“They are cornin' right this way!” exclaimed Jim-Polk, breathlessly. “Don't make a fuss--just be right still, so's not to skeer the coon across the creek. Jewhillikens! Jest listen at old Loud a-lumberin'!” And it was worth listening to. The mettle of the dog--of both dogs--was now fairly up, and they gave voice with a heat and vigor that could hardly have been improved upon if they had been in sight of the fleeing raccoon. They seemed to be running at full speed. They passed within twenty yards of where the hunters stood, snorting fiercely as they caught their breath to bark. As they went by, Harbert sent a wild halloo after them that seemed to add to their ardor. “Now, then,” exclaimed Jim-Polk, “we've got to go. You take the axe, Harbert, and let Joe take your light.” Raising his torch aloft, Jim-Polk sprang forward after the dogs, closely followed by Joe Maxwell and Harbert, while Mr. Snelson brought up the rear. The clever printer was not a woodsman, and he made his way through the undergrowth and among the trees with great difficulty. Once, when he paused for a moment to disentangle his legs from the embrace of a bamboo brier, he found himself left far in the rear, and he yelled lustily to his companions. “Mother of Moses!” he exclaimed at the top of his voice, “will ye be after leavin' me in the wilderness?” But for the quick ear of Harbert, he would assuredly have been left. The other hunters waited for him, and he came up puffing and blowing. “I could cut a cord o' wood wit' half the exertion!” he exclaimed. “Come, boys! let's sit down an' have an understandin'. Me legs and me whole body politic have begun for to cry out agin this harum-scarum performance. Shall we go slower, or shall ye pick me up an' carry me?” The boys were willing to compromise, but in the ardor of the chase they would have forgotten Mr. Snelson if that worthy gentleman had not made his presence known by yelling at them whenever they got too far ahead. The dogs ran straight down the creek for a mile at full speed. Suddenly Jim-Polk cried out: “They've treed!” “Yasser!” said Harbert, with a loud whoop; “dey mos' sholy is!” “Then,” said Mr. Snelson, sarcastically, “the fun is all over--the jig is up.'Tis a thousand pities.” “Not much!” exclaimed Jim-Polk. “The fun's just begun. A coon ain't kotch jest because he's up a tree.” “Well, sir,” said Mr. Snelson, with a serious air, “if they've got wings, upon me soul, we should have fetched a balloon.” When the hounds were trailing there was a mellow cadence in their tones which was not to be heard when they barked at the tree. They gave mouth more deliberately, and in a measured way. When the hunters arrived the hounds were alternately baying and gnawing at the foot of the tree. “Bark to bark!” exclaimed Mr. Snelson, with much solemnity. His little joke was lost on all save Joe Maxwell, who was too much interested in the coon to laugh at it.