221 



side, upborne with a shout of triumph. 

 " Dey's cotcht fus' but I lay we gits de 

 bigges' coon," Daddy says disdainfully, in- 

 flating his lungs for a return halloo. Be- 

 fore it is half out of his throat a wild, full 

 barking fills all the air. Music has treed 

 Damsel comes tumbling over together 

 they leap and plunge, noses in air, flinging 

 their full cry up to the branches above, 

 where lies Master Coon, now plainly visible, 

 his green eyes shining hate of all below. 



This refuge should secure him. The tree 

 is two feet through thirty feet to the first 

 limb. Climbing is out of the question. 

 Whether the coon is worth the cutting down 

 depends on the strength of your muscles. 

 It is but play for these "good men." By 

 time you are well breathed, quick strokes 

 have sent the tree to earth. As it falls 

 Daddy gathers his beloved dogs to him, a 

 hand on either collar. " 'Tend ter yo' coon 

 yo'se'fs I wants my dogs 'nother night," 

 he calls, holding hard the straining creat- 

 ures, so madly eager to attack their fallen 

 foe. The good men rush at it with clubs 

 and axes it darts, creeps, leaps, through 

 the brush, eludes their striving, and dashes 

 safe into the woods. 



Followed, it is not overtaken. Music runs 



