The Lake County star. [volume] (Chase, Mich.) 1873-current, 1875-03-18

panther and his intended prey, and the
barrel of heavy deer-gun came crushing
down upon the savage brute with force
that shivcred stock and lock and even
broke the owners hold upon it.
"Hurrah that's better than a whip
stalkP frankly exclaimed old Merii
weather, but Hetty sank down upon the
snow, with half.whisper of "Jack
MaclayW
The empty gun had been put to its
best use, but all that Jack seemed to
have gained by it was time to draw his
huntiDg-knife, for although the brute
rolled over with the force of the blow, he
was on his feet again in an instant, not
exactly as much of panther as he had
been, but with a whole wildcatful OF
fight and yelling in him yet.
That, however, was by no means Jack
Maclay's first experience with the rough
customers of the mountains, and he gave
his adversary no time for a spring, but
closed with him at once, making light
ming passes with his keen-edged hunting.
knife, while his own garments and the
flesh and skin beneath them were fear
fully scored by the quick strokes of the
wounded panther.
1t was terrific sight for the eyes oi
Hetty Merriweather, but it had almost
its comic side, for her broad-brimmed
and brOad-shouldcred father continued
to ply the splintered remnants of his
hickory whipstalk with frantic zeal
that spoke better things for his Quaker
pluck than it did for his judgement.
Well was it for Jack Maclay that his
| first flying shot had been so successful,
and that faithful old Grip, now lying
I dead on the bottom of the sleigh, had
done his part so gallantly, for his gigantic
"cat" seemed to have even more than
the traditional nine lives of his tribe.
The result might have been doubtful
for Jack, after all, but that now a
hoarsely painting, Wheeling, almost chok.
ing breath was heard close behind him,
and the muzzle of double-barreled gun
was suddenly thrust under his arm.
Bang! bang!
Any quantity of buckshot went tear.
ing through fur and flesh and bones, and
the painter keeled convulsively over on
the bloody snow, with hardly more than
gsod strong kick and culver left in
him.
"Hur-pufF-rah v' shouted the voice
of Bill Virgins. "Buck-puff-shot's
-puff-thing Must have been "a
puff-handful in each-puff-bar'l. Are
yOu-puf-hurt,J JackY
That was precisely the question Jack
himself had turned to ask of Hetty, but
before he could utter word, she had
thrown her arm around his neck and cx-
claimed:
"Oh! Jack, dear, tell me, are you
hurt? Yes, indeed you are /! Father, Jack
is wounded !"
The chunky ponies had ceased their
stupid rearing, and were just starting of
down the road on what they might have
mistaken for run, when Bill Virgins
caught their brides and brought them
to a trembling sort of stand.
"Absalom Absalom Peck !" shouted
old Merriweather, in dazed and un-
certain way. "Why, the mans gone
somewhere !'
"He said he would ride home for
assistance, father" and Hetty almost
smiled as she said it; "but Pm afraid he
wouldn't get back in time. Oh, Jack.
get into the sleigh and come home with
us. You are dreadfully scratched and
torn. Gomez
"No, Hetty," said Jack, family; "not
to.your fathers house. Bill Wiggins'll
take care of me. Where's old Gripw
The grim Quaker farmer was trembling
strangely from head to foot.
"Not to my house % he shouted at
last. why net to my house ? I take it
all back, my boy; thee mustn't bear hard
feelings to-day. Thy dogs body is in my
sleigh, and thee must come, too. mean
to give him decent funeral, but don't
want to 60 to thine just yet. Bill Wig
gins, help me put him in. Take hold OF
him on that side, Hetty, thee can help
him a good deal just now. Never mind
thy broken gun, Jack Maclay; thee shall
have better one before Christmas"
"Poor old Gripw muttered the
wounded hunter, but somehow he made
no sort of resistance, for Hetty's arm was
actually around his waist, and in few
moments more he was snugly ensconced
in the sleigh, with Bill Virgins busy
binding up his hurts for him, while old
Merriwcather was pounding the astound-
cd ponies homeward with Jacks own
ramrod.
Before long Bill was able TO assure
Hetty and her father that the painters"
claws had done no serious harm, ugly as
some of the gashes looked, and the old
Quaker leaned back to ask him:
"Bill, can thee get me a good saddle
of venison for Christmas
IL reckon / kim" said Bill.
"Then get me two of 'em, if thee can.
Thee and Jack will be at my house to
help eat it, thee knows, butt don't think
Hetty will care to have any other COM
pany."
And no more she did nor did Aksa-
lom Peck ever again rein in his fat gray
mare in front of her fathers door, not
even to bring assistance. Perhaps he
was afraid of meeting Jack Maclay, or
perhaps he didn't like to tread on the
panther skin that lay for many year
before the parlor-door, inside. 1t lay
there, to tell the truth, till the children
of Jack and Hetty Maclay had heard the
story of its capture thousand times,
more or less, from Grandfather Merri-
weather, and until their busy feet and
fingers had divested it of almost every
vestige of the fur. Perhaps that was
why all the young Maclays took 80
naturally to double-barreled deer-guns,
rifles, and health-giving tramps among
the rugged gorges of the mountains.
Pretty well for Hog.