276 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
the second ’coon. He whirled around and dashed 
toward this second sound, bewildered by surprise. 
Then Rastus, from his slash heap, suddenly 
uttered a strange cry, something like the hoot of 
a big owl. Wolf turned again and sprang to- 
ward it. No sooner were his feet on the slash 
pile when the same cry came from the other side 
of the tree! Again he turned, and made a dash. 
The man in the tree, who had scrambled hastily 
down to the lowest branch, to observe the fun, 
now saw the second ’coon making off, a dim, 
ghostlike, blackish-gray ball, into the under- 
brush. Wolf got to the spot where she had 
vanished when Rastus cried again—cried as he, 
too, was slipping away. Wolf, thoroughly be- 
wildered now, caught like a runner between third 
base and home plate, turned yet again, and 
actually danced a circle in his own length under 
the tree as the cry was repeated behind him. His 
master slid down the trunk and put him on 
Rastus’s trail—but there was a small brook not 
two hundred yards away, and the trail ended at 
the border. Wolf returned to the hearth rug 
that night with a drooping tail. 
