"What is it?" asked Billy, getting behind a tree as fast as possible; for the thing looked fierce, and he was very timid. "A raccoon, I guess, or a big woodchuck. Won't his fur make a fine cap? I guess the other fellows will wish they'd come with us," said Tommy, prancing to and fro, without the least idea what to do with the creature. "He'll bite. We'd better run away and wait till he's dead," said Billy. "Wish he'd got his head in, then I could carry him off; but he does look savage, so we'll have to leave him awhile, and get him when we come back. But he's a real beauty." And Tommy looked proudly at the bunch of gray fur scuffling in the sand. "Can we ever eat him?" asked hungry Billy, ready for a fried crocodile if he could get it. "If he's a raccoon, we can; but I don't know about woodchucks. The fellows in my books don't seem to have caught any. He's nice and fat; we might try him when he's dead," said Tommy, who cared more for the skin to show than the best meal ever cooked. The sound of a gun echoing through the wood gave Tommy a good idea,-- "Let's find the man and get him to shoot this chap; then we needn't wait, but skin him right away, and eat him too." Off they went to the camp; and catching up their things, the two hunters hurried away in the direction of the sound, feeling glad to know that some one was near them, for two or three hours of wood life made them a little homesick. They ran and scrambled, and listened and called; but not until they had gone a long way up the mountain did they find the man, resting in an old hut left by the lumbermen. The remains of his dinner were spread on the floor, and he lay smoking, and reading a newspaper, while his dog dozed at his feet, close to a well-filled game-bag. He looked surprised when two dirty, wet little boys suddenly appeared before him,--one grinning cheerfully, the other looking very dismal and scared as the dog growled and glared at them as if they were two rabbits. "Hollo!" said the man. "Hollo!" answered Tommy. "Who are you?" asked the man. "Hunters," said Tommy. "Had good luck?" And the man laughed. "First-rate. Got a raccoon in our trap, and we want you to come and shoot him," answered Tommy, proudly. "Sure?" said the man, looking interested as well as amused. "No; but I think so." "What's he like?" Tommy described him, and was much disappointed when the man lay down again, saying, with another laugh,-- "It's a woodchuck; he's no good." "But I want the skin." "Then don't shoot him, let him die; that's better for the skin," said the man, who was tired and didn't want to stop for such poor game. All this time Billy had been staring hard at the sandwiches and bread and cheese on the floor, and sniffing at them, as the dog sniffed at him. "Want some grub?" asked the man, seeing the hungry look.