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“Hurrah!” shouted Eugene. “To horse, my brave boys, and away! Hi! hi! Hunt ’em up, there!”

If you have never followed the hounds we cannot convey to you even the slightest idea of the melody that filled the forest when that pack of high-flyers opened in full chorus on the trail, or the excitement that thrilled the hunters as they flew over the ground, leaping fences, ditches and logs, each boy urging his horse forward at the top of his speed, in the hope of distancing his companions, and being the first to come up with the hounds when they brought the panther to bay. Walter’s nag took the lead at once, and with a few of his long bounds brought his rider to the place where the dogs had struck the trail. He saw the prints of the panther’s great feet in the snow, and every track was marked with blood.

“The chase will not be a long one,” exclaimed Featherweight, dashing up beside Walter and reining in his horse for a moment to glance at the trail, “for he is too badly wounded to travel far. Now, every man for himself, and three cheers and a tiger for the winner.”