At last they came out into more open country beneath a great grove of evergreens. The dog’s impatient yelps sounded from a short distance in advance of them. Shouting encouragement, Bill hastened on toward where they heard the hound. When they got there Moze was jumping about and barking excitedly at the foot of a giant, lightning-killed pine whose trunk extended high up into the blackness.
“It’s up there, all right,” said the trapper, holding aloft the lantern and peering upward into the night.
They were unable to see the coon, which was evidently in the very top of the tree and well shielded by the darkness. The two veteran hunters decided to build a fire. Soon there was a great roaring blaze, which threw a shaft of light far aloft into the mass of naked branches. On one of them, in near the trunk, crouched their quarry. The tree was too big to chop down, and after some discussion Bill volunteered to climb it.
Having cut a long, crotched pole, the trapper fastened it to his waist with a piece of buckskin, and then he twined his legs about the tree and began to “shinney” toward the top. Ben and the boys armed themselves with stout clubs and waited anxiously for something to drop.
When he was within striking distance, Bill loosened the pole from his waist and pushed the coon from the limb on which it crouched. It fell, but caught on a lower branch, which ran to a fork, and again settled down. Bill slid down to it, and this time gave it a prod that sent it sailing through space with outstretched legs. It fell heavily to the ground in the midst of the little group at the base of the tree.
No sooner had it struck than Moze was upon it. Then began a fierce battle between dog and coon. Snarling and coughing, they rolled over and over in their struggle, Moze on top one moment, and the coon, which was putting up a valiant fight, uppermost the next.
The battle was waged furiously, and the animals appeared to be about evenly matched. The hunters formed an interested circle about the combatants, until the latter, in their frenzy, rolled between Ed’s feet and brought him down in a heap on top of them. For a moment there was the wildest kind of excitement as Ed frantically endeavored to roll away from the snapping animals. He finally managed to scramble to his feet, and ran nimbly aside, as Ben struck and killed the coon with his club.
Moze came up for inspection under the lantern light. He wagged his tail in triumph, but he looked much the worse for his encounter. He was scratched and torn from the sharp teeth and claws of his late antagonist, but appeared not to mind his wounds. Bill examined him carefully, and said that the few scratches were nothing to what he often got on such expeditions. As the hound seemed willing and eager to continue the hunt, the hunters moved on.
They walked several miles through the black woods in the hope of finding another coon, but Moze was unable to strike a second trail. Bill led the way through two large swamps, where in many places they sank to their knees in water. Then he guided them up a mountain-side, where the ground was covered with fallen tree-trunks—the result of a forest fire and tempest the year previous. The boys found it hard work climbing over these obstructions in the dark, and George declared he felt like an ant clambering over a pile of tooth-picks. At last they came to the top of the ridge, which was crowned with a forest of hardwoods, mostly oaks and chestnuts. They sat down to rest and dry their brows, for, though the night was cool, the brisk walk and hard climb had made them perspire.
Moze had gone on ahead, and suddenly they heard him baying furiously a short distance away to the right. The boys jumped to their feet instantly, but Ben cautioned them to wait until the hound had treed its quarry. They listened to the yelps and howls, which now seemed to come from farther away. Finally Bill rose and said they would follow the dog.