., 
_ Snap was not in the rocks. 
Uncle John grabbed him by the tail 
and held him up. The little terrier 
made a leap, caught the ’coon by the 
throat and hung dangling in the air. 
“Let go, Snap!” 
But nothing doing! It finally became 
necessary for me to hold the ’coon while 
my companion gently pried the little 
fellow’s mouth open. 
B UT at last we were straightened out 
and ready to start on again, I 
proudly carrying the ’coon in a bag over 
my shoulder. We walked as at first, 
slowly, getting our breath and talking 
over the exciting events of the chase. 
Nellie was gone again, and Snap trotted 
by our heels. Three or four times we 
waited, and walked on again. Finally, 
as we sat on top of a ridge, we heard 
the welcome “Yap!” in the valley be- 
low. It was repeated twice at a little 
distance, and Snap departed like a shot, 
as before. Then came the change of 
key that I remembered from our first 
experience. 
“Treed!” said I, jumping up excited- 
ly. But Uncle John frowned. 
“Don’t sound right,” said he. 
I listened again. The barking seemed 
to fade away into the distance, then 
burst forth again with its original 
volume. 
“In the rocks!” grunted Uncle John. 
He rose and we went.toward the 
sound, but not so eagerly this time, as 
we expected to be balked. 
“We'll have a sweet time getting 
Snap to come out of the rocks,” grum- 
bled my companion. 
But when we arrived on the scene 
It was a 
vertical cliff of considerable height, 
rising on the far side of the valley. 
Nellie stood barking, with her body 
half-way in a crevice which 
ran upward and joined a 
horizontal crevice about the 
height of our heads. Ex- 
ploring with our flashlights, 
we soon found, to our joy, 
that the ’coon lay in full 
view in this horizontal crev- 
ice, about fifteen feet back 
from the edge. 
+ ET a stick and we'll 
poke him out!” I ex- 
claimed, suiting the action 
to the word. But Mr. ’Coon 
didn’t intend to be routed. 
He lay and growled and 
snapped savagely at the of- 
fending stick. After break- 
ing off the end of it so I 
could no longer reach him, 
I looked at Uncle John. 
“Why not put Snap 
in?” 
“Well, I suppose it would 
Page 391 
be all right,” said he; “they can’t get 
out of sight.” 
The little fellow was digging indus- 
triously at the base of the cliff. I picked 
him up, set him in the crack, and told 
him to “Go get him!” 
He crawled forward on his belly. 
The ’coon showed a nasty 
set of white fangs and 
snarled. The little dog 
bared the broken remnants 
of what had once been a 
good set of teeth and snarl- 
ed also. The dog approached 
to within two feet of his 
enemy, who ‘backed up a 
little, growling. We step- 
ped aside out of the way. 
Advancing inch by inch, 
Snap backed the ’coon al- 
most to the edge of the 
crevice, when suddenly he bolted and 
jumped off! 
Nellie had him almost before he hit 
the ground, and an instant later Snap, 
with a yelp and a flying leap, was on 
top of them. Over and over they rolled, 
now one on top, now the other, alter- 
nating cries of ragee and pain from 
dogs and ’coon. Game though the dogs 
were, the varmint would have been 
more than a match for either of them 
alone. But with both of them to at- 
tend to, he was kept nipping from one 
to the other in self-defense, and could 
do but little damage to either. 
At dastste began to weaken. Snap 
got his favorite hold at the throat 
and. began. trying with all his tiny 
might ; to. shake; his bulky antago- 
nist. “At a word from Uncle John I 
grabbed Nellie by the collar, and Mr. 
’Coon received a quieting tap on the 
head. 

A good night’s work 

We pried Snap loose and examined 
our catch. He was a fine specimen, 
dark and already quite thickly -furred, 
although it was a bit early in the sea- 
son. Uncle John volunteered to carry 
him, but I insisted on his being put in 
the bag with the other. I swung the 
bag over my shoulder and 
grinned at Uncle John. The 
dogs stood looking up at 
him, panting and somewhat 
bloody, with tongues hang- 
ing out, but smiling, if ever 
a dog can smile, with satis- 
faction. 
“Guess we better head 
for home,” said Uncle John. 
And much as I hated to 
quit, I had to admit that 
we had had our share of 
sport. 
“Which way is home?” he added, 
with a twinkle in his eye. 
I must confess I was twisted. Look- 
ing up at the stars, I soon discovered 
that Orion, with raised club, had ap- 
parently driven the Bull into the wrong 
corner of the heavens. But on second 
thought I reasoned that although it 
might be possible to find excuse for 
picking a quarrel with a compass, I 
could hardly accuse the stars of going 
astray. So I pointed to the south as 
indicated by the Hunter Constellation, 
which I knew must be the general di- 
rection of home. 
“Not so bad, son,” smiled Uncle 
John, starting off a little to the right 
of the way I had pointed. 
We trudged on in silence for a while, 
and I began to realize for the first 
time that I was a bit tired. Well, as 
we had done some pretty hard scram- 
bling, I was not sorry when we came 
out on the home clearing and looked 
down into the bank of fog 
which hid the humble out- 
lines of Uncle John’s cot- 
tage. With lengthened 
stride we slipped down the 
hill, and soon found our- 
selves at the door. Once 
inside, the first proceeding, 
of course, was to weigh 
the ’coons. The first one 
. stretched the spring balance 
* to seventeen pounds, and 
the second one to fifteen— 
just twice the weight of 
the little dog who had 
driven him out of the rocks. 
THe next day I partook 
with huge delight of 
the great ’coon dinner set 
forth by Aunt Martha. 
But why try to describe 
those good things, and tor- 
ture the poor reader with 
(Continued on page 428) 
