“Don’t unnerstan’ it at all, at all,” said Caleb.  “Coony kind o’ tree, but Dog don’t act Coony.”

“Let’s have a fire,” said the Woodpecker, and the two crowds of boys began each a fire and strove hard to get theirs first ablaze.

The firelight reached far up into the night, and once or twice the hunters thought they saw the shining eyes of the Coon.

“Now who’s to climb?” asked the Medicine Man.

“I will, I will,” etc., seven times repeated; even Guy and Char-less chimed in.

“You’re mighty keen hunters, but I want you to know I can’t tell what it is that’s up that tree.  It may be a powerful big Coon, but seems to me the Dog acts a little like it was a Cat, and ’tain’t so long since there was Painter in this county.  The fact of him treeing for Turk don’t prove that he’s afraid of a Dog; lots of animals does that ’cause they don’t want to be bothered with his noise.  If it’s a Cat, him as climbs is liable to get his face scratched.  Judging by the actions of the Dog, I think it’s something dangerous.  Now who wants the job?”

For awhile no one spoke.  Then Yan, “I’ll go if you’ll lend me the revolver.”

“So would I,” said Wesley quickly.

“Well, now, we’ll draw straws”—­and Yan won.  Caleb felled a thin tree against the big one and Yan climbed as he had done once before.

There was an absence of the joking and chaffing that all had kept up when on the other occasion Yan went after the Coon.  There was a tension that held them still and reached the climber to thrill him with a weird sense of venturing into black darkness to face a fearful and mysterious danger.  The feeling increased as he climbed from the leaning tree to the great trunk of the Basswood, to lose sight of his comrades in the wilderness of broad leaves and twisted tree-arms.  The dancing firelight sent shadow-blots and light-spots in a dozen directions with fantastic effect.  Some of the feelings of the night at Garney’s grave came back to him, but this time with the knowledge of real danger.  A little higher and he was out of sight of his friends below.  The danger began to appal him; he wanted to go back, and to justify the retreat he tried to call out, “No Coon here!” but his voice failed him, and, as he clung to the branch, he remembered Caleb’s words, “There’s nothing ahead of grit, an’ grit ain’t so much not bein’ scairt as it is goin’ straight ahead when you are scairt.”  No; he would go on, come what would.

“Find anything?” drawled a cheery voice below, just at the right time.

Yan did not pause to answer, but continued to climb into the gloom.  Then he thought he heard a Coon snarl above him.  He swung to a higher branch and shouted, “Coon here, all right!” but the moment he did so a rattling growl sounded close to him, and looking down he saw a huge grey beast spring to a large branch between him and the ground, then come climbing savagely toward him.  As it leaped to a still nearer place Yan got a dim view of a curious four-cornered face, shaggy and striped, like the one he saw so long ago in Glenyan—­it was an enormous Lynx.