his movements change. The dogs may be hard 

 after him or not. If not close behind, he knows 

 by long experience that they may be expected, 

 and never so far forgets his precious skin as to 

 leave a clue pointing toward home. 



Instead he trots along a boundary fence, or 

 up the swamp stream, leaping all the crossing 

 logs, and coming out, likely, on the bank away 

 from the nest-tree. Farther down he jumps 

 the stream, runs hard toward a big gum, and 

 from a dozen feet away takes a flying leap, 

 catching the trunk up just out of reach of the 

 keen-nosed dogs. On up he goes a little and 

 leaps again, touching the ground ten feet out, 

 thus leaving a gap, a blank, of twenty or more 

 feet in his trail. 



The stream or fence has puzzled the dogs ; but 

 now they begin to worry. They circle and 

 finally pick up the scent beyond the first gap, 

 only to run instantly into a greater blank, one 

 that the widest circling does not cross. For the 

 coon has taken to another tree ; out on the limbs 

 of this to still another, and on, like a squirrel, 

 from tree to tree for perhaps a hundred yards, on, 

 it may be, to his own high hollow. 

 [211J • 



