They straightened the trail out and headed down river. I took off after them as fast as I could run.
A mile downstream the coon pulled his first trick. I could tell by my dogs' voices that they had lost the trail. When I came to them they were out on an old drift, sniffing around.
The coon had pulled a simple trick. He had run out on the drift, leaped into the water, and crossed the river. To an experienced coon hound, the crude trick would have been nothing at all, but my dogs were just big, awkward pups, trailing their first live coon.
I stood and watched, wondering if they would remember the training I had given them. Now and then I would whoop, urging them on.
Old Dan was having a fit. He whined and he bawled. He whimpered and cried. He came to me and reared up, begging for help.
'I'm not going to help you,' I scolded, 'and you're not going to find him out on that drift. If you would just remember some of the training I gave you, you could find the trail. Now go find that coon.'
He ran back out on the drift and started searching.
Little Ann came to me. I could see the pleading in her warm gray eyes. 'I'm ashamed of you, little girl,' I said. 'I thought you had more sense than this. If you let him fool you this easily, you'll never be a coon dog.'
She whined, turned, and trotted downstream to search again for the lost trail.
I couldn't understand. Had all the training I had given them been useless? I knew if I waded the river they would follow me. Once on the other side, it would be easy for them to find the trail. I didn't want it that way. I wanted them to figure it out by themselves. The more I thought about it, the more disgusted I became. I sat down and buried my face in my arms.
Out on the drift, Old Dan started whining. It made me angry and I got up to scold him again.
I couldn't understand his actions. He was running along the edge of the drift, whimpering and staring downriver. I looked that way. I could see something swimming for the opposite shore. At first I thought it was a muskrat. In the middle of the stream, where the moonlight was the brightest, I got a good look. It was Little Ann.
With a loud whoop, I told her how proud I was. My little girl had remembered her training.
She came out on a gravel bar, shook the water from her body, and disappeared in the thick timber. Minutes later, she let me know she had found the trail. Before the tones of her voice had died away, Old Dan plowed into the water. He was so eager to join her I could hear him whining as he swam.
As soon as his feet touched bottom in the shallows, he started bawling and lunging. White sheets of water, knocked high in the moonlight by his churning feet, gleamed like thousands of tiny white stars.
He came out of the river onto a sand bar. In his eagerness, his feet slipped in the loose sand and down he went. He came out of his roll, running and bawling. Ahead of him was a log jam. He sailed over it and disappeared down the riverbank. Seconds later I heard his deep voice blend with the sharp cries of Little Ann.
At that moment no boy in the world could have been more proud of his dogs than I was. Never again would I doubt them.
I was hurrying along, looking for a shallow riffle so I could wade across, when the voices of my dogs stopped. I waited and listened. They opened again on my side of the stream. The coon had crossed back over.
I couldn't help smiling. I knew that never again would a ringtail fool them by swimming the river.
The next trick the old fellow pulled was dandy. He climbed a large water oak standing about ten feet from the river and simply disappeared.
I got there in time to see my dogs swimming for the opposite shore. For half an hour they worked that bank. Not finding the trail, they swam back. I stood and watched them. They practically tore the riverbank to pieces looking for the trail.
Old Dan knew the coon had climbed the water oak. He went back, reared up on it, and bawled a few times.
'There's no use in doing that, boy,' I said. 'I know he climbed it, but he's not there now. Maybe it's like Grandpa said, he just climbed right on out through the top and disappeared in the stars.'
My dogs didn't know it, but I was pretty well convinced that that was what the coon had done.
