, nearer to the feet of the spectators.
Then Neal and Dol could get a clearer view of the strange animal. A
breeze of exclamations came from them, mingling with the yelping,
snarling, and clucking of the combatants.

"Good gracious! Look at the stout body and funny little legs of the
fellow!"

"Doesn't he fight like a spitfire?"

"I'm glad he's not clawing me!"

"He's not much like any picture of a raccoon I ever saw in a Natural
History!"

"I guess he wouldn't resemble them greatly, especially in that attitude,
Dol," said Cyrus, as soon as there was a lull in the boys' comments.

The raccoon had now rolled on his back, and was fighting so fiercely
with teeth and claws that a despairing cry broke from Uncle Eb,--

"Yah! He's makin' Tiger's wool fly!"

It was then that the old guide began to deliberate about rushing forward
and despatching his coonship with the butt end of his rifle. Cyrus would
gladly have stopped the tussle long before, for there was too much
savagery about it to suit him; but he could only have done so by
stunning or killing one of the combatants.

A heart-rending howl from Tiger. The coon had caught him by his lower
jaw. Uncle Eb, clutching his empty rifle like a club, was starting to
the rescue, when the dog with a sudden, desperate jerk freed himself.
Mad with rage and pain, he tried to seize the raccoon's throat. But his
enemy managed to elude the strangling grip, and getting on his feet,
again caught Tiger, this time by the cheek, causing another agonizing
yelp.

Now, however, the undaunted dog whirled round and round with such
rapidity as to make Mr. Coon relax his hold, and, gathering all his
strength, flung the wild animal off to a distance of several feet.

Probably the raccoon felt that he had enough of the conflict, and was
doubtful about its final issue. He seized the chance for escape. While
the spectators gasped with excitement, they beheld him, with his head
doubled under his stomach, roll over and over like a huge gray
India-rubber ball, until he reached the nearest tree, which happened to
be one of the young pines that shaded the camp. Quick as lightning he
climbed up its trunk, uttering a second shrill, far-reaching cry of one
note.

"Listen! Listen, fellows!" cried Cyrus. "That raccoon is a
ventriloquist. The cry seemed to come from somewhere far above him. I
had a tame coon long ago, and I often heard him call like that. I tell
you he's a ventriloquist, and a mighty