Way-Atcha, the Coon-Raccoon 
owns it, if he marks it at leading points, using for 
this the scent glands near the tail that nature gave 
for just such purposes. If two hunters have equal 
claims, they fight, and the stronger holds it. Way- 
atcha’s people, as it chanced, had not marked the 
hunting ground for weeks, so their musk marks were 
nearly washed away. The other family came later, 
but had used it much, and marked it, too. The 
rival claims were balanced. Nothing now but a 
fight could settle it. 
And this is the Coon’s chief mode of fight: close 
on the enemy, offering the well-defended neck or 
shoulders to his attack, seize him around the waist 
and throw him so he will fall on you; for the under 
Coon has the best chance to rip open his enemy’s 
belly with hind claws, which are free; holding him 
with fore claws which are free, his teeth have free 
play at the enemy’s throat, which is exposed. 
So Way-atcha’s black-masked sire came edging 
on, a little sidewise, and the Coon of the Pool having 
sized up the other as bigger than himself, held back 
a little, fearing to close at once. 
Old Black Mask made a pass; the Pool Coon 
parried. They dodged round and round, neither 
gaining nor giving ground. Another pass, then 
Black Mask’s footing slipped, the Pool Coon closed, 
and the fight was on. But neither got the grip he 
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