An old gate hung by one rusty hinge from a large corner post. I could tell that at one time a house had stood close by.
Rubin saw me looking around. “A long time ago some Indians lived here and farmed these fields,” he said.
I walked around the tree looking for the coon, but could see very little in the dark shadows.
“Ain’t no use to look,” Rubin said. “He won’t be there.”
Rainie spoke up. “This ain’t the first time we’ve been to this tree,” he said.
Rubin told Rainie to shut up. “You talk too much,” he said.
In a whining voice, Rainie said, “Rubin, you know the coon ain’t in that tree. Make him pay off and let’s go home. I’m getting tired.”
I told Rubin I was going to climb the tree. “Go ahead,” he said. “It won’t do you any good.”
The tree was easy to climb. I looked all over it, on each limb, and in every dark place.
I looked for a hollow. The ghost coon wasn’t there.
I climbed back down, scolded Old Dan to stop his loud bawling, and looked for Little Ann.
I saw her far up the old fence row, sniffing and running here and there.
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