'Son,' the judge said, 'I wouldn't feel too badly if I were you. I've seen some of the very best hounds fooled by a smart old coon.'
Regardless of all the discouraging talk, the love and belief I had in my little red hounds never faltered. I could see them now and then, leaping over old logs, tearing through the underbrush, sniffing and searching for the lost trail. My heart swelled with pride. I whooped, urging them on.
In a low voice, the judge said, 'I'll say one thing. They don't give up easily.'
Birds began to chirp all around us. The sky took on a light gray color. Tiny dim stars were blinking the night away.
'It looks like we're beat,' Papa said. 'It's getting daylight.'
At that moment, the loud clear voice of a redbone hound, bawling treed, rang through the river bottoms. It was the voice of Little Ann.
Sucking in a mouthful of air, I held it. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs. I closed my eyes tight and gritted my teeth to keep the tears from coming.
'Let's go to them,' Grandpa said.
'No, wait a minute,' I said.
'Why?' he asked.
'Wait till Old Dan gets there,' I said. 'It's daylight now, and if we walk up to the tree, the coon will jump out. It's hard to keep a coon in a tree after daylight. Let's wait until Old Dan gets there. Then if he jumps, he won't have a chance to get away.'
'The boy's right,' the judge said. 'It's hard to keep a coon in a tree after daybreak.'
Just then we heard Old Dan. His deep voice shattered the morning silence. Searching for the lost trail, he had crossed the fence and worked his way out into an old field. Turning around, we saw him coming. He was a red blur in the gray morning shadows. Coming to the rail fence, and without breaking his stride, he raised his body into the air. About halfway over and while still in the air he bawled.
Hitting the ground with a loud grunt, he ran past us. Everyone whooped to him. Ahead was a deep washout about ten feet wide. On the other side was a canebrake. His long red body, stretched to its fullest length, seemed to float in the air as he sailed over it. We could hear the tall stalks rattling as he plowed his way through them. A bunch of sleepy snow birds rose from the thick cane, flitted over, and settled in a row on the old rail fence.
Nearing the tree, we could see it was a tall sycamore, and there high in the top was the coon.
Grandpa threw a fit. He hopped around whooping and hollering. He threw his old hat down on the ground and jumped up and down on it. Then he ran over and kissed Little Ann right on the head.
After we killed and skinned the coon, the judge said, 'Let's walk back to that old fence. I think I know how the old fellow pulled his trick.'
Back at the fence, the judge stood and looked around for a few minutes. Smiling, he said, 'Yes, that's how he did it.'
'How?' Grandpa asked.
Still smiling, the judge said, 'That old coon walked this rail fence. Coming even with the hack-berry tree, he leaped up on its side, and climbed up. Notice how thick the timber is around here. See that limb way up there in the top, the one that runs over and almost touches the sycamore?'
We saw what he meant.
'The coon walked out on that limb,' he said, 'leaped over, and caught the sycamore limb. Repeating this over and over, from tree to tree, he worked his way far out into the river bottoms. What I can't figure out is how that hound found him.'
Gazing at Little Ann, he shook his head and said, 'I've been hunting coons and judging coon hunts for forty years, but I've never seen anything like that.'
He looked at me. 'Well, son,' he said, 'you have tied the leading teams. There's only one more night of eliminations. Even if some of them get more than three coons, you will still be in the runoff, and from what I've seen here tonight, you have a good chance of winning the cup.'
I knew that Little Ann had scented the coon in the air, the same as she had the ghost coon. I walked over and
