I felt the excitement of the hunt as it ate its way into my body.
Taking a deep breath, I reared back and whooped as loud as I could.
The coon ran upriver for a way and then, cutting out of the bottoms, he headed for the mountains.
I stood and listened until their voices went out of hearing.
Slipping and sliding, I started in the direction I had last heard them.
About halfway to the foothills I heard them coming back.
Somewhere in the rugged mountains, the coon had turned and headed toward the river.
It was about time for him to play out a few tricks and I was wondering what he would do.
I knew it would be hard for him to hide his trail with snow on the ground, and I realized later that the smart old coon knew this, too.
As the voices of my dogs grew louder, I could tell that they were coming straight toward me.
Once I started to blow out my lantern, thinking that maybe I could see them when they crossed our field,
but I realized I didn’t stand a chance of seeing the race in the skunk-black night.
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