She ran out to the gate, came back, and reared up on me.
Mama and Papa came out on the porch. “He’s not here,” I said. “I think he has gone back to the tree.”
“I don’t think he’d do that, would he?” Mama said.
“Maybe he’s around someplace. Have you looked in the doghouse?”
I ran and looked. He wasn’t there. “Everybody be quiet and listen,” I said.
I walked out beyond the gate a little ways and whooped as loud as I could.
My voice rang like a bell in the still, frosty morning.
Before the echo had died away the deep “Ou-u-u-u” of Old Dan rolled out of the river bottoms.
“He’s there,” I said. “He wanted to make sure the coon stayed in the tree.
You see, Mama, why I have to get that coon. I can’t let him down.”
“Well, I never in all my life,” she said. “I had no idea a dog loved to hunt that much.
Yes, Billy, I can see now, and I want you to get him.
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