Back to Where the Red Fern Grows
Where the Red Fern Grows
Day Five
On entering the store, they stopped and glared at
me. Rubin walked over to the counter. Rainie came
over to me.
Leering at me, he said, "I'd like to make a bet
with you.
I told him I didn't want to bet.
He asked if I was scared.
"No. I just don't want to bet," I said.
His neck and ears looked as though they hadn't
been washed in months. His ferret-like eyes kept dart-
ing here and there. Glancing down to his hands, I
saw the back of his right sleeve was stiff and starchy
from the constant wiping of his nose.
He saw I was looking him over, and asked if I
liked what I saw.
I started to say, "No," but didn't, turned, and
walked away a few steps.
Rubin ordered some chewing tobacco.
"Aren't you a little young to be chewing?"
Grandpa asked.
"Ain't for me. It's for my dad," Rubin growled.
Grandpa handed two plugs to him. He paid for it,
turned around, and handed one plug to Rainie. Hold-
ing the other up in front of him, he looked it over.
Looking at Grandpa, he gnawed at one corner of it.
Grandpa mumbled something about how kids
were brought up these days. He came from behind the
counter, saying to me, "Let's go grind that corn."
The Pritchard boys made no move to follow us
out of the store.
"Come on," Grandpa said. "I'm going to lock up
till I get this corn ground."
"We'll just stay here. I want to look at some of
the shirts," said Rubin.
"No, you won't," said Grandpa. "Come on, I'm
going to lock up."
Begrudgingly, they walked out. I helped
Grandpa start the mill and we proceeded to grind
the corn. The Pritchard boys had followed us and were
standing looking on.
Rainie walked over to me. "I hear you have some
good hounds," he said.
I told him I had the best in the country. If he
didn't believe me, be could just ask my grandfather.
He just leered at me. "I don't think they're half as
good as you say they are," he said. "Bet our old blue
tick hound can out-hunt both of them."
I laughed, "Ask Grandpa who brings in the most
hides."
"I wouldn't believe him. He's crooked," he said.
I let him know right quick that my grandfather
wasn't crooked.
"He's a storekeeper, ain't he?" he said.
I glanced over at Grandpa. He had heard the re-
mark made by Rainie. His friendly old face was as red
as a turkey gobbler's wattle.
The last of my corn was just going through the
grinding stones. Grandpa pushed a lever to one side,
shutting off the power. He came over and said to
Rainie, "What do you do? Just go around looking for
trouble. What do you want, a fight?"
Rubin sidled over. "This ain't none of your busi-
ness," he said. "Besides, Rainie's not looking for a
fight. We just want to make a bet with him.
Grandpa glared at Rubin. "Any bet you would
make sure would be a good one all right. What kind
of a bet?"
Rubin spat a mouthful of tobacco juice on the clean
floor. He said, "Well, we've heard so much about them
hounds of his, we just think it's a lot of talk and lies.
We'd like to make a little bet; say about two dollars."
I had never seen my old grandfather so mad.
The red had left his face. In its place was a sickly,
paste-gray color. The kind old eyes behind the glasses
burned with a fire I had never seen.
In a loud voice, he asked, "Bet on what?"
Rubin spat again. Grandpa's eyes followed the
brown stain in its arch until it landed on the clean
floor and splattered.
With a leering grin on his ugly, dirty face, Rubin
said, "Well, we got an old coon up in our part of the
country that's been there a long time. Ain't no dog yet
ever been smart enough to tree him, and I-"
Rainie broke into the conversation, "He ain't just
an ordinary coon. He's an old-timer. Folks call him the
ghost coon. Believe me, he is a ghost. He just runs
hounds long enough to get them all warmed up, then
climbs a tree and disappears. Our old blue hound has
treed him more times than-"
Rubin told Rainie to shut up and let him do the
talking. Looking over at me, he said, "What do you
say? Want to bet two dollars your hounds can tree
him?"
I looked at my grandfather, but he didn't help
me.
I told Rubin I didn't want to bet, but I was
pretty sure my dogs could tree the ghost coon.
Rainie butted in again, "What's the matter? You
yellow?"
I felt the hot blood rush into my face. My stom-
ach felt like something alive was crawling in it. I dou-
bled up my right fist and was on the point of hitting
Rainie in one of his eyes when I felt my grandfather's
hand on my shoulder.
I looked up. His eyes flashed as he looked at me.
A strange little smile was tugging at the corner of his
mouth. The big artery in his neck was pounding out
and in. It reminded me of a young bird that had fall-
en out of a nest and lay dying on the ground.
Still looking at me, he reached back and took his
billfold from his pocket, saying, "Let's call that bet."
Turning to Rubin, he said, "I'm going to let him call
your bet, but now you listen. If you boys take him up
there to hunt the ghost coon, and jump on him and
beat him up, you're sure going to hear from me. I
don't mean maybe. I'll have both of you taken to
Tahlequah and put in jail. You had better believe
that."
