lets. It did not make any difference which way 
I stood, whether on my head, or feet, or stomach 
._mud would ooze out of me. ^ 
“Just see that pup. Sing to him, Sport.’ And 
he did sing. In that still night it seemed, as if 
there was only one dog on earth and that it was 
his bounden duty to fill up the universe with 
his music, and he quivered all over—like Cam- 
panini, the singer. He would circle the tree, 
jump up and try to hang on the lowest limbs 
with his fore feet and occasionally cock his ear 
up and run to the adjacent trees to prevent the 
’coon from getting away. “There is only one 
fault that dog has, Barnes,” said I; “he cannot 
climb a tree.” 
There I was in the midst of that vast marsh 
at 2 o’clock A. m. A live ’coon—a whopper, too, 
according to Al—all hunted and treed, ready to 
be slaughtered. It seemed more like a dream. 
Oh! if I could only awake and find myself all 
nice and dry in a hotel. I squeezed a gallon of 
swamp ooze out of each leg of my trousers, but 
while there was “Water, water, everywhere,” 
there was none to drink. Though I suffered 
with thirst and bruises, I hid my feelings as well 
as I could, but every time I looked at Barnes 
that demon was smothering a Mephistophelian 
grin, and childlike, would say: “Well, how do 
yer like ’coonin’ so far?” And I would reply 
with an effort: “Oh, great; come on, let’s get 
him down.” I wanted the agony over. 
The two hunters cut away all the underbrush 
within a radius of twenty-five feet from the 
tree. I thought they were going to make a soft 
place for the ’coon to land on, but it was only 
“to see him when he jumps” and also to get 
fire wood, and we soon had a blaze crackling 
high up into the thick branches of the big pine, 
lighting up everything with a pleasant glow. I 
never could understand how Barnes got a fire 
in that soaking woods. 
“Can’t see no ’coon up there,” said Stan, peer¬ 
ing into the tree. “If it was any other dog I d 
say there warn’t none.” 
“Course yer can’t see him; ain’t they always 
up to the tip top when hunted?” said Barnes 
while trimming off the leaves from a stout club 
after which he hung the two lanterns on a bush 
at the edge of a clearing. “Do you want to go 
up and shoot him out, Stan? Here, take the 
rifle.” 
“No, Al, I ain’t used to rifles; I’m afraid I’d 
get kicked out o’ the tree. I wish old Bill Allen 
was here with his shotgun. Wonder Bill don t 
hear the dog and come on.” 
“Say, do you want to go up, mister,” said Al, 
disgusted at Stan’s timidity. 
“Oh, I’m not afraid o’ the ’coon, but I’m 
water-logged and can’t climb,” I said. 
However, after much coaxing, we persuaded 
Stan to put on the climbers. We strapped the 
rifle to his back, pqt some cartridges in his 
pocket and started to boost him up, when he 
said: “Just hand me that dog chain. I want to 
tie myself while I fire.” Then he disappeared 
toward the moon. 
“Now, Mr. T.,” said Al, “don’t you use a 
club. You just hold Sport back at the edge of 
the clearing and don’t let him jump on the 
’coon, ’cos in the mix-up I might hit the dog. 
I’m goin’ to stand on this side of the tree, as 
he’ll go for the brook, and don’t you let the 
dog go on yer life, unless the ’coon gets away. 
Stan ’ll probably kill him, an’ if he don’t, I will. 
‘'Never mind old Bill; find that fur. 
After another breathless silence Stan said ex¬ 
citedly: “I see him right in front o’ the moon. 
He’s a whopper. Wait till I tie this chain.” 
“Hold that dog tight now, mister; don t get 
scared,” admonished Al. 
“Shoot quick,” I yelled, “or this hound ’ll 
tear me to pieces.” 
“Ready,” said Stan. Then came one of those 
moments when every nerve and muscle was 
strung to its highest tension, every sense alert 
and eager and not a sound jarred the oppres¬ 
sive stillness. We scarcely breathed; even the 
dog was quiet and the mosquitoes stopped their 
symphony. Every eye was riveted on those dark 
green branches. We looked like works of art— 
Barnes in bronze, with legs spread like a clothes 
horse, grasping the club, myself down on one 
knee with arms around the hound’s quivering 
b°dy. . 
Bang! loud and sharp rang out the ritle. 
Crash, a twenty-five-pound ’coon landed on the 
ground within two feet of the dog’s nose. With 
a yelp the hound jumped on him. The coon 
gave a sharp hiss like a cat, reared on his hind 
legs and struck the dog, knocking him over 
against my legs. Then he looked quickly to 
right and left, and made for the brook like a 
rubber ball. What a scrapper he looked—ears, 
tail and fur all up and bristling—showing his 
sharp little teeth, fox-like head, with beady eyes 
glittering like a rat’s, but all his movements 
like a cat, although his body, strong claws and 
peculiar feet reminded one of a miniature bear. 
