timber. Bobo, the big hound, was at the head of this pack. He struck the
scent of the panther at last, and his long and mournful howl was almost
as awe-inspiring as the cry of the panther.

"Come on, Bunker!" shouted Mr. Armatage, when the party had overtaken
the Northern man. "The dogs are the best leaders. Bobo has got a scent
for any kind of trail. Come on!"

The negroes shouted and swung their torches. Perhaps they made so much
noise and had so many lights because they somewhat feared the "ha'nts"
that many of them talked about and believed in.

But the two white men were not thinking of ghosts. They feared what
might have happened to the two children if they had met the panther.

Just at this time, too, Russ and Rose were not thinking of ghosts. The
panther was not at all ghostly. He had four great paws, each armed with
claws that seemed quite capable of tearing to pieces the roof boards of
the cabin the children had taken refuge in.

"He'll get to us! He will! He will!" Rose cried over and over.

"No, he won't," said her brother, but his voice trembled. "I--I don't
see how he can."

"Let's run out again while he's on the roof, and run home," said Rose.

"We don't know the way home," objected her brother.

"We can find it. I don't want to be shut up here with that cat."