Nevertheless Raccoon Junior preferred their society to that of the boys and dog which instinct warned him to dread above all other foes.
As the well-bred terrier—game enough to face any foe, though it might prove a sorry day for him if he should tackle that young raccoon—reared on his hind legs, and clawed the bark of the trunk in his excitement, the rash Junior climbed swiftly out of the hollow and fled up among the branches of the tall chestnut tree, seeking to hide himself among the long thick leaves amid a stormy “Quock!” and “Caw! Caw! Caw!” from the crows.
“Oh! there—there he goes! See his stout body and funny little legs!”
“And his long gray hair and the black patch over his eyes—makes him look as if he wore spectacles!”
“And his bushy tail! Huh! there’s some class to that tail—all ringed with buff and black.”
Such cries broke from three wildly excited throats. Leon spent no breath in admiration. Like lightning, he had snatched up a stone and sent it flying up the tree after the fugitive with such good aim that it struck one of the short, climbing legs.
Another whimpering cry—sharp and shrill as that of a wounded child—rang down among the thick leaves.
“What did you do that for? You’ve broken one of his legs, I think!” exclaimed the scout.
“So much the better! If he should light down from the tree, he can’t run so fast! I want that dandy tail of his—and his skin!” Starrie Chase was now beside himself with the greedy feeling, that possessed him whenever he saw a wild animal, that its own skin did not belong to it, but to him.
“Say, fellows!” he cried wildly, “if you’ll stay right here by the tree and prevent his coming down, I—I’ll run all the way back to that farm-clearing—I guess I can find my way—and bring back Toiney’s gun, and shoot him. Say—will you?”