"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