"Hear that? He's got something this time," said Caleb in a low voice.
"Wait a little."
The Hound was already working out a puzzle, and when at last he got
far enough to be sure, he gave a short bark. There was another
spell of sniffing, then another bark, then several little barks at
intervals, and at last a short bay; then the baying recommenced, but
was irregular and not full-chested. The sounds told that the Hound was
running in a circle about the forest, but at length ceased moving,
for all the barking was at one place. When the hunters got there
they found the Dog half-way in a hole under a stump, barking and
scratching.
"Humph," said Caleb; "nothing but a Cottontail. Might 'a' knowed that
by the light scent an' the circling without treeing."
So Turk was called off and the company groped through the inky woods
in quest of more adventures.
"There's a kind of swampy pond down the lower end of the bush--a
likely place for Coons on a Frog-hunt," suggested the Woodpecker.
So the Hound was again "turned on" near the pond. The dry woods were
poor for scent, but the damp margin of the marsh proved good, and Turk
became keenly interested and very sniffy.
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