ected, but reckoned it would be "better later."

"Set down--set down, boys," he said, seeing them standing ready for an
immediate start. "There's no hurry. Coons won't be running for three
or four hours after sundown."

So he sat and smoked, while Sam vainly tried to get acquainted with
old Turk; Yan made notes on some bird wings nailed to the wall,
and Guy got out the latest improved edition of his exploits in
Deer-hunting and Woodchuck killing, as well as enlarged on his plans
for gloriously routing any Coon they might encounter.

By insisting that it would take an hour to get to the place, Yan
got them started at nine o'clock, Caleb, on a suggestion from Guy,
carrying a small axe. Keeping old Turk well in hand, they took the
highway, and for half an hour tramped on toward the "Corners." Led by
Sam, they climbed a fence crossed a potato field, and reached the corn
patch by the stream.

"Go ahead, Turk. Sic him! Sic him! Sic him!" and the company sat in a
row on the fence to await developments.

Turk was somewhat of a character. He hunted what he pleased and when
he pleased. His master could bring him on the Coon grounds, but he
couldn't make him hunt Coon nor anything else unless it suited his own
fancy. Caleb had warned the boys to be still, and they sat along the
fence in dead silence, awaiting the summons from the old Hound. He had
gone off beating and sniffing among the cornstalks. His steps sounded
very loud and his sniffs like puffs of steam. It was a time of tense
attention; but the Hound wandered, farther away, and even his noisy
steps were lost.

They had sat for two long minutes, when a low yelp from a distant part
of the field, then a loud "_bow-wow"_ from the Hound, set Yan's
heart jumping.

"Game afoot," said Sam in a low voice.

"Bet I heered him first," piped Guy.

Yan's first thought was to rush pell-mell after the Dog. He had often
read of the hunt following furiously the baying of the Hounds, but
Caleb restrained him.

"Hold on, boy; plenty of time. Don't know yet what it is."

For Turk, like most frontier Hounds, would run almost any trail--had
even been accused of running on his own--and it rested with those who
knew him best to discover from his peculiar style of tonguing just
what the game might be. But they waited long and patiently without
getting another bay from the Hound. Presently a rustling was heard and
Turk came up to his master and lay down at his feet.

"Go ahead, Turk,