Notice how thick the timber is around here. See that limb way up there in the top, the one that runs over and almost touches the sycamore?”
We saw what he meant. “The coon walked out on that limb,” he said, “leaped over, and caught the sycamore limb.
Repeating this over and over, from tree to tree, he worked his way far out into the river bottoms.
What I can’t figure out is how that hound found him.”
Gazing at Little Ann, he shook his head and said, “I’ve been hunting coons and judging coon hunts for forty years,
but I’ve never seen anything like that.” He looked at me. “Well, son,” he said, “you have tied the leading teams.
There’s only one more night of eliminations. Even if some of them get more than three coons, you will still be in the runoff,
and from what I’ve seen here tonight, you have a good chance of winning the cup.”
I knew that Little Ann had scented the coon in the air, the same as she had the ghost coon.
I walked over and knelt down by her side. The things I wanted to say to her I couldn’t, for the knot in my throat, but I’m sure she understood.
As we came into the campground, the hunters came out of their tents and gathered around us.
The judge held up the three big coon hides. There was a roar from the crowd.
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