Harry, the young men, and all the children started with no less than seven dogs, and went in different directions through the woods, the dogs being divided among them.
Cal Holdness and Harry were together, accompanied by Fan; the slut running through the woods, and then returning to them. At length they heard her barking at a distance in the woods.
"She's treed something," said Harry,—"most like a bear or a coon. A bear ought to be in decent order now."
Following the sound, they found Fan sitting at the butt of a great pine. As they approached, she began to bark, whine, and scratch the dead bark off the roots of the tree.
"A bear wouldn't be denning this time of year. I'll wager it's Scip," said Harry.
The tree was nearly dead; had a short butt, that, after running about eighteen feet, divided into three large branches; and an ash, uprooted by the wind, lay in the crotch. After quieting the dog, Harry, standing at the foot of the tree, began to call Scip by name, and tell him that the Indians were gone. For some fifteen minutes there was no answer; but at length Scip's woolly head appeared in the crotch of the tree, and by degrees was followed by his body. Harry and Cal always contended that he was pale.
"Come down here, Scip," shouted Cal: "the Indians are gone."
"Won't dey come back?"