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Billy, the Dog That Made Good 
Turk, realizing his importance, breasted his way to 
the front, and the rumbling in his chest was grand 
as an organ. Ahead, behind, and all around him, 
was Silly Billy yapping and tumbling. 
There was the carcass, rather “high” now but 
~!-2 untouched. The place of the trap was vacant, 
log and all were gone; and all around were signs 
of an upset, many large tracks, so many that 
scarcely any were clear, but farther on we got the 
sign most sought, the thirteen-inch track of a 
monster Grizzly, and the bunch on the right paw 
stamped it as Reelfoot’s trail. 
I had seen the joy blaze in Yancy’s eye before, 
but never like now; he glowed with the hunter’s 
heat, and let the dogs run free, and urged them on 
with whoops and yells of ‘Sic him, boys!” ‘Ho, 
boys!” “Sic him!” Not that much urging was 
needed, the dogs were possessed of the spirit of the 
day. This way and that they circled, each for 
himself. For the Bear had thrashed around a 
while before at length going off. It was Croaker 
that first had the real trail. Big Ben was there to 
let the whole world know, then Thunder indorsed 
the statement. Had it been Plunger that spoke 
the rest would have paid no heed, but all the pack 
knew Thunder’s voice, and his judgment was not 
open to question. They left their devious different 
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