Harbert had already prepared for the hunt, and he soon made his appearance with an axe and a bundle of fat twine to be used for torches.
“Now, then,” said Jim-Polk, “what kind of game do you want? Shall it be ’possum or coon?”
“Dat’s for Marse Joe to say,” said Harbert,
“These are mighty funny dogs,” explained Jim-Polk. “If you start out wi’ a light, they’ll hunt ’possums all night long. If you go into the woods an’ fetch a whoop or two before you strike a light, they won’t notice no ’possum; but you better believe they’ll make old Zip Coon lift hisself off’n the ground. So whichever you want you’ll have to start out right.”
0105
“’Possum mighty good,” said Harbert, seeing Joe hesitate.
“Lots of fun in runnin’ a coon,” said Jim-Polk.
“Well,” said Joe, “let’s start without a light.”
“Dat settles it,” exclaimed Harbert, with a good-humored grimace. “I done bin hunt wid deze dogs befo’.”
“You must have stole ’em out,” said Jim-Polk.
“No, suh,” replied Harbert, “I went wid Mink.”
“I wish to goodness,” exclaimed Jim-Polk, “that Mink was at home. Pap, he sides with the overseer, but when I get a little bigger I’m a-goin’ to whirl in and give that overseer a frail-in’, if it’s the last act.”
“Now you talkin’!” said Harbert, with emphasis.
It was some time before they got free of the pasture-land, and then they went by Mr. Snelson’s, so that Joe might change his clothes for a rougher suit. That genial gentleman was very much interested in the hunt, and he finally persuaded himself to go.
“I’ll go,” said he, “joost to pertect the lads. It’s a fine mess I’m after gettin’ into, and it’s all on account of me good feelin’s. They’ll be the death of me some day, and thin a fine man’ll be gone wit’ nobuddy to take his place.”
Mr. Snelson was so enthusiastic that he wanted to lead the way, but after he had fallen over a stump and rushed headlong into a brush-heap, he was content to give the lead to Harbert.
Jim-Polk, who was bringing up the rear with Joe Maxwell, gave the latter to understand that even if they didn’t catch a coon, they’d have a good deal of fun with the genial printer.
“We’ll have fun with him,” said Jim-Polk, “if we don’t have to tote him home.”
Mr. Snelson kept up a running fire of conversation, which was only interrupted when he stepped into a hole or a ditch.
“I’ve often read of chasing the raccoon,” he said, “but it never occurred to me mind it was anything approachin’ this. You’re right sure it’s the regular thing?”
“You’ll think so before you get back home,” remarked Jim-Polk. Harbert, knowing what these words really meant, laughed loudly.
“Well, well,” said the genial printer, “if it’s all a joke, I’d as well turn in me tracks and go home.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Jim-Polk. “Don’t go home. If you think it’s a joke when we get through with it, you may have my hat.”
“Dat’s so,” cried Harbert. “Dat’s so, sho! An’ ef he wuz ter git de hat, I speck I’d ha’ ter he’p’m tote it. Yasser! Dat what I speck.”
The enthusiastic Mr. Snelson and Harbert were ahead, and Joe Maxwell and Jim-Polk brought up the rear.
“I hope my dogs’ll behave their selves tonight,” said young Gaither. “You went on so about Bill Locke’s nigger dogs that I want you to hear Jolly and Loud when they get their bristles up. But they’re mighty quare. If Loud strikes a trail first, Jolly will begin to pout. I call it poutin’. He’ll run along with Loud, but he won’t open his mouth until the scent gets hot enough to make him forget himself. If it’s a ’possum, he’ll let old Loud do all the trailin’ and the treein’. You’d think there was only one dog, but when you get to the tree you’ll find Jolly settin’ there just as natchul as life.”
The hunters had now come to the lands bordering on Rocky Creek, and, even while Jim-Polk was speaking, the voice of a dog was heard. Then it was twice repeated—a mellow, far-reaching, inspiring sound, that caused every nerve in Joe Maxwell’s body to tingle.
“Shucks!” exclaimed Jim-Polk, in a disgusted tone. “It’s old Loud, and we won’t hear from Jolly till the coon’s track is hot enough to raise a blister.”
Again Loud opened, and again, and always with increasing spirit, and his voice, borne over the woods and fields on the night winds, was most musical.
“Oh, my goodness!” cried Jim-Polk; “if I had Jolly here, I’d kill him. No, I wouldn’t, neither!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “Just listen! he’s a-puttin’ in now!” With that he gave a yell that fairly woke the echoes and caused Mr. Snelson to jump.
“Upon me soul!” said that worthy gentleman, “ye’ll never die wit’ consumption. In me books I’ve read of them that made the welkin ring, but I’ve never heard it rung before.”
“Shucks!” said Jim-Polk; “wait till Harbert there gets stirred up.”
