called off and the company groped through the inky woods
in quest of more adventures.

"There's a kind of swampy pond down the lower end of the bush--a
likely place for Coons on a Frog-hunt," suggested the Woodpecker.

So the Hound was again "turned on" near the pond. The dry woods were
poor for scent, but the damp margin of the marsh proved good, and Turk
became keenly interested and very sniffy. A preliminary "_Woof!_"
was followed by one or two yelps and then a full-chested
"_Boooow!"_ that left no doubt he had struck a hot trail at last.
Oh, what wonderfully thrilling horn-blasts those were! Yan for the
first time realized the power of the "full cry," whose praises are so
often sung.

The hunters sat down to await the result, for, as Caleb pointed out,
there was "no saying where the critter might run."

The Hound bayed his fullest, roundest notes at quick intervals, but
did not circle. The sound of his voice told them that the chase was
straight away, out of the woods, easterly across an open field, and at
a hot pace, with regular, full bellowing, unbroken by turn or doubt.

"I believe he's after the old Callaghan Fox," said the Trapper.
"They've tried it together before now, an' there ain't anything but a
Fox will run so straight and fetch such a tune out of Turk."

The baying finally was lost in the distance, probably a mile away, but
there was nothing for it but to wait. If Turk had been a full-bred and
trained Foxhound he would have stuck to that trail all night, but in
half an hour he returned, puffing and hot, to throw himself into the
shallow pond.

"Everything scared away now," remarked Caleb. "We might try the other
side of the pond." Once or twice the dog became interested, but
decided that there was nothing in it, and returned to pant by his
master's feet.

They had now travelled so far toward home that a very short cut across
fields would bring them into their own woods.

The moon arose as they got there, and after their long groping in the
murky darkness this made the night seem very bright and clear.

They had crossed the brook below Granny de Neuville's, and were
following the old timber trail that went near the stream, when Turk
stopped to sniff, ran back and forth two or three times, then stirred
the echoes with a full-toned bugle blast and led toward the water.

"_Bow--bow--bow--bow_," he bawled for forty yards and came to a
stop. The baying was exactly the same that he gave on the Fox