THE SNOW-WALKERS. 77 



sets out about eight or nine o'clock of a dark, moon- 

 less night, and stealthily approach the cornfield. The 

 dog knows his business and when he is put into a 

 patch of corn and told to " hunt them up " he makes 

 a thorough search and will not be misled by any 

 other scent. You hear him rattling through the corn 

 hither and yon, with great speed. The coons prick 

 np their ears, and leave on the opposite side of the 

 field. In the stillness you may sometimes hear a 

 single stone rattle on the wall as they hurry toward 

 the woods. If the dog finds nothing he comes back 

 to his master in a short time, and says in his dumb 

 way, " No coon there." But if he strikes a trail you 

 presently hear a louder rattling on the stone wall and 

 then a hurried bark as he enters the woods, followed 

 in few minutes by loud and repeated barking as he 

 reaches the foot of the tree in which the coon has 

 taken refuge. Then follows a pell-mell rush of the 

 cooning party up the hill, into the woods, through the 

 brush and the darkness, falling over prostrate trees, 

 pitching into gulleys and hollows, losing hats and 

 earing clothes, till finally, guided by the baying of 

 the faithful dog, the tree is reached. The first thing 

 now in order is to kindle a fire, and if its light reveals 

 the coon, to shoot him. If not, to fell the tree with 

 an axe. If this happens to be too great a sacrifice 

 of timber and of strength, to sit down at the foot of 

 the tree till morning. 



But with March our interest in these phases of 

 animal life, which winter has so emphasized and 



