“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.