This the boy did, and Button let him come within reaching distance of him. Then he climbed a little higher up the tree. This kept on until he was away up in the topmost branches, and away out on a limb so thin that it would not bear the weight of the boy. When he saw this he took hold of the limb and tried to shake Button off by swinging the limb backwards and forwards with all his might. But he might just as well have tried to dislodge the bark itself as Button. He simply stuck his sharp claws down deeper into the tree and enjoyed the swinging of the branch.
“Come down, Pierre!” called his mother. “We will try smoking him out.”
Pierre climbed down and they all busily set about building a big smudge fire under the tree. As it was a still evening, with no wind, the smoke rose straight in the air to where Button sat, but by shutting his eyes he did not mind it much and he sat on. The smoke made the farmer, his wife and son sneeze and cough and their eyes smart and water. That was all the good their fire did, for when the fire at last died out and the smoke had cleared away, they looked up in the tree and there sat Button as composedly as ever.
“Darn that cat!” exclaimed the farmer.
“Father, you must not swear, and before our son at that.”
“I can’t help it, for I am so mad at that cat I could kill him. And if he doesn’t come down pretty soon, I’ll shoot him and take his hide to headquarters.”
“That would do no good, for they say in their letter the reward will only be given if the dog and cat are alive and well,” replied his wife.
“Well, what next can we do to get him down? I am at the end of my string of suggestions.”
The three sat down under the tree, their heads on their hands and elbows on knees, to try to think of some way to capture Button. After sitting there for about ten minutes, the son exclaimed, “I have it! I know how we can get him down and not hurt him in the least.”
“Let’s hear your plan, quick!” said the father.