Lance pushed among the dogs, kicking and cuffing them out of his way, and sounded the tree with the back of a hatchet.
"Ah 'low hit's gone all the way up," he cried.
"Well, chop hit 'n fin' out!" returned his friends, impatiently.
He began cutting a square and soon broke through the outer shell.
"Gimme a glove, one o' you fellers," he cried. "Ah ain' aimin' to have a finger chewed off this time."
Some one tossed him the desired protection. He put it on and thrust his arm into the hole, while the crowd pushed up on to the dogs, and they yelped excitedly.
"Ah tol' ye so. Hit's holler clear up's fur's Ah c'n reach."
"All right. We'll smoke him out, then. Git out o' here, you dogs, an' give us a chance at this fireplace."
The hole at the base of the tree was quickly enlarged enough to push in a smudge, and the opening which Lance had made above was closed with moss and green leaves.
"Hi, there she comes," cried some one, enthusiastically, as the thick white smoke made its way out of the broken top. "The varmint won' stan' that long."