stunning or killing one of the combatants.

A heart-rending howl from Tiger. The coon had caught him by his lower
jaw. Uncle Eb, clutching his empty rifle like a club, was starting to
the rescue, when the dog with a sudden, desperate jerk freed himself.
Mad with rage and pain, he tried to seize the raccoon's throat. But his
enemy managed to elude the strangling grip, and getting on his feet,
again caught Tiger, this time by the cheek, causing another agonizing
yelp.

Now, however, the undaunted dog whirled round and round with such
rapidity as to make Mr. Coon relax his hold, and, gathering all his
strength, flung the wild animal off to a distance of several feet.

Probably the raccoon felt that he had enough of the conflict, and was
doubtful about its final issue. He seized the chance for escape. While
the spectators gasped with excitement, they beheld him, with his head
doubled under his stomach, roll over and over like a huge gray
India-rubber ball, until he reached the nearest tree, which happened to
be one of the young pines that shaded the camp. Quick as lightning he
climbed up its trunk, uttering a second shrill, far-reaching cry of one
note.

"Listen! Listen, fellows!" cried Cyrus. "That raccoon is a
ventriloquist. The cry seemed to come from somewhere far above him. I
had a tame coon long ago, and I often heard him call like that. I tell
you he's a ventriloquist, and a mighty clever one too.

"The one piercing note was to warn his mate," went on the naturalist,
after a moment's pause; "or in all probability, though we have been