“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.