All that could now be seen of the animal—­on whose gender new light had been cast—­was a gray ball curled up on a tasselled bough near the top of the pine-tree, and a glimpse of a black nose over the edge of the limb.

“Wal! ’tain’t no matter wedder de critter is a male or a fimmale; I’m a-goin’ to bring it down from dar mighty quick,” said Uncle Eb, fumbling with the cartridge-box which was attached to his broad leather belt, and preparing to load his rifle, while he cast murderous looks aloft.

“No, you don’t, then!” said Cyrus hotly.  “The creature has fought pluckily, and it deserves to get a fair chance for its life.  I’ll see that it does too.  You oughtn’t to be hard on it for liking pork, Uncle Eb.”

“Coons will be gittin’ into eatin’ order soon,” murmured the guide, smacking his lips, and handling his gun undecidedly.  “Roast coon’s a heap better’n roast lamb.”

“Well, they’re not in eating order yet, and won’t be till next month,” answered Garst.  “Come, you’ve got to let this one go, Uncle Eb, to please me.”

“Tell ye wot:  I’ll call Tiger off” (Tiger was alternately licking his wounds and baying furiously for vengeance about the tree which sheltered his enemy), “den, wen de coon finds de place clear, bime-by he’ll light down from dat limb, I’ll start off de dog, and let ’em finish de game atween ’em.”

Cyrus considered for a minute, then decided that on the coon’s behalf he might safely accept the compromise.

“Let’s get into our clothes, fellows!” he cried to Neal and Dol.  “Now we’re going to have some fair fun!  I guess there won’t be any more fighting; and I want you to see how cunningly the raccoon will cheat the dog and escape, if he gets an even chance.”

In five minutes the trio were out of their blankets and in their ordinary day apparel.  The old guide had hung the wet tweeds to dry by the blazing camp-fire before he started out to visit his traps, carefully stretching them to prevent their “swunking” (shrinking).  Thus they were again fit for wear.

A half-hour of waiting ensued, during which every one was on the tiptoe of expectation.  They had all withdrawn to some distance from the tree.  Uncle Eb had been obliged to drag Tiger away, and was bathing his cuts out of the camp water-bucket in a shady corner.  The dog, recognizing that he was a patient, submitted without a growl or budge, until his master, who had been keeping a keen eye on that pine-tree, suddenly loosed him, and started him off afresh with a loud “Whoop-ee!” and a—­

  “Ketch him, Tiger! ketch him!”

The coon had “lighted down.”

Away went the wild creature into the woods.  Away after him, went dog, guide, student, and boys, plunging, tumbling, rushing along helter-skelter, with a yell on every lip.

“There he is!  See him?  That gray ball rolling over and over!” shouted Cyrus.  “I’ll tell you what, now; he’s going to resort to his clever dodge of ‘barking a tree.’  There never was a general yet who could beat a coon for strategy in making a retreat.”