It was true that Jolly, as Jim-Polk expressed it, had “put in.” The scent was warm enough to cure his sulkiness. Running in harmony and giving mouth alternately, and sometimes together, the music the two dogs made was irresistibly inspiring, and when Harbert at intervals lifted up his voice to cheer them on even Mr. Snelson glowed with excitement and enthusiasm.
“Now, then, Harbert,” said Jim-Polk, “you can light your carriage-lamps, and by that time well know which way we’ve got to trot.”
The torches were soon lit, one for Jim-Polk and one for Harbert, and then they paused to listen to the dogs.
“That coon has been caught out from home,” said Jim-Polk, after a pause. “The dogs are between him and his hollow tree. He’s makin’ for that dreen in pap’s ten-acre field. There’s a pond there, and old Zip has gone there after a bait of frogs. Just wait till they turn his head this way.”
“Tut, tut, young man!” exclaimed Mr. Snelson, with something like a frown. “Ye talk like somebody readin’ from a book—upon me word ye do—and if that was all I’d not disagree wit’ ye; but ye go on and talk for all the world like ye had yure two blessed eyes on the coon all the time. Come! if ye know all that, how d’ye know it?”
“Well, sir,” said Jim-Polk, “the coon is three quarters of an hour ahead of the dogs—maybe a little more, maybe a little less. How do I know it? Why, because I know my dogs. They ain’t on their mettle. They ain’t runnin’ at more than half speed, if that. I can tell by the way they open on the trail. Old Loud is takin’ his time. When he gets the coon started home you’ll hear him fairly lumber. How do I know the coon is goin’ away from home? Shucks! My sev’n senses tell me that. We started out early. So did old Zip. He was at the pond huntin’ for frogs when he heard old Louder open. If he’s struck out on t’other side of the dreen we’ll have to wait tell the dogs fetch him back to the creek. If he struck out on this side, he’ll come right down the hollow below here. Let’s see what the dogs say.”
“Deyer ’livenin’ up,” said Harbert.
The hunters walked a few hundred yards to the verge of the slope that led to the bed of the creek. Suddenly the dogs were silent. Ten seconds—twenty; a half-minute passed, and nothing could be heard of the dogs.
“We may as well return home,” said Mr. Snelson. “The ravenous beasts have overtaken him, and they’ll lay by till they’ve devoured him. Upon me soul, it’s queer tastes they have!”
“Oh, no,” replied Jim-Polk. “Dogs’ll eat rabbits and squirrels, but they never eat coons nor ’possums. You’ll hear from Jolly and Loud terreckly, and then they’ll be a-gallantin’ old Zip home. Just listen!”
As he spoke Loud gave mouth with a roar that filled the woods, and he was immediately joined by Jolly, whose quicker and more decisive voice chimed in as a pleasant accompaniment.
“They are cornin’ right this way!” exclaimed Jim-Polk, breathlessly. “Don’t make a fuss—just be right still, so’s not to skeer the coon across the creek. Jewhillikens! Jest listen at old Loud a-lumberin’!”
And it was worth listening to. The mettle of the dog—of both dogs—was now fairly up, and they gave voice with a heat and vigor that could hardly have been improved upon if they had been in sight of the fleeing raccoon. They seemed to be running at full speed. They passed within twenty yards of where the hunters stood, snorting fiercely as they caught their breath to bark. As they went by, Harbert sent a wild halloo after them that seemed to add to their ardor.
“Now, then,” exclaimed Jim-Polk, “we’ve got to go. You take the axe, Harbert, and let Joe take your light.”
Raising his torch aloft, Jim-Polk sprang forward after the dogs, closely followed by Joe Maxwell and Harbert, while Mr. Snelson brought up the rear. The clever printer was not a woodsman, and he made his way through the undergrowth and among the trees with great difficulty. Once, when he paused for a moment to disentangle his legs from the embrace of a bamboo brier, he found himself left far in the rear, and he yelled lustily to his companions.
“Mother of Moses!” he exclaimed at the top of his voice, “will ye be after leavin’ me in the wilderness?”
But for the quick ear of Harbert, he would assuredly have been left. The other hunters waited for him, and he came up puffing and blowing.
“I could cut a cord o’ wood wit’ half the exertion!” he exclaimed. “Come, boys! let’s sit down an’ have an understandin’. Me legs and me whole body politic have begun for to cry out agin this harum-scarum performance. Shall we go slower, or shall ye pick me up an’ carry me?”
The boys were willing to compromise, but in the ardor of the chase they would have forgotten Mr. Snelson if that worthy gentleman had not made his presence known by yelling at them whenever they got too far ahead. The dogs ran straight down the creek for a mile at full speed. Suddenly Jim-Polk cried out:
“They’ve treed!”
“Yasser!” said Harbert, with a loud whoop; “dey mos’ sholy is!”
