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“The fun is over for to-night, boys,” said Mr. Gaylord, who being an old sportsman took matters very coolly. “We’ll go to bed now, and in the morning we’ll put the dogs on his trail and follow him up and finish him.”

The Club exchanged significant glances when they heard this; but said nothing until they reached the house, and then they stopped to hold a consultation.

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The members of the Club had one and all made up their minds that the panther should be killed in the morning if he could be found, and they had resolved, too, that Mr. Gaylord and Uncle Dick should have no hand in the business. They had won glory enough already. Mr. Gaylord had lived in the country from early boyhood, and had trapped and shot scores of panthers, while Uncle Dick had more than once tried his skill on lions, tigers and elephants. The Club, however, could not boast of any such exploits. They had shot any number of turkeys, had eaten many a dinner of venison that they had brought home from the woods, and had been in at the death of more than one bear; but not one of them, before that night, had even levelled his gun at a panther. Now they had a capital opportunity to exhibit themselves, and they were determined to show the old Nimrods in the village that some folks could do things as well as others.