Of a sudden a hound gave voice,--the bay that makes hunters of us all. The other dogs rushed to his standard, yelping, barking, galloping from all directions across their masters' paths, until the forest seemed suddenly alive with them. One after another found, and added his note to the general cry that trailed off into the distance. The men who had started to follow paused, and the rest drew together. "Rabbit," suggested Bob, disgustedly, and the others nodded, and began to whistle for their retainers. Singly they returned, with swinging tongue and pendant ears, and a disposition to sit down and contemplate the scenery. Then once more came a cry, the steady bay of a dog at stand. His companions instantly forgot their fatigue, pricked up their ears, pulled in their tongues, and started towards the herald, with all the huntsmen in pursuit. Gathered about a veteran oak, whose blasted top betrayed it the lightning's victim, were grouped the dogs, each one shoving to better his place in the bunch, each with tuneful throat and uplifted tail. Occasionally one from the outskirts would rush around the crowd of his fellows and try to push in from the other side of the ring. The ones nearest the tree snuffed at a hole in the trunk between the roots, and dug fiercely with their forepaws. "Holler, ain' hit?" "Yes. He's went in that-a-way." "Don' look like hit's holler up fur." "No. Reckon we c'n chop him out." Lance pushed among the dogs, kicking and cuffing them out of his way, and sounded the tree with the back of a hatchet. "Ah 'low hit's gone all the way up," he cried. "Well, chop hit 'n fin' out!" returned his friends, impatiently. He began cutting a square and soon broke through the outer shell. "Gimme a glove, one o' you fellers," he cried. "Ah ain' aimin' to have a finger chewed off this time." Some one tossed him the desired protection. He put it on and thrust his arm into the hole, while the crowd pushed up on to the dogs, and they yelped excitedly. "Ah tol' ye so. Hit's holler clear up's fur's Ah c'n reach." "All right. We'll smoke him out, then. Git out o' here, you dogs, an' give us a chance at this fireplace." The hole at the base of the tree was quickly enlarged enough to push in a smudge, and the opening which Lance had made above was closed with moss and green leaves. "Hi, there she comes," cried some one, enthusiastically, as the thick white smoke made its way out of the broken top. "The varmint won' stan' that long." Soon, indeed, amid a shower of bark and burning punk, a black and white ball scrambled into the air and dropped from the ragged splinters that offered no sufficient hold for its claws. As swift as sight, 'Gene Frady dashed close to the bole and caught the falling creature in his hands. High above the leaping dogs he held it, while they snarled, defrauded of their prey. "Quick, that crocus sack," he called. "Ah promised the kids to bring one home. Give him a switch, Mitchell."