THE SNOW-WALKERS. 



77 



cornfield. The dog knows his business and when he 

 is put into a patch of corn and told to " hunt them up" 

 he makes a thorough search and will not be misled by 

 any other scent. You hear him rattling through the 

 corn hither and yon, with great speed. The coons 

 prick up their ears, and leave on the opposite side of 

 the field. In the stillness you may sometime hear a 

 single stone rattle on the wall as they hurry toward the 

 woods. If the dog finds nothing he comes back to his 

 master in a short time, and says in his dumb way, " No 

 coon there." But if he strikes a trail you presently hear 

 a louder rattling on the stone wall and then a hurried 

 bark as he enters the woods, followed in a few minutes 

 by loud and repeated barking as he reaches the foot 

 of the tree in which the coon has taken refuge. Then 

 follows a pell-mell rush of the cooning party up the 

 hill, into the woods, through the brush and the dark- 

 ness, falling over prostrate trees, pitching into gulleys 

 and hollows, losing hats and tearing clothes, till finally, 

 guided by the baying of the faithful dog, the tree is 

 reached. The first thing now in order is to kindle a 

 fire, and if its light reveals the coon, to shoot him. If 

 not, to fell the tree with an axe. If this happens to be 

 too great a sacrifice of timber and of strength, to sit 

 down at the foot of the tree till morning. 



But with March our interest in these phases of animal 

 life, which winter has so emphasized and brought out, 

 begins to decline. Vague rumors are afloat in the air 

 of a great and coming change. We are eager for 



