dogs, a long darky and a ring-tailed streak of coon lightning, which
whirled and bit and scratched itself free and plunged into the darkness
before the astonished hunters could get more than a glimpse of the mêlée.

"Coon, coon!" yelled the negroes, and scattered into the woods at the
heels of the discountenanced dogs. Mr. Possum, saved by the stiff fight
put up by his ring-tailed woods-brother, had taken this opportunity of
unhanging himself and departing into parts unknown, perhaps a still more
wily citizen after his threatened extinction.

In a few minutes from up the hill came another tumult, and Jake raised a
long shout of "two possums," which served to hasten the scramble of the
rest of the party through the underbrush to a breathless pace.

Another gray ball hung to another limb and this time the derisive Jake
succeeded in the shake-down and the bagging amid the most breathless
excitement. It was a sight to see the sophisticated little animal lie
like dead and be picked up and handled in a state of seeming lifeless
rigidity--a display of self-control that seemed to argue a superiority of
instinct over reason.

After this opening event the hunt swept on with a rapidly mounting count
and a heavier and heavier bag.

And, too, it was just as well that no one in particular, save the
defrauded Hobson, who was obliged to conceal his chagrin, was especially
mindful of the whereabouts of Caroline and the poet. In fact, it would
have been difficult for them to have located themselves in answer to a
wireless inquiry.