What wonderful nights they were, running like a deer through the thick timber of the bottoms,
tearing my way through stands of wild cane, climbing over drifts, and jumping logs,
running, screaming, and yelling, “Who-e-e-e, get him, boy, get him,” following the voices of my little hounds.
It wasn’t too hard for a smart old coon to fool Old Dan, but there were none that prowled the riverbanks that could fool my Little Ann.
As Grandpa had predicted, the price of coonskins jumped sky-high.
A good-size hide was worth from four to ten dollars, depending on the grade and quality.
I kept the side of our smokehouse plastered with hides.
Of course I would spread them out a little to cover more space.
I always stretched them on the side facing the road, never on the back side.
I wanted everyone in the country to see them. The money earned from my furs was turned over to my father.
I didn’t care about it. I had what I wanted—my dogs.
I supposed that Papa was saving it for something because I never saw anything new turn up around our home,
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