Before his father could warn him of the danger his head disappeared in
the deep still eddy.
"Look out for us, Dennis, with a pole I'm goin' ter dive fer 'em!"
In a moment they came to the surface, the man holding the Boy, the Boy
grasping his dog, the coon fastened to the dog's head.
"Well, don't that beat the devil!" Tom laughed, as he carried them to a
little rocky island in the middle of the creek.
The Boy intent on saving his dog had held his breath and was not even
strangled. The dog had buried his nose in the coon's throat and was
chewing and choking with savage determination.
Tom stood over them now on the little island with its smooth stone-paved
battle arena ringed with the music of laughing waters. He threw both
hands above his shaggy head and yelled himself hoarse--the wild cry of
the hunter's soul in delirious joy.
"_Yaaaiih! Yaaaiiih!_"
A moment's pause, and then the low snarl and growl and clash of tooth
and claw! Again the hunter's gnarled hands flew over his head.
"_Yaaaiih! Yaaaaiiih! Yaaiih! Yaaaaiiiihhh!!_"
On the shore Dennis stood first over one group of swirling, rolling,
snarling brutes, and then over the other, yelling and cheering.
The coon on the island suddenly broke his assailant's death-like grip,
and, with a quick leap, reached the water.
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