neither of the boys spoke again as the man rapidly approached them. Both knew him as one of the hunters of the company, and as one whose labours chiefly were confined to that field.

Sam was perhaps fifty years of age, tall, rawboned, sunburned, with an expression of face not unpleasing, and a frequent twinkle in his eyes. As for felling the trees or building the houses of logs, Sam was willing for others to assume those labours, and whatever honours might accrue from such tasks. For himself he much preferred to do his part by supplying the band with game.

Frequently the two boys had gone with the trapper when he had made the rounds of his traps, and in the warm days of summer nothing had delighted either more than to accompany him into the forest, where they were interested in the weird, and at times fantastic, tales Sam related of his personal adventures, and also of the characteristics of the denizens of the forest.

"What's wrong, lads?" inquired the hunter as he approached.

"Nothing is wrong now," laughed Peleg. "We shot a painter back here. And there is its hide," he added as he pointed with pride to the bundle which was suspended from his companion's shoulders.

Glancing at the object to which his attention had been directed, Sam whistled and then said, "Seen any more?"

"No, sir."

"Seen any signs o' redskins?"

"No, sir. Have you seen any?"

"That's for the King to say," replied the hunter, laughing in apparent heartiness, though no sound escaped his lips.

The expression, "that's for the King to say," was one that fell so frequently from the lips of Sam Oliver that both boys understood what he meant. It was his method of evading a direct reply to any question he did not wish to answer.

"All of which means," said James, "that you have seen some redskins."

"A few signs. Nothing very bad, and nothing that should be spoken of by either of you. In course we are bound to find the varmints following us, but I don't think they will attack us if we are on our guard. We must do our best, and after that there is no good in trying to do anything more. Your father says everything that happens is right, or it wouldn't be. Strange," he added, as he again looked at the panther's skin which James Boone was carrying, "strange that you should have got him so easy. I have known the time when it would have taken half-dozen bullets to put an end to a fighting painter."

"Have you shot a good many of them?" inquired Peleg.

"Oh, a few, a few," replied the hunter. "The strangest sight I ever see was one time when I was followin' three o' the varmints. They led me a hard chase, and it was two days before I caught up with them, and when I did, I almost wished I had not."

"Why?"

"I will tell you. When I came near a big open space there in the woods I heard the worst screechin' I ever heard in my life. You simply cannot describe it. They were snarlin' and spittin' and screamin' and growlin', and sometimes it seemed as if they were doin' all four things at once. My first thought was that this was no place for Sam Oliver. It sounded like a hundred painters were fightin' to the death. I reckon I did turn back a little way, but the screechin' and the screamin' kep' up so that I finally decided that I must find out what was goin' on."

"What was it?" inquired Peleg.

"When I crep' up close to the clearin' and peeped out I saw two painters a-fightin'. They were crouchin' on the ground facin' each other and callin' each other every name they could think of in painter language. I did not know what had happened to the third painter, but I knew I ought not to stay there long. But all at once the two varmints leaped at each other and a minute later they were in such a plight that you would not have known what kind of beasts they was. They had ripped and torn and clawed and scratched and bit each other until it did not seem as if what was left could hang together. Then all at once one of them got the other fellow by the throat and it wasn't long before he said good-bye."

"Did you shoot him?" asked Peleg.

"No, for just then I heard a noise right behind me and when I looked back I see the third painter creepin' toward me and I fired at it and ran. Somehow I managed to get away, and next day I went back to the scene o' battle but I could not find anythin' there except the dead painter. The others had gone. I had been so long trailin' them that I thought I wouldn't follow any further. But if I live to be a hundred years old I shall never forget that there fight I saw between those two big cats! There are some animals," continued the hunter, "that seem to have reg'lar feuds, jest like fam'ly troubles. They may fight one another once in a while, but they will make up to fight the enemies of the fam'ly every time they get a chance."

"What do you mean?" asked Peleg.

"Well, for instance, there's the beaver and the otter. They seem to have had a declaration of war from the very beginning same as cats and dogs. I see a beaver house one day las' winter standin' right in the middle o' the pond which the beavers had made. You know they build a long tube right up through the centre o' the floor which looks somethin' like a chimney. The top o' this one was about four feet higher than the floor, and it was a good two feet through. The water round their house came almost to the top of the door. Mr. Beaver, when he wanted to go into his house, used to dive and come up through the tube, then he would shake himself, and slide down to his floor, which was always dry. It was always warm, too, for even in the coldest weather the water all round the house kep' it from freezin'. I reckon this particular fam'ly was pretty well provided for because they were all fat. Leastwise they looked as if they might have been, though they were dead when I saw them."

"How was that?" inquired Peleg.

"Why, the otter had gone after them."

"Into their house?"

"No! No! No otter would ever dare do that. In a fight in a place like that the beaver, which has such strong teeth and is such a strong little brute anyway, would have the advantage every time. The otter works in 'nother way. The beaver fam'ly had been busy all through the summer hidin' their strips o' poplar and birch and willows in the bottom o' the lake which they had made. They intended to have their easy time in the winter, and they do, too, unless some otters happen along.

"In this case I am tellin' you about, a couple o' otters had tried to break into the house, but the walls was hard as granite. If the otter can only get the beaver into the water he can catch him easily, because the otter is as quick as a fish. So the beaver simply works on the defensive and builds a house strong enough to keep out any otter that may happen along. But pretty soon the otters begin to look into the beavers' dam. By and by, when they find a weak spot, where they can work a hole straight through, they begin their job. When the weather is not too cold and the ice not too thick, just as soon as the water in the lake begins to drop a little, then the beavers begin to hunt for the leak. But when the water falls fast and there is a covering of ice all over the lake and sometimes the ice caves in, you see the beavers then cannot get their provisions, and the inside o' their houses is as cold as it is outside.

"The otters have a reg'lar course they follow, goin' from one place to 'nother and making their rounds 'bout every ten days to two weeks. I reckon in the case o' this beaver fam'ly I am tellin' you about that the otters came back in a fortnight or so and found the beavers all dead or in no shape to fight. Here comes Daniel Boone himself," the hunter exclaimed suddenly, "and I reckon you boys will have to explain to him what you meant by your shots back yonder."