The Indian led into the wigwam. The dog, although
not fully grown, growled savagely as it smelled the hated
white man odour. Quonab gave the puppy a slap on the
head, which is Indian for, "Be quiet; he's all right;" loosed
the rope, and led the dog out. "Bring that," and the
Indian pointed to the bag which hung from a stick between
two trees. The dog sniffed suspiciously in the direction
of the bag and growled, but he was not allowed to come
near it. Rolf tried to make friends with the dog, but
without success and Quonab said, "Better let Skookum* alone.
He make friends when he ready -- maybe never."

The two hunters now set out for the open plain, two or
three hundred yards to the southward. Here the raccoon
was dumped out of the sack, and the dog held at a little
distance, until the coon had pulled itself together and
began to run. Now the dog was released and chivvied on.
With a tremendous barking he rushed at the coon, only to
get a nip that made him recoil, yelping. The coon ran
as hard as it could, the dog and hunters came after it;
again it was overtaken, and, turning with a fierce snarl, it
taught the dog a second lesson. Thus, running, dodging,
and turning to fight, the coon got back to the woods, and
there made a final stand under a small, thick tree; and,
when the dog was again repulsed, climbed quickly up into
the branches.

The hunters did all they could to excite the dog, until he
was jumping about, tryng to climb the tree, and barking