RAIDED
Mountaineer Rescues Wife and Son From
Huge Monster That Had Invaded His Home
and Held Them
Prisoners
By WILLIAM HORNE
TN A sliailow valley on the edge of
-* Mount C-uyot, 6000 feet above sea
level In the Great Smokies where the
of Tennessee touches the State of
North Carolina Lyman Gantt lives with
his wife and 4-year-old son on his five
acre farm
Three of his five acres of fertile,
porous soil ue level in the very shadow
ot the domt of Mount Guyot. but the
other two acres taper down to drop sud
denly to a sheer cliff edge. Far below
tumbles the restless waters of Panther
Creek
“Painter’s Crick.” il explained to you
In the native dialect of the Smokies If
you ask L\man Gantt or any other na
tive ot the region if the name has any
specific meaning he’d say: "Wal. hit
shore do, now and that s a natural fact
TPears to me as if they'd put Painter’s
Crick on th’ maps, seein as how hit’s
been nigh ont two vear since I named
*er that ”
1 visited Lyman Gantt at his home
Just above Panther Creek high in the
Guyot region ol the Great Smokies I
a.-.K.d him tnat question, and that was
In ? answti
I found it no small task to get a story
cut ot this oronzed young giant as he
greeted me late that evening at the door
ot tus humble mountain cabin, for his
has been a life of simplicity and more
oi less isolation from the prying eyes
01 the outside world It is traditional
with superstitious mountain folk never
to take 'tumners” for gran’ed Until
they prove themselves friends, the na
tives greet them with a stolid aloof
liess and a we-don’t-need-you-in-these
parts attitude
But luckily tot me, 1 had been recom
mended bv a native of the region In the
valley far below who had been my hast
during many sojourns thiough tht al
lunng Smokies, and 1 was at once made
welcome by Lyman Gantt and soon nad
the story o! the naming of “Painter’s
Ci lek which is last becoming a legend
tn mountain folklore
TT WAS nearing midnight early in the
Spring when Lyman crossed the ridge
a mile below his house and started up
the narrow lonely sled trail that led
through Sleeping Gap toward his cabin
He had been down to the settlement
store three miles away for some tobacco
and it was a long, arduous trip over the
winding, rocky trail down through the
Valley
Lyman Gantt picked his way uncan
nily through the jackpines and junipers.
He crasscd deep fissures in the fitful
moonlight with feet as sure as a moun
tain deer
The thought that a sudden misstep
would seno him hurtling down sheer
granite walls to his death 500 feet below
never entered his mind alien his dim
trail led him to the very edge of & tow
ering precipice.
As he swung into the last mile that
Would take him through the wildest ter
rain of Mount Guyot he shifted the
heavy ancient revolver from one hip
pocket to the waistband of his jeans
trousers
Not that he was afraid of the dense
undergrowth through which he must
■ mm <^^fSaiSK. ,v ::x * ----JT Z. —
pass, but he knew that bear and timber
wolves and great cats haunted the .re
gion, and he knew that during the mat
ing season these denizens were formi
dable antagonists when encountered in
their natural habitat.
He whistler a lively tune as he picked
his unerring way through the thick
hackberries and oak berries. From
somewhere tai to his left the weight of
some prowling creature cracked a pine
limb On the stillness it resounded like
a pistol shot, but the mountain man
paid no heed
Presently as he emerged trom a clump
ot thick undergrowth the surface ol a
stream glistened in the pale moonlight
a few yards below him. He reached the
edge, crossed it on the stones that
studded tilt shallows and turned to the
right to take the winding trail that
skirted the sheer walls of the cliff above
which lay his farm
Suddenly there came a sound to his
keen ears tnat quieted the tuneless
whistle on m& lips and brought him to a
rigid standstill
For a long time he stood there m the
shadows ol the cliff in a motionless
crouch, his ears keyed to catch any
whisper out ot the night
Then it came again, the far-off, un
earthly scream At first it seemed to
surge up to mm from the valley floor
far below Then its eerie volume rose
and shattered the still air from the dim
edge of the cliff high above
It quivered as he listened. It died
slowly down to a moan and echoed in
ghostly gyrations from the granite cliffs,
then went away Into nothingness.
He had killed many “painters” during
his thirty vears in the Smokies, but had
never seen any signs of the big killer
cats above the ridge that flanked the
northern edge of Sleeping Gap before.
He turned as swiftly as a darting
shadow into the underbrush of the nar
row trail. He carried the heavy revolver
in one great fist, now, and his lips were
clamped In a firm, thin line.
By Panther
...
There in that dark roam he saw
a panther on a bureau near the
bed of his son. Two yellow
green phosphorescent eyes
glared at him.
He clutched his revolver and started
forward, and as he did the silent clear
ing was split by a high, terror-filled
scream. It wasn't the scream of a killer
cat this time, for Lyman Gantt recog
nized the horror-filled voice of his wife.
He answere'd her with a mighty yell
as he ‘dashed the few remaining yards
across the yard but no answer came.
With terror gripping his throat he
called again, and still no answer came.
Gripped in an unknown fear he had
never before known, Lyman Gantt raced
across the narrow porch and crashed
his brawny shoulders against the closed
door. There came the splintering of
wood and the screeching of twisted
hinges as ne staggered into the dimly
lit front room
For one agonizing moment he stood
there trying to accustom his eyes to the
semigloom, then he saw the form of
his wife sprawled in the open doorway
that led into the one bedroom
With a hoarse cry he bounded across
the room. Knelt beside her and lifted
her head in his arms
‘Martha ." he gasped “i n th
name of God, what is it .**
She raised her bloodless face and
looked at him with wide eyes filled with
stark terror
Her lips opened in a scream, and
without a word she pointed one trem
bling hand toward the darkened bed
room and fell back in a faint.
Lyman Gantt raised his straining face
towara the open door and looked, and
what he sa* there in that dark room
caused the hair along his nape to stif
fen and icy fingers to clutch his spine.
Two yellow-green phosphorescent eyes
glared balefuily into his face. Like a
man in a trance, he rose stiffly to his
feet, reached one trembling hand around
and moved the tiny kerosene lamp
where its pitiful glow would fall into
the bedroom
And a weird, unbelievable sight
greeted his staring eyes. It was the
tawny tigurp of a panther, ant it rested
on the low bureau a few feet from the
small, crude bed that held his sleeping
son.
Finishing the Invader
rpHE big cat’s eyes were unblinking on
Lyman Gantt’s iace and its lips
were drawn back over the wicked, glint
ing fangs From the deep throat came
a low. savage growl and behind it the
long, sinuous tai] writhed like a live
thing against the wall.
Like a man in a hideous dream Lyman
Gantt crouched there above his uncon
scious wife the lamp in one hand and
his revolvei m the other.
Slowly, very slowly and deliberately,
he raised the gun. Carefully he aimed
at that point just where the neck joins
the left shoulder, and with a silent
prayer In uh heart he squeezed the
trigger.
The report was deafening in the tiny
room, it blended with the second shat
tering shot and both shots were accom
panied iy a snarling, spitting scream
as the 200-pound body left the bureau
in one mighty lunge, collapsed tn mid
air and went crashing to the floor at the
very foot of the trundle bed.
“That painter. now.’ Lyman said to
me. “ne er belonged on th' cliff How
he came r be thar, an leave th crick
at th’ bottom whar I’d heard him fT
nigh out’ fivt year, I cain’t say.
But hit don’t ’pear jes' right, seems
t me, that Painter's Crick ain’t on no
maps when I named ’er that nigh ont
two yeai ago