"Something that hasn't been heard around here for years," said the
planter, his voice trembling a little. "It's the cry of a panther."
Mr. Bunker, although he was practically a city man, had hunted a good
deal and had been in the wilder parts of the country very often. He knew
how terribly dangerous a panther might be on occasion; but he likewise
knew that ordinarily they would not attack human beings. Two little
children lost in the woods in which a panther was roaming up and down
was, however, a fearful thing.
"Get a gun and the hands!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker. "If Russ and Rose have
mistaken the way home, and are in that timber, they may be in peril."
Mr. Armatage started off on a run for the quarters. He knew that some of
his hands had guns, and the quarters were nearer than the big house.
Daddy Bunker, although he was unarmed, started directly into the woods,
trying to mark his course by the repeated screams of the hungry panther.
He might have been lost himself, for there was not much light to mark
the way; but Daddy Bunker could judge the situation of the screaming
panther much better than Russ and Rose had been able to.
He hurried on, gripping a good-sized club that he had found. But, of
course, he knew better than to attack a panther with a club. He might
throw the stick at the animal, however, and frighten it away.
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