“Then,” said Mr. Snelson, sarcastically, “the fun is all over—the jig is up.’Tis a thousand pities.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Jim-Polk. “The fun’s just begun. A coon ain’t kotch jest because he’s up a tree.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Snelson, with a serious air, “if they’ve got wings, upon me soul, we should have fetched a balloon.”
When the hounds were trailing there was a mellow cadence in their tones which was not to be heard when they barked at the tree. They gave mouth more deliberately, and in a measured way.
When the hunters arrived the hounds were alternately baying and gnawing at the foot of the tree.
“Bark to bark!” exclaimed Mr. Snelson, with much solemnity. His little joke was lost on all save Joe Maxwell, who was too much interested in the coon to laugh at it.
Much to Harbert’s delight, the tree was not a large one, and he made immediate preparations to cut it down.
“Wait a minit,” said Jim-Polk. “This coon ain’t at home, and we’d better be certain of the tree he is in.”
“You must have been visitin’ him,” said the genial printer, “for how de ye know about his home, else?”
“Some of these days,” said Jim-Polk, laughing, “I’ll come to your house an’ stay to dinner, an’ tell you about how coons live in holler trees.”
“Fetch your dinner wit’ ye,” responded Snelson, “and ye’re more than welcome.”
Jim-Polk was too busy to make a reply. Holding the torch behind him, and waving it slowly, he walked around the tree. He appeared to be investigating his own shadow, which flickered and danced in the leaves and branches. Now stooping and peering, now tiptoeing and craning his neck, now leaning to the right and now to the left, he looked into the top of the tree. Finally, he exclaimed:
“Here he is, Joe! Come, take a look at him.”
Joe tried his best to see the coon. He looked where Jim-Polk pointed, taking sight along his finger, but he was obliged to confess that he could see nothing.
“Gracious alive!” cried Jim-Polk, “can’t you see his eyes a-shinin’ in the leaves there?”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Joe; “I was looking for the whole coon, and I thought the shiny things were stars showing between the leaves.” But no stars ever burned as steadily as the pale-green little orbs that shone in the tree.
“Maybe,” said Mr. Snelson, after trying in vain to “shine” the coon’s eyes—“maybe the creature has left his eyes there and escaped.” But the others paid no attention to his jocularity.
“The thing to do now, Harbert,” said Jim-Polk, “is to lay that tree where it won’t hit up agin no other tree, because if we don’t we’ll have to be a-cuttin’ an’ a-slashin’ in here all night.”
“So!” exclaimed Mr. Snelson, in a tragic tone. “Well, then, I’ll der-raw the der-rapery of me couch about me and lie down to pleasant der-reams!”
“You see,” said Jim-Polk, “if that tree hits agin another tree, off goes Mr. Zip Coon into t’other one. Coon is quicker’n lightnin’ on the jump.”
“I’ll make’er fall out dat way.” Harbert indicated an open place by a wave of his hand.
“Upon me soul!” exclaimed Mr. Snelson, “I didn’t know you could make a tree fall up hill.”
“Yes, suh!” said Harbert, with pardonable pride. “I done cleaned out too many new groun’s. I lay I kin drive a stob out dar an’ put de body er dish yer tree right ’pon top un it. I kin dat!”
With that Harbert rolled up his sleeves, displaying the billowy muscles of his arms, wiped the blade of the axe, spat in his hands, swung the axe around his head, and buried it deep in the body of the water-oak. It was a sweeping, downward stroke, and it was followed quickly by others until in a very short time the tree began to sway a little. The dogs, which had ceased their baying, now became restless and ran wildly about, but always keeping a safe distance from the tree. Mr. Snelson took his stand on one side and Joe Maxwell on the other, while Jim-Polk went out where the tree was to fall, after cautioning Harbert to keep a lookout for the coon. The advice to Harbert was given with good reason, for it is a favorite trick of the raccoon to start down the body of the tree as it falls and leap off while the dogs and hunters are looking for him in the bushy top.
This coon made the same experiment. As the tree swayed forward and fell, he ran down the trunk. Mr. Snelson saw him, gave a squall, and rushed forward to grab him. At the same moment Harbert gave a yell that was a signal to the dogs, and the excited creatures plunged toward him. Whether it was Jolly or whether it was Loud, no one ever knew, but one of the dogs, in his excitement, ran between Mr. Snel-son’s legs. That gentleman’s heels flew in the air, and he fell on his back with a resounding thump. Stunned and frightened, he hardly knew what had happened. The last thing he saw was the coon, and he concluded that he had captured the animal.
“Murder!” he screamed. “Run here an’ take ’em off! Run here! I’ve got ’em!”