Rubin saw he had pushed my grandfather far
enough. Backing up a couple of steps, he said, "We're
not going to jump on him. All we want to do is make
a bet."
Grandpa banded me two one-dollar bills, saying
to Rubin, "You hold your money and he can hold his.
If you lose, you had better pay off." Looking back to
me, he said, "Son, if you lose, pay off."
I nodded my head.
I asked Rubin when he wanted me to come up
for the hunt.
He thought a minute. "You know where that old
log slide comes out from the hills onto the road?" he
asked.
I nodded.
"We'll meet you there tomorrow night about
dark," he said.
It was fine with me, I said, but I told him not to
bring his hounds because mine wouldn't hunt with
other dogs.
He said he wouldn't.
I agreed to bring my ax and lantern.
As they turned to leave, Rainie smirked.
"Sucker!" he said.
I made no reply.
After the Pritchard boys had gone, my grandfa-
ther looked at me and said, "Son, I have never asked
another man for much, but I sure want you to catch
the ghost coon."
I told him if the ghost coon made one track in
the river bottoms, my dogs would get him.
Grandpa laughed.
"You'd better be getting home. It's getting late
and your mother is waiting for the corn meal," he
said.
I could hear him chuckling as he walked toward
his store. I thought to myself, "There goes the best
grandpa a boy ever had."
Lifting the sack of meal to the back of my old
mule, I started for home. All the way, I kept thinking
of Old Dan, Little Ann, ghost coons, and the two
ugly, dirty Pritchard boys. I decided not to tell my
mother and father anything about the hunt for I
knew Mama wouldn't approve of anything I had to
do with the Pritchards.
The following evening I arrived at the desig-
nated spot early. I sat down by a red oak tree to wait.
I called Little Ann over to me and had a good talk
with her. I told her how much I loved her, scratched
her back, and looked at the pads of her feet.
"Sweetheart," I said, "you must do something for
me tonight I want you to tree the ghost coon for it
means so much to Grandpa and me.
She seemed to understand and answered by
washing my face and hands.
I tried to talk to Old Dan, but I may as well
have talked to a stump for all the attention he paid to
me. He kept walking around sniffing here and there.
He couldn't understand why we were waiting. He was
wanting to hunt.
Rubin and Rainie showed up just at dark. Both
had sneers on their faces.
"Are you ready?" Rubin asked.
"Yes," I said, and asked him which way was the
best to go.
"Let's go downriver a way and work up," he said.
"We're sure to strike him coming upriver and that
way we've got the wind in our favor.
"Are these the hounds that we've been hearing so
much about?" Rainie asked.
I nodded.
"The look too little to be any good," he said.
I told him dynamite came in little packages.
He asked me if I had my two dollars.
"Yes," I said.
He wanted to see my money. I showed it to him.
Rubin, not to be outdone, showed me his.
We crossed an old field and entered the river
bottoms. By this time it was quite dark. I lit my lan-
tern and asked which one wanted to carry my ax.
"It's yours," Rainie said. "You carry it."
Not wanting to argue, I carried both the lantern
and the ax.
Rainie started telling me how stingy and crooked
my grandfather was. I told him I hadn't come to have
any trouble or to fight. All I wanted to do was to hunt
the ghost coon. If there was going to be any trouble, I
would just call my dogs and go home.
Rubin had a nickel's worth of sense, but Rainie
had none at all. Rubin told him if he didn't shut up,
he was going to bloody his nose. That shut Rainie up.
Old Dan opened up first. It was a beautiful thing
to hear. The deep tones of his voice rolled in the
silent night.
A bird in a canebrake on our right started chirp-
ing. A big swamp rabbit came running down the riv-
erbank as if all hell was close to his heels. A bunch of
mallards, feeding in the shallows across the river, took
flight with frightened quacks. A feeling that only a
hunter knows slowly crept over my body. I whooped
to my dogs, urging them on.
Little Ann came in. Her bell-like tones blended
with Old Dan's, in perfect rhythm. We stood and lis-
tened to the beautiful music, the deep-throated notes
of hunting hounds on the hot-scented trail of a river
coon.
Rubin said, "If he crosses the river up at the
Buck Ford, it's the ghost coon, as that's the way he al-
ways runs."
We stood and listened. Sure enough, the voices
of my dogs were silent for a few minutes. Old Dan, a
more powerful swimmer than Little Ann, was the first
to open up after crossing over. She was close behind
him.
Rubin said, "That's him, all right. That's the ghost
coon."
They crossed the river again.
We waited.
Rainie said, "You may as well get your money out
now."
I told him just to wait a while, and I'd show him
the ghost coon's hide.
This brought a loud laugh from Rainie, which
sounded like someone had dropped an empty bucket
on a gravel bar and then had kicked it.
The wily old coon crossed the river several times,
but couldn't shake my dogs from his trail. He cut out
from the bottoms, walked a rail fence, and jumped
from it into a thick canebrake. He piled into an old
slough. Where it emptied into the river, he swam to
the middle. Doing opposite to what most coons do,
which is swim downstream, he swam upstream. He
stopped at an old drift in the middle of it.
