THE COON HUNT
| “Ere in the northern gale The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of autumn all around our vale Have put their glory on.” |
chanted Ralph bowing low to Barbara, as she joined him in the clearing in front of their house before breakfast next morning. “See, mademoiselle, what a fine poem I have thought out for you! Behold in me the poet of the Berkshires!”
Barbara laughed. “You are a second-hand poet, I am afraid, Ralph. I happen to know that those lines were written by William Cullen Bryant. But come into breakfast and stop your poetizing. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Ralph and Barbara found Ruth with a big sheet of paper in her hand and her brow wrinkled into a serious frown.
“We must decide at once what to have to eat at our supper party to-night. Naki is in a hurry to get off to the village, so as to be back in time to help with the preparations. Listen, chilluns, while I read you my menu,” commanded Ruth solemnly. “I am going to have a regular, old-fashioned supper party with everything on the table at once. Naki and Ceally can’t serve so many people in any other style. Besides, if we have to eat supper at eight and start off on our coon hunt at nine, there won’t be time for many courses. So here goes: Roast chicken, ‘ole Virginy’ ham, sent by Mr. Robert Stuart for just such a special occasion, roast pig and apple sauce, chestnuts, sweet potatoes, jellies, pies, doughnuts——”
“Cease, and give me breakfast ere I perish at the thought of overeating,” remonstrated Hugh. While Miss Sallie protested, as she sat down to her breakfast, “My dear Ruth, are you planning to feed an army, or to entertain a few guests at supper?”
“What shall we do to help with the preparations, Miss Sallie?” queried Grace.
“Just keep out of the way as much as possible, child,” Miss Stuart answered.
But this suggestion did not agree with Ruth’s ideas. “At least, Aunt Sallie,” she expostulated, “we may be allowed to decorate the hut as we like.”
“Certainly, child. Spend the day bringing the woods into the house, and to-morrow in throwing the trash out again, if you like. Only don’t interrupt Ceally and Naki.”
At half-past seven everything was ready for supper. As for the coon hunt, no one of “The Automobile Girls” had the faintest conception of what it would be like, and Miss Sallie was as ignorant as the rest of them.
“It is only an excuse for a midnight frolic among the young people,” she thought, indulgently. “I presume no mischief will come of it.”
A barking of dogs announced the approach of the guests. Four lean hounds, brown and yellow, baying and straining at their leashes, tore up the hill. Already the keen mountain air stirred them. Br’er Possum and Br’er Coon were even now placidly eating their suppers. The dogs longed to be at the night’s business.
While the young people feasted inside the cabin, the men who were to conduct the hunt prepared the pine torches to light them on their way.
“You feel sure this is a proper expedition, Mr. Latham?” asked Aunt Sallie nervously. She was standing at the door, waiting to see the party start off. “Hugh,” she called at the last minute, “promise me to look after Ruth and Grace. Don’t get separated from them, or I shall never forgive you. Ralph, I trust you to take care of Mollie and Bab.”
But Reginald Latham was standing near Miss Stuart and overheard her instructions to the two boys.
“Oh, I say, Miss Stuart,” he quizzed in the affected fashion that so angered Mollie, “can’t you trust me to look after Miss Thurston? I have a score to pay back to her for her rescue of me in my airship.”
Mollie put her arm in Ralph’s as they walked out the door together. “Don’t mind that Latham man,” she whispered. “I can’t see why Bab likes him. See, they are starting off together.”
The great horn blew; the dogs barked violently.
Twenty people, each carrying a pine torch, lit up the shadows of the quiet woods.
“When I count three,” said Mr. Latham to the keepers, “you can let the dogs go.”
One! two! three! and the hounds were off, their noses pointed along the ground, their tails standing out straight behind them.
“Is coon hunting a cruel sport, Ralph?” Mollie inquired. “If it is, I would rather stay home.”
“I don’t know; this is my first experience,” Ralph replied. “But hurry along, little girl!”
“Hurrah! The dogs have a coon on the run!” shouted some one in front. A poor old coon had been driven from his comfortable hollow tree, and was running for his life over the hard ground, pursued by excited dogs. Close behind followed the hunters with their horns. And, tumbling over one another rushing pell-mell after them, came the crowd of heedless young people. The party separated. Two of the dogs tracked another coon.
