Way-Atcha, the Coon-Raccoon 
cracks, like blows struck on wood, and once or 
twice yelps that must have been from dogs. 
The sounds came nearer and louder, red stars ap- 
peared among the trees, and soon a band of men out 
with dogs came menacing every living prowler in 
the woods. The fresh Fox track down below di- 
verted the attention of the dogs so they did not 
come near the Coon tree, and mother knew that 
they had escaped a great danger that night. 
THE HUNTERS 
The following evening Mother Coon looked forty 
ways and sniffed every breeze that blew, while the 
moon swung past four trees quite near the door 
before she would let the family go on their regular 
hunt. They supposed, of course, she would lead 
down the usual way by the creek, but she did not. 
She moved in a new direction upstream, nor would 
she stop to hunt, but pushed on. They reached a 
stretch of bank where frogs went jump, jump, at 
every bank of sedge. It seemed most promising, 
but mother still pushed on. Then a loud noise 
like rising wind was heard, only sometimes it 
splashed like a frog or even a muskrat. Then they 
came to the thing that made it, the creek itself, 
jumping over a rocky ledge into a pool, sparkling in 
the moonrays, noisy in the night. Mother held 
rot 