Little Ann found him. When she jumped him
from the drift, Old Dan was far downriver searching
for the trail. If he could have gotten there in time, it
would have been the last of the ghost coon, but Little
Ann couldn't do much by herself in the water. He
fought his way free from her, swam to our side, and
ran upstream.
I could hear Old Dan coming through the bot-
toms on the other side, bawling at every jump. I
could feel the driving power in his voice. We heard
him when he hit the water to cross over. It sounded
like a cow had jumped in.
Little Ann was warming up the ghost coon. I
could tell by her voice that she was close to him.
Reaching our side, Old Dan tore out after her. He
was a mad hound. His deep voice was telling her he
was coming.
We were trotting along, following my dogs, when
I heard Little Ann's bawling stop.
"Wait a minute," I said. "I think she has treed
him. Let's give her time to circle the tree to make
sure he's there."
Old Dan opened up bawling treed. Rubin started
on.
"Something's wrong," I said. "I can't hear Little
Ann."
Rainie spoke up, "Maybe the ghost coon ate her
up."
I glared at him.
Hurrying on, we came to my dogs. Old Dan was
bawling at a hole in a large sycamore that had fallen
into the river.
At that spot, the bank was a good ten feet above
the water level. As the big tree had fallen, the roots
had been torn and twisted from the ground. The jag-
ged roots, acting as a drag, had stopped it from fall-
ing all the way into the stream. The trunk lay on a
steep slant from the top of the bank to the water.
Looking down, I could see the broken tangled mass of
the top. Debris from floods had caught in the limbs,
forming a drift.
Old Dan was trying to dig and gnaw his way into
the log. Pulling him from the hole, I held my lantern
up and looked down into the dark hollow. I knew
that somewhere down below the surface there had to
be another hole in the trunk, as water had filled the
hollow to the river level.
Rubin, looking over my shoulder, said, "That
coon couldn't be in there. If he was, he'd be
drowned."
I agreed.
Rainie spoke up. "You ready to pay off?" he
asked. I told you them hounds couldn't tree the ghost
coon."
I told him the show wasn't over.
Little Ann had never bawled treed, and I knew
she wouldn't until she knew exactly where the coon
was. Working the bank up and down, and not finding
the trail, she swam across the river and worked the
other side. For a good half-hour she searched that
side before she came back across to where Old Dan
was. She sniffed around the hollow log.
"We might as well get away from here," Rainie
said. "They ain't going to find the ghost coon."
"Sure looks that way," Rubin said.
I told them I wasn't giving up until my dogs did.
"You just want to be stubborn," Rubin said. "I'm
ready for my money now."
I asked him to wait a few minutes.
"Ain't no use," he said. "No hound yet ever treed
that ghost coon."
Hearing a whine, I turned around. Little Ann had
crawled up on the log and was inching her way down
the slick trunk toward the water. I held my lantern
up so I could see better. Spraddle-legged claws dig-
ging into the bark, she was easing her way down.
"You'd better get her out of there," Rubin said.
"If she gets down in that old tree top, she'll drown."
Rubin didn't know my Little Ann.
Once her feet slipped. I saw her hind quarters
fall off to one side. She didn't get scared. Slowly she
eased her legs back up on the log.
I made no reply. I just watched and waited.
Little Ann eased herself into the water. Swim-
ming to the drift, she started sniffing around. In plac-
es it was thin and her legs would break through.
Climbing, clawing, and swimming, she searched the
drift over looking for the lost trail.
I saw when she stopped searching. With her
body half in the water, and her front feet curved over
a piece of driftwood, she turned her head and looked
toward the shore. I could see her head twisting from
side to side. I could tell by her actions that she had
gotten the scent. With a low whine she started back.
I told Rubin, "I think she smells something."
Slowly and carefully she worked her way
through the tangled mass. I lost sight of her when she
came close to the undermined bank. She wormed her
way under the overhang. I could hear her clawing
and wallowing around, and then all hell broke loose.
Out from under the bank came the biggest coon I
had ever seen, the ghost coon.
He came out right over Little Ann. She caught
him in the old treetop. I knew she was no match for
him in that tangled mass of limbs and logs. He fought
his way free and swam for the opposite bank. She
was right behind him.
Old Dan didn't wait, look, or listen. He piled off
the ten-foot bank and disappeared from sight. I
looked for him. I knew he was tangled in the debris
under the surface. I started to take off my overalls,
but stopped when I saw his red head shoot up out of
the water. Bawling and clawing his way free of the
limbs and logs, he was on his way.
On reaching midstream, the ghost coon headed
downriver with Little Ann still on his tail.
We ran down the riverbank. I could see my dogs
clearly in the moonlight. The ghost coon was about
fifteen feet ahead of Little Ann. About twenty-five
yards behind them came Old Dan, trying so hard to
catch up. I whooped to them.
Rubin grabbed