“I half hope Mr. Coon will win this race!” panted Barbara, close behind Reginald Latham. “Remember Uncle Remus says, ‘Br’er Coon, he was wunner deze here natchul pacers.’ Certainly he has me outclassed as a runner. Do wait for me, Mr. Latham!”
Reginald Latham had run ahead of the rest of the party, and was tearing down a steep hill with no light except from his pine torch. The moon had gone behind a cloud.
Barbara, farther up the hill, could see the reflection of a sheet of water. Into it the poor little hunted coon jumped, swimming for dear life to the opposite shore. The dogs hesitated a minute, then went into the water after it. But Reginald Latham was now going so rapidly he could not stop himself.
With a rush he was in the water, just as Bab’s warning cry rang out.
“Help me! I am drowning!” he shouted. For the minute he and Barbara were alone. The rest of the party had followed the two dogs, whose baying sounded some distance across through the woods.
Barbara was down the bank, and out in the stream in a second. To her disgust she found the water only up to her waist. They were at the edge of a small pond, but Reginald Latham clutched at Barbara, panic-stricken.
“Why, Mr. Latham,” cried Bab in disgust, “you are not drowning. This water is not three feet deep. We have only to walk out.”
At this instant, Ralph Ewing and Mollie came rushing down the hill.
“What on earth’s the matter, Bab?” asked Mollie.
“Oh, nothing,” said Bab loyally, “except that Mr. Coon has led us into a nice mud bath. I expect Mr. Latham and I had better return home. I don’t believe I am a first-class hunter. My sympathies are too much on the side of the coon.”
“Can I help either of you?” asked Ralph Ewing courteously. But when Bab said “no,” he and Mollie were off through the woods again.
“It was good of you, Miss Thurston,” Reginald Latham apologized, as he and Bab made their way up the hill again, “to take part of the responsibility for our plunge into the pond on yourself. I am an awful coward about the water. I would take my share of the blame, except that my uncle would be so angry.”
“But you are not afraid of your uncle, are you?” Bab inquired impetuously. “You seem grown up to me, and I don’t see why you should be afraid. Mr. Latham is awfully nice anyhow.”
“Oh, you don’t understand, Miss Thurston,” declared Reginald Latham peevishly. “Everything in the world depends on my keeping on the good side of my uncle. My mother has talked of nothing else to me since I was a child. You see, uncle has all the money in the family now. He doesn’t have to leave me a red cent unless he chooses.”
“Well, I would rather be independent than rich,” protested Bab. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said blushing. “I am sure I don’t know you well enough to say a thing like that to you. But do let’s hurry back to camp.”
On their way back they met Gwendolin Morton and the young German secretary, Franz Heller. Gwendolin had sprained her ankle in getting over a log, and had given up her part in the hunt.
By midnight nearly all the coon hunters had returned to the log cabin for repairs before making their way down the hill again. Reginald Latham sat before the fire drying his wet clothes.
“What is the matter with you, Reginald?” asked his uncle, sharply. “We’ve bagged three coons, Miss Stuart, but I am afraid we have had more disasters than good luck. Now, we must be off home again. Look here, young ladies,” said Mr. Latham, turning to Ruth and Mollie, who were saying good-bye to their guests, “is there a wood nymph, who lives anywhere about in these woods? Several times to-night I thought I spied a little figure flying between the trees.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Latham,” laughed Ruth. “Our woods are not haunted.”
But Mollie answered never a word.
“Miss Thurston,” called Reginald Latham, as Barbara, who had gone out to change her wet clothes came into the room to say good night to her guests, “may I come up and see you and your friends in the morning?”
Barbara hesitated. She did not object to Reginald Latham as the other girls did; she even thought Ruth, Grace and Mollie were prejudiced against him, but she had an idea that something disagreeable might grow out of a further intimacy.
“I am sorry, Mr. Latham,” she exclaimed politely, “but we have planned to do some target practice in the morning? We are going to stay but a short time up here in the woods, and Mr. Stuart, Ruth’s father, is anxious that we should learn to shoot.”
“But I am a fairly good shot myself,” protested Reginald Latham. “Why can’t I come up and help with the teaching? May I, Miss Stuart?” he asked, turning to Ruth, who much against her will, was obliged to consent.
“Never again shall I allow you to engage in such an unladylike and cruel sport as a coon hunt!” announced Miss Sallie, when the last guest had gone. The girls agreed with her, as the baying of the hounds and the noise from the hunters’ horns at last died away in the distance.