This brought a loud laugh from Rainie, which sounded like someone had dropped an empty bucket on a gravel bar and then had kicked it.
The wily old coon crossed the river several times, but couldn’t shake my dogs from his trail.
He cut out from the bottoms, walked a rail fence, and jumped from it into a thick canebrake.
He piled into an old slough. Where it emptied into the river, he swam to the middle.
Doing opposite to what most coons do, which is swim downstream, he swam upstream.
He stopped at an old drift in the middle of it. Little Ann found him.
When she jumped him from the drift, Old Dan was far downriver searching for the trail.
If he could have gotten there in time, it would have been the last of the ghost coon, but Little Ann couldn’t do much by herself in the water.
He fought his way free from her, swam to our side, and ran upstream.
I could hear Old Dan coming through the bottoms on the other side, bawling at every jump.
I could feel the driving power in his voice. We heard him when he hit the water to cross over. It sounded like a cow had jumped in.
Little Ann was warming up the ghost coon. I could tell by her voice that she was close to him.
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