Then began a terrific struggle between Mr. Snelson and a limb of the tree that just touched his face, and this he kept up until he was lifted to his feet. He made a ridiculous spectacle as he stood there glaring angrily around as if trying to find the man or the animal that had knocked him down and pummeled him. His coat was ripped and torn, and his pantaloons were split at both knees. He seemed to realize the figure he cut in the eyes of his companions.
“Oh, laugh away!” he cried. “’Tis yure opportunity. The next time it will be at some one else ye’re laughing. Upon me soul!” he went on, examining himself, “I’d ha’ fared better in the battle of Manassus. So this is your coon-hunting, is it? If the Lord and the coon’ll forgive me for me share in this night’s worruk, the devil a coon will I hunt any more whatever.”
Meanwhile the coon had jumped from the tree, with the hounds close behind him. They had overrun him on the hill, and this gave him an opportunity to get back to the swamp, where the dogs could not follow so rapidly. Yet the coon had very little the advantage. As Jim-Polk expressed it, “the dogs had their teeth on edge,” and they were rushing after him without any regard for brake or brier, lagoon or quagmire. The only trouble was with Mr. Snelson, who declared that he was fagged out.
“Well,” says Jim-Polk, “we’ve got to keep in hearin’ of the dogs. The best we can do is to fix you up with a light an’ let you follow along the best way you can. You couldn’t get lost if you wanted to, ’cause all you’ve got to do is to follow the creek, an’ you’re boun’ to ketch up with us.”
So Mr. Snelson, in spite of his prediction that he would get lost in the wilderness, and be devoured by the wild beasts, to say nothing of being frightened to death by owls, was provided with a torch. Then the boys and Harbert made a dash in the direction of the dogs. If they thought to leave Mr. Snelson, they reckoned ill, for that worthy man, flourishing the torch over his head, managed to keep them in sight.
“The dogs are not very far away,” said Joe. “They ought to have gone a couple of miles by this time.”
“Old Zip is in trouble,” said Jim-Polk. “He has been turnin’ an’ doublin’, an’ twistin’, an’ squirmin’. He can’t shake ole Loud off, an’ he can’t git home. So what’s he goin’ to do?”
“Climb another tree, I reckon,” said Joe.
“Not much!” exclaimed Jim. “He’ll take to water.”
The dogs got no farther away, but the chase still kept up. The coon seemed to be going in all directions, across and around, and presently the dogs began to bay.
“He’s gone in a-washin’!” exclaimed Jim-Polk, with a yell.
“Bless me soul! and how do ye know that?” exclaimed Mr. Snelson, who came up puffing and blowing.
“Oh, I know mor’n that,” said Jim-Polk. “The coon’s in the water, ’cause when the dogs bark at him it don’t soun’ like it did when they had their heads in the air; an’ he’s in swimmin’ water, ’cause, if he wan’t, he’d a’ been kilt by this time.”
It was as Jim-Polk said. When the hunters reached the dogs they could see the coon swimming around and around in the center of a small lagoon, while the dogs were rushing about on the banks.
“I wish to goodness,” exclaimed Harbert, “dat dey wuz some young dogs wid us, bekaze den we’d have de biggest kind er fight. Dey’d swim in dar atter dat coon, an’ he’d fetch um a swipe er two, an’ den jump on der heads an’ duck um. Gentermens! he sholy is a big un.”
“You’re right!” exclaimed Jim-Polk. “He’s one of the old-timers. He’d put up a tremen-jus fight if he didn’t have old Loud to tackle.—Fetch him out, boys!” he cried to the dogs, “fetch him out!”
Long experience had taught the dogs their tactics. Jolly swam in and engaged the coon’s attention, while Loud followed, swimming sidewise toward the center. Jolly swam around slowly, while Loud seemed to drift toward the coon, still presenting a broadside, so to speak. The coon, following the movements of Jolly, had paid no attention to Loud. Suddenly he saw the dog, and sprang at him, but it was too late. Loud ducked his head, and, before the coon could recover, fastened his powerful jaws on the creature’s ribs. There was a loud squall, a fierce shake, and the battle was over.
But before the dog could bring the coon to the bank, Mr. Snelson uttered a paralyzing shriek and ran for the water. Harbert tried to hold him back.
“Ouch! loose me! loose me! I’ll brain ye if ye don’t loose me!”
Shaking Harbert off, the printer ran to the edge of the lagoon, and soused his hand and arm in the water. In his excitement he had held the torch straight over his head, and the hot pitch from the fat pine had run on his hand and down his sleeve.
“Look at me!” he exclaimed, as they went slowly homeward. “Just look at me! The poor wife’ll have to doctor me body an’ darn me clothes, an’ they’re all I’ve got to me name. If ye’ll stand by me, Joe,” he went on pathetically, “I’ll do your worruk meself, but ye shall have two afternoons next week.” And Joe Maxwell “stood by” Mr. Snelson the best he could.