On going near he saw a tall man with dark skin and straight black hair that was streaked with gray--undoubtedly an Indian.

He held up a bag and said, "I got coon in that hole.

You hold bag there, I poke him in." Rolf took the sack readily and held it over the hole, while the Indian climbed the tree to a higher opening, then poked in this with a long pole, till all at once there was a scrambling noise and the bag bulged full and heavy.

Rolf closed its mouth triumphantly.

The Indian laughed lightly, then swung to the ground.
"Now, what will you do with him ?" asked Rolf.
"Train coon dog," was the answer.
"Where ?" The Indian pointed toward the Asamuk Pond.
"Are you the singing Indian that lives under Ab's Rock?
"Ugh! [*] Some call me that.