“Why, now is their feeding-time, and all the ’coons in this part of the woods are in the cornfield.  It wouldn’t pay to cut down this big tree for one ’coon; so let’s go home and go to bed, and early to-morrow morning we will come back here and bag our game.”

The boys agreed to this, and they whistled to their dogs, and started through the woods toward home.

The next morning, at the first peep of day, they again set out, and in half an hour arrived at the ’coon-tree.

The boys knew that they had something to accomplish before they could secure their game, but they were not the ones to shun hard work.  They had frequently cut down trees for a single ’coon, and they felt confident that there were at least three of the animals in the tree, and they were willing to work for them.

Archie and George were armed, as on the preceding night, with axes, and, after pulling off their coats, they placed themselves on opposite sides of the tree, and set manfully to work.  Harry and Frank stood by, ready to take their places when they grew tired, and the dogs seated themselves on the ground close by, with their tongues hanging out of the sides of their mouths, and now and then giving vent to an impatient whine.

The boys worked for an hour and a half—­taking their turns at chopping—­almost without speaking.  At length the top of the tree began to waver, and a loud crack announced that it was about to fall.  Frank and Archie were chopping, and the blows of their axes resounded with redoubled force, and the other boys caught up the guns, and ran off in the direction in which the tree was about to fall, followed by Sport and Lightfoot, and Brave stationed himself close behind his master, and barked and whined furiously.

A few sturdy blows finished the business, and the tree began to sink—­slowly at first, then with a rushing sound, and struck the earth with a tremendous crash.  In an instant boys and dogs were among the branches.  The ’coons—­some of which were not injured in the least by the fall—­scattered in every direction; and one of them—­a fine, large fellow—­bounded off through the bushes.

Frank discovered him just in time, and, fearing that he would lose sight of him, he hurled his ax at him with all his strength; but it went wide of the mark, and Frank started in hot pursuit.  He was very swift of foot, and there seemed to be no limit to his endurance, but, in running through the bushes, the ’coon had decidedly the advantage.  Frank was not slow to discover this, and he began to think about sending his ax after him again, when he heard a crashing in the bushes behind him, and the grayhound passed him like the wind, and two or three of his tremendous bounds brought him up with the ’coon.

Frank knew very well that Lightfoot had something of a job before him, for it requires a very tough, active dog to “handle” a full-grown coon when he is cornered.  But Frank thought it was a capital time to judge of the grayhound’s “grit;” so he cheered him on, and hurried forward to witness the fight.