270 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
by Wolf not fifty feet to the leeward. Wolf’s 
master had seated himself on top of the rocky 
bowsprit, to enjoy the moonrise and to see what 
would happen on Wolf’s hunt. As Rastus ap- 
proached, however, he heard nothing, which was 
not strange, for Rastus was making no sound. 
The way a ’coon can slip over the ground, even 
over dead, crackly leaves, with no sound whatever 
except a kind of whispered rustle as if from his 
own fur, is almost uncanny. The man did not 
see Rastus till the ’coon stood on the edge of the 
rock, in the full moonlight, not twenty feet away. 
He kept perfectly still, and Rastus evidently did 
not see him at all. Rastus was looking down, as 
if measuring the distance or inspecting the 
ground below. He slunk along ten feet further, 
where the jump suited him better, and plumped 
off. The man heard the thud as he landed on a 
ledge forty feet below. Then he heard no more 
down there, but a second after the pant and soft 
whine of Wolf, coming hot footed back on the 
trail. 
When the dog found it to end abruptly at the 
edge of the precipice, and could not pick it up 
