One night, far back in the mountains, in a place called “The Cyclone Timber,” Old Dan really pulled a good one.
Many years before my time, a terrible cyclone had ripped its way through the mountains,
leaving its scar in the form of fallen timber, twisted and snarled.
The path of the cyclone was several miles wide and several miles long.
It was wonderful place to hunt as it abounded with game.
My dogs had struck the trail of a coon about an hour before. They had really been warming him up.
I knew it was about time for him to take up a tree, and sure enough, I heard the deep voice of Old Dan telling the world he had a coon up a tree.
I was trotting along, going to them, when his voice stopped.
I could hear Little Ann, but not Old Dan. I wondered why, and was a little scared, for I just knew something had happened.
Then I heard his voice. It seemed louder than it had been before. I felt much better.
When I came up to the tree I thought Little Ann had treed Old Dan.
She was sitting on her haunches staring up and bawling the tree bark.
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