Half a dozen
times he came near to tripping up Mr. Isaac Brown and making him fall at
full length.
"Poor Tiger! poor Tiger!" said the good-natured sportsman, when somebody
said that the dog didn't act as if he were much used to being out by
night. "He'll be all right when he once gets track of the coon." But
when they were fairly in the woods, Tiger's distress was perfectly
genuine. The long rays of light from the old-fashioned lanterns of
pierced tin went wheeling round and round, making a tall ghost of every
tree, and strange shadows went darting in and out behind the pines. The
woods were like an interminable pillared room where the darkness made a
high ceiling. The clean frosty smell of the open fields was changed for
a warmer air, damp with the heavy odor of moss and fallen leaves. There
was something wild and delicious in the forest in that hour of night.
The men and boys tramped on silently in single file, as if they followed
the flickering light instead of carrying it. The dog fell back by
instinct, as did his companions, into the easy familiarity of forest
life. He ran beside them, and watched eagerly as they chose a safe place
to leave a coat or two and a basket. He seemed to be an affectionate
dog, now that he had made acquaintance with his masters.
"Seems to me he don't exactly know what he's about," said one of the
York boys scornfully; "we must have struck that coon's track somewhere,
comin' in."
"We'll get through talkin' an' heap up a little somethin' for a fire, if
you'll turn to and help," said his father.
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