We hurried along. I said to Papa, “If this keeps up that old coon won’t run long. He’ll head for his den.”
“If it gets much worse,” Grandpa said, “I know some coon hunters that won’t be running very long. They’ll be frozen too stiff to run.”
The judge asked if there was any danger of getting lost. “I don’t know,” Papa said. “It’s all strange country to me.”
My dogs’ voices sounded far away. I knew they were much closer than they sounded as they were downwind from us.
Finding three large sycamores growing close together, we stopped on the leeward side.
Papa shouted above the wind, “I don’t know if we can take much more of this.”
“It is bad,” Grandpa replied, “and it looks like it’s going to get worse.”
“You can’t see over fifteen feet now,” the judge said. “Do you think we can find the buggy?”
“I think we can find the buggy all right,” Papa said.
I could no longer hear the voices of my dogs. This had me worried. I didn’t want to leave them out in the storm.
“Can anyone hear the hounds?” Grandpa asked. “I can’t,” Papa said.
The judge spoke up. “Fellows, I think we’d better go in,” he said.
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