At this remark, Papa and the judge laughed until their eyes watered.
Mumbling and grumbling, Grandpa said, “If you fellows were as cold as I am, you wouldn’t be laughing.”
We knew we shouldn’t be laughing, but we couldn’t help ourselves.
The judge looked at his watch. “It’s after three o’clock,” he said. “Do you think they’ll tree another one?”
As if to throw the words back in the judge’s face, Old Dan opened up.
I stood up and whooped. “Whoo-e-e! Get him, Dan! Get him! Put him up a little tree.”
There was a mad scramble. Grandpa tried to put his britches on backwards. The judge and Papa ran over to help him with his shoes.
Each one tried to put a shoe on the wrong foot. I was laughing so hard I could do nothing.
A hundred yards from the fire, I realized we had forgotten the coonskins. I ran back for them.
My dogs had jumped the coon in swampland. He tore out for the river bottoms. I could tell they were close to him by their fast bawling.
All at once their baying stopped. We stood still and listened. Old Dan bawled treed a few more times and then stopped.
Grandpa asked, “What’s happened?” I told him the coon had probably pulled some kind of trick.
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