84 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 
weary scramble over every provoking obstacle, and the soli- 
tary baying of a dog is heard again winding up the “cry.” 
When we reach the “tree” this time, and find it is another 
“‘feint,” we are entirely disheartenid, and all this excitement 
and fatigue of the night reacting upon us leaves us utterly 
exhausted, and disinclined to budge one foot further. Old 
Sambo comes up—he has watched with an astute phiz the 
movements of the dogs for some time. 
“Thought dat ware a ole coon from de fust! Dat’s a 
mighty ole coon!” with a dubious shake of his head. “ Ole 
coon nebber run dat long!’ Another shake of the head, and 
addressing himself to his “staff:” “Ole coon nebber run’ed 
dis fur, niggers!’ Then turning to us—“ Massas, dat a cat! 
—'taint no coon!” 
The dogs break out again, at the same moment, and with 
peculiar fierceness, in full cry. “Come ‘long, niggers !— 
maby dat’s a coon—maby ’taint!’”’ and off he starts again. 
We are electrified by the scenes and sounds once more, and 
“follow, still follow,” forgetting everything in the resewed 
hubbub and excitement. Wearily now we go aga-n over 
marsh and quagmire, bog and pond, rushing through vines 
and thickets and dead limbs. Ah, what glimpses have we 
of our cozy home during this wild chase! Now our strength 
is gone—we are chilled, and our teeth chatter—the moon 
seems to be the centre of cold as the sun is of heat, and its 
beams strike us like arrows of ice. Yet the cry of the dogs 
is onward, and old Sambo and his staff yell on / 
Suddenly there is a pause! the dogs are silent, and we hold 
up! “Is it all lost?” we exclaim, as we stagger, with our 
bruised and exhausted limbs, to a seat upon an old log. The 
stillness is as deep as midnight—the owl strikes the watch 
with his too-whoo! Hah! that same hoarse, deep bay which 
first electrified us comes booming again through the stillness. 
“Yah! yah! dat ole coon am done for! Bose got he, 
uiggers—Gemmen, come on !” 
