charge, have lasted much longer at 
the gait he was going when I picked 
him up; but this was not to be the last 
I was to hear from the master of 
“Tramp,” as you will see before we 
are through. 
*"T*RAMP” had not been with me 
long before I found out that he 
was a trained dog, but I had no idea 
as to his age. He never let me ride 
off horseback without him, and as he 
had now become accustomed to the 
country, I had no fears about his get: 
ting lost again; so he came and went 
at his own sweet will, and many a cot- 
tontail did he run to earth before the 
cool Fall weather set in—and the hunt- 
ing season came on. 
He had a habit of running my track 
whenever he had been gone very long, 
and sometimes I’d ramble all about 
after I had finished for the day just 
to practice him; but I soon found that 
following my trail was no work at all, 
turn and double as many times as I 
wished, and it was amusing to sit and 
listen at him as he came full cry just 
as though he were hot in behind a fox. 
In the lower part of South Caro- 
lina, especially in the Coastal Counties, 
as they are called, there are large 
areas of bay or “hammock” lands, be- 
sides the numerous small streams and 
bayous that indent the coast, where 
turkey, ducks, “coons,” fox and deer 
still abound, to say nothing about the 
omnipresent rabbit that even infested 
the gardens of the towns, so that 
“Tramp” had quite an assortment of 
game to select from in his daily ex- 
cursions to and from the farm. 
“Tramp” was now getting a little too 
fat for foxchasing, and as the season 
was now pretty close at hand, I encour- 
aged him all I could in his diverting 
pastime of chasing the hare, but late 
one day on his dashing off after one, 
I called to him sharply, “Come in” just 
to try him, and as I had hoped, he 
stopped immediately and dropped be- 
hind, eyeing me meantime in a sort of 
quizzical manner as much as to say, 
“Now what do you know about that.” 
“T know a right sharp old sport, as 
you'll find out if you stay with me long 
enough,” I answered his look, “and I 
judge from your behavior that you 
know something about it too.” 
E seemed to understand my re- 
marks pretty well, for he trotted 
along perfectly content, looking up at 
me in a kind of knowing way as if he 
felt that I was entitled to a little more 
respect than he thought. Rabbits were 
not the only thing his new master had 
hunted. 
Several of my friends had guyed me 
about my old “frame” as they called 
594 
him when I first brought him home, 
but as he commenced to “come out” 
and show some “class” in his appear- 
ance, they were more cautious in their 
comments, while I, on my part, was 
not anxious to put him to a test until I 
had fully tried him out. 
I saw that he was familiar with the 
hunting commands, but that did not 
vouch for his prowess in the chase, so 
I held my own council, and watched 
the dog as, day by day, he chased the 
elusive “cottontail.” 
The tang of early Fall was _ be- 
ginning to make the nights chilly, and 
the days balmy before I decided to try 
him at night; but one morning as I 
rode away to the farm early in Octo- 
ber, I slung my hunting horn over my 
shoulder,. telling my wife that I would 
probably be out late that night, as I 
thought of trying “Tramp.” 
Just before reaching the farm he 
turned off the road, and about an hour 
later I heard him down in the edge of 
a branch “‘treeing,” but as he had been 
after rabbits so long, I paid no atten- 
tion to him, and went on about my 
work around the place, leaving him to 
his own devices for getting whatever 
he might have run to earth. 
WO hours passed, and he was still 
down there at the branch raising 
the mischief with whatever it was he 
had treed. He would stop barking for 
a while, then start in with renewed 
energy, and the woods would ring with 
his excited cry. I knew, of course, 
what he was doing he was “grabbling,’”” 
if you know what that means, trying 
to scratch in to whatever it was he had 
treed; and when he’d get tired of that, 
he’d start up his racket again. He 
kept up this intermittent serenade for 
nearly two hours, but he finally hushed, 
and I thought he had given it up, but 
I was mistaken, for, happening to look 
that way a few minutes later, I saw 
him coming full tilt down a cotton row, 
and, not halting a second, he jumped 
up on me, then down again, twisting 
about and whining. Finally he turned 
and started back in the direction he 
had come, pausing to look back at me 
to see if I was following him, and I 
could see in his eye the question he 
wanted to ask, “What in the world is 
the matter with you—can’t you see 
what I want you to do?” Of course, 
I saw what he wanted, and made up 
my mind that I might as well go with 
him and be done with it. 
He had a hole at the foot of the tree 
big enough to bury himself in, and had 
gnawed at the hole in the root until 
it was almost big enough for him to 
get in; but I kept him back until I had 
cut a stick and punched all around the 
roots to make sure there was no “rat- 
tlers” in the hole, and that it was large 
enough for “Tramp” to turn around 
in once he got inside; then I took my 
knife and went to work making the 
hole large enough for him to go inside, 
“Tramp” in the meantime sitting there 
twisting his head from side to side and 
occasionally trying to nose me out of 
his way to put his nose to the hole and 
sniff around to see that the game had 
not escaped him, and as I pushed him 
back the last time, I heard a reassur- 
ing growl from the inside, and I knew 
he had a “possum,” so I turned him 
loose. 
Hé® was almost dancing with joy as 
he bounded for the hole; but he 
had hardly gotten inside before a howl 
of mingled rage and pain told the story 
of his woes, and a second later his tail 
appeared at the hole as he tried to 
back out; so catching him by both hind 
legs, I pulled him out backwards as 
carefully as I could with the possum 
hanging to the end of his nose and his 
eyes shut as though he intended to die 
that way. I must do “Tramp” the jus- 
tice to say, though, that he also had 
hold of the possum, even if’ it was In 
a sort of half-hearted way. 
As soon, however, as the possum 
was pulled out into the open, he turned 
loose his grip and tried to appear dead; 
but “Tramp” was so mad by now that 
I could hardly get him away. That 
was probably his first experience with 
a big boar possum in a stump hole. 
Late that evening as I rode out of 
the gate with “Tramp,” a rabbit 
jumped up at the edge of the road and 
dashed off in a most tantalizing way, 
as they are apt to do, and of course 
there was nothing else for the dog to 
do but get after him, and his joyous 
cry rang out on the settling dusk; but 
a single blast on the horn, and not an- 
other sound did I hear from the direc- 
tion the cottontail had gone, and in a 
minute I saw “Tramp” as he dashed 
back to me, and halting not a second, 
he bounded up against the saddleskirts, 
causing my horse to shy and almost 
unseating’ me. 
IS pleasure was so evident as he 
capered around me that I could 
almost hear the question he wanted to 
ask me, “So you are a hunter too, eh?” 
” 
Yes, you “lost dog” you, I’m a hunter 
too, and now since you’re getting slick 
and strong, and showing your two 
white spots, I’ll see what’s in you that 
lll 
t 
prompted your master to offer that re- 
ward for you. “Go, boy!” I continued, © 
and like a flash the biackness of the 
dog disappeared in the darkness of ap- 
proaching night. ; 
Riding at a slow walk, I stopped 
(Continued on page 626) 
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