With a howl the dog recovered himself and 
sprang swiftly after the ’coon. Barnes, who 
never got a whack at him, bounded across the 
clearing, yelling to me to “grab that light; quick 
now; he’s in the water. Sic him, Sport; stick 
to him.” I was so flustered when the ’coon came 
in sight that-1 let go of the dog altogether, and 
when the ’coon banged old Sport so cleverly 
over his shoulder, watching the dog. There was 
so much light that he did not appear to notice 
me, but swam right to the hummock. I struck 
at his head with the lantern, missed my footing 
and landed square on the dog’s back, and every¬ 
thing—drummer, ’coon, dog and hardware went 
out of sight. The light, of course, went out, 
and I could feel those two animals against my 
body in the darkness and hear the angry snarls 
and spits almost in my face. “Here he is, hoys,” 
I spluttered with my mouth full of water, “right 
under my legs. Come here with the light.” 
“Hold him,” said Barnes. 
“I haven’t got him,” I said, as Barnes and 
Stan rushed up. The two animals were now on 
firmer footing, fighting desperately. Every hair 
of that ’coon fought. I have never seen another 
animal fight like this one. We caught a glimpse 
only of the ’coon who was at bay under a clump 
of woods, his body half submerged. The dog 
could not hold him; he would jump sidewise, 
looking like a big wet tomcat. He was finally 
dispatched, but not until he had bitten through 
Barnes’ rubber boot and cut the dog’s face in 
ribbons. 
“Well, Mr. T., what do you think now about 
’coonin’? Warn’t he a tough critter? I never 
had such a fight in my life with a coon, said 
Barnes. “What time is it?” 
“I don’t know,” I said, wringing out my vest, 
“but it must be 4 a. m. 
“Say, where are the climbers?” said Al. 
“Over in the swamp,” I replied; “somewhere 
near the other lantern, and maybe not far from 
the hatchet and the dog chain, which is up on 
the tree.” 
“Well, we can’t find that tree now.” 
I was a sight. I looked like a man who had 
fought a forest fire and just come out alive. 
My beautiful brown hair and eyebrows looked 
as if singed off; my tenor voice was gone, leav¬ 
ing me with a sort of a hoarse, doggy bass , 
the briers and other sharp things that had raked 
ooking so big and fierce only a few feet off, 
„hy I was feazed sure enough. Another crash 
n the trees brought me to my senses. I looked 
or another ’coon, but it was Stan coming down 
coon fashion, hanging to the rifle, landing with 
1 sprawl on the wet moss. “Come on with the 
ight,” he shrieked, grabbing one off the bushes. 
With the other lantern I rushed toward the 
sound of barking, swearing, fighting and splash¬ 
ing in the brook. 
“See him, Al?” called Stan. 
“No, but Sport’s on to him all right. Give 
us that light, quick.” 
He shoved the light low down under the 
alders where we saw the dog and coon head¬ 
ing up stream neck and neck. Every time the 
dos reached for him the wily ’coon would go 
under, and once, when the dog got close on to 
him, the ’coon reared up and jumped on the 
dog’s head, pushing him under, and the dog 
coming up sputtering, sneezing and altogether 
rattled, would lose a few feet and whine eagerly, 
but still keep the chase up to and fro along the 
stream. 
As I started up stream with the light to head 
them off I stepped on a hummock which pro¬ 
truded a foot or more above the water and 
caught hold of an alder bush above my head 
to steady myself, when I perceived the ’coon 
rnmine’ toward mv perch with his head turned 
me had left rows of scratches. I, who previous 
to this adventure looked as smooth and esthetic 
as a United States Senator, was now a work of 
art called Ketchell “after Johnson.” But, thank 
goodness, I was rid of that load of wooden and 
hardware, for all that did actually stick to me 
during that rush I found soaking wet in my 
left pocket—a cedar pencil. I took off every 
stitch of clothing and walked through the cool 
woods almost four miles, looking for a laundry 
sign, carrying the wet things in my bare hands. 
As for my shoes, they had swollen to No. 16. 
I was more naked than the dog, even, because 
he had his collar on, while mine was on a spruce 
tree away back on the trail^ encircled by a huge 
purple tie. 
So to the village we crawled—stiff, sore and 
wet—our hardware kit distributed all over that 
big marsh. But we got a ’coon, and the drum¬ 
mer remembers it as one of the oddest experi¬ 
ences of his life, especially as it may have been 
a joke on him. Sport is the very best ’coon dog 
in New England and cannot be bought at any 
price, and any reader of this incident can find 
out how much I think of him by reading the 
engraving on a collar which I sent him at 
Christmas: 
Sport is my un-Christian name, 
Stanley Wight’s my master, 
Dreamland is my dwelling-place, 
Unnnc QrP wVlflt T ’ TT1 after. 
530 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Sing out up there, Stan, before you shoot. 
[April 2, 191°- 
