over your scalps."

XXX

A New Kind of Coon

A merry meal now followed, chaffing and jokes passed several hours
away, but the boys were rested and restless by nine o'clock and eager
for more adventures.

"Aren't there any Coons 'round here, Mr. Clark?"

"Oh, I reckon so. Y-e-s! Down a piece in the hardwood bush near Widdy
Biddy Baggs's place there's lots o' likely Cooning ground."

That was enough to stir them all, for the place was near at hand.
Peetweet alone was for staying in camp, but when told that he might
stay and keep house by himself he made up his mind to get all the fun
he could. The night was hot and moonless, Mosquitoes abundant, and
in trampling and scrambling through the gloomy woods the hunters had
plenty of small troubles, but they did not mind that so long as Turk
was willing to do his part. Once or twice he showed signs of interest
in the trail, but soon decided against it.

Thus they worked toward the Widdy Baggs's till they came to a dry
brook bed. Turk began at once to travel up this, while Caleb tried
to make him go down. But the Dog recognized no superior officer when
hunting. After leading his impatient army a quarter of a mile away
from the really promising heavy timber, Turk discovered what _he_
was after, and that was a little muddy puddle. In this he calmly lay
down, puffing, panting and lapping with energy, and his humble human
followers had nothing to do but sit on a log and impatiently await
his lordship's pleasure. Fifteen minutes went by, and Turk was still
enjoying himself, when Sam ventured at last:

"'Pears to me if I owned a Dog I'd own him."

"There's no use crowdin' him," was the answer. "He's runnin' this
hunt, an' he knows it. A Dog without a mind of his own is no 'count."

So when Turk had puffed like a Porpoise, grunted and wallowed like
a Hog, to his heart's content and to the envy of the eight who sat
sweltering and impatient, he arose, all dribbling ooze, probably to
seek a new wallowing place, when his nose discovered something on the
bank that had far more effect than all the coaxings and threats of the
"waiting line," and he gave a short bark that was a note of joy for
the boys. They were all attention now, as the old Hound sniffed it
out, and in a few moments stirred the echoes with an opening blast of
his deepest strain.

"Turk's struck it rich!" opined Caleb.

The old Dog's bawling was strong now, but not very regular, showing
that the hunted