“Ain’t no use,” he said. “No hound yet ever treed that ghost coon.”
Hearing a whine, I turned around. Little Ann had crawled up on the log and was inching her way down the slick trunk toward the water.
I held my lantern up so I could see better. Spraddle-legged, claws digging into the bark, she was easing her way down.
“You’d better get her out of there,” Rubin said. “If she gets down in that old tree top, she’ll drown.”
Rubin didn’t know my Little Ann. Once her feet slipped. I saw her hind quarters fall off to one side.
She didn’t get scared. Slowly she eased her legs back up on the log.
I made no reply. I just watched and waited. Little Ann eased herself into the water.
Swimming to the drift, she started sniffing around. In places it was thin and her legs would break through.
Climbing, clawing, and swimming, she searched the drift over, looking for the lost trail. I saw when she stopped searching.
With her body half in the water, and her front feet curved over a piece of driftwood, she turned her head and looked toward the shore.
I could see her head twisting from side to side. I could tell by her actions that she had gotten the scent.
With a low whine, she started back. I told Rubin, “I think she smells something.”
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