He had simply crawled into the hole at the bottom, climbed up the hollow of the tree, and worked his way out on the limb.
In some way he had turned around and reared up, placing his front feet against the trunk.
There he was. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t cut the tree down and I was afraid to climb it for fear I would scare the coon into jumping out.
If he did, Old Dan would jump, too, and break his legs. I ran plan after plan around in my mind. None would work.
I finally came to the conclusion that I had to climb the tree and get ahold of that crazy dog.
I blew out my lantern, pulled off my shoes and socks, and started shinnying up the tree.
I prayed that the coon wouldn’t jump out. Inching along, being as quiet as I could, I made it up to Old Dan and grabbed his collar.
I sat down on the limb, and held him tight. He would bawl now and then, and all but burst my eardrums.
I couldn’t drop him to the ground, and I couldn’t climb down with him.
I couldn’t sit there on that limb and hold him all night. I would be no better off when daylight came.
Glancing at the hole by my side gave me the solution to my problem.
I thought, “If he came out of this hole, he can go back in it.”
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