earned from his
moose-hunting guide of whom mention has been made.

Dead silence in the hut. Redoubled scraping and rattling above, with a
scattering of bark chips.

Then light appeared through a jagged hole just over a string which was
stretched across one corner of the cabin, and from which dangled sundry
articles of camp bric-a-brac, mostly of a tinny nature, with Uncle Eb's
last morsel of "pork.

"By all that's glorious! it's a coon," breathed Cyrus, but so softly
that his companions did not hear.

As for the two Farrars, they were working up to such a heat of
excitement that they felt as if life were now only beginning. They had
heard of the thievish raids made by the black bear on unprotected camps,
and of his special fondness for pork. Not knowing that there was no
chance of an encounter with Bruin so near to civilization as this, they
peered at that hole in the roof, expecting every moment to see a huge,
black, snarling snout thrust through it.

It was a pointed gray muzzle which warily appeared instead--appeared and
disappeared on the instant. For at this crisis Tiger's shrill bugle-call
resounded without, giving warning of an attack on the camp. The thing,
whatever it was, scrambled from the roof, and with a strange, shrill cry
of one note made towards the woods. The dog followed it, barking for all
he was worth.

Now, too, Uncle Eb's booming "Whoop-ee!" was heard.

The hardy old woodsman, after his visitors had gone to roost, instead of
stretching himself as usual upon his pine mattress, had started off,
accompanied by Tiger, to visit some traps which he had set in the
forest, hoping to catch a marten or two. He took the precaution of
closing the door of the hut when he saw that its inmates were soundly
sleeping, thinking meanwhile, that, as day was dawning, there was little
chance of any wild "critter" coming round the camp during his absence.

But a greedy raccoon, which had been prowling near in the woods during
the night, and had been tantalized to desperation by the smell of the
late meal, especially by the odor of flapjacks frying in pork fat, had
stolen from cover after the departure of his natural enemy, the dog.

Finding the coast clear and the camp unguarded, he made himself quietly
at home, rooted among some potato parings which the guide had thrown
aside a day or two before, devoured a cold flapjack, and cleaned the
camp frying-pan as it had never been cleaned before, with his tongue.
B