Never again would I doubt them. I was hurrying along, looking for a shallow riffle so I could wade across, when the voices of my dogs stopped.
I waited and listened. They opened again on my side of the stream. The coon had crossed back over. I couldn’t help smiling.
I knew that never again would a ringtail fool them by swimming the river.
The next trick the old fellow pulled was dandy. He climbed a large water oak standing about ten feet from the river and simply disappeared.
I got there in time to see my dogs swimming for the opposite shore.
For half an hour they worked that bank. Not finding the trail, they swam back. I stood and watched them.
They practically tore the riverbank to pieces looking for the trail.
Old Dan knew the coon had climbed the water oak. He went back, reared up on it, and bawled a few times.
“There’s no use in doing that, boy,” I said. “I know he climbed it, but he’s not there now.”
“Maybe it’s like Grandpa said, he just climbed right on out through the top and disappeared in the stars.”
My dogs didn’t know it, but I was pretty well convinced that that was what the coon had done.
They wouldn’t give up. Once again they crossed over to the other shore. It was no use. The coon hadn’t touched that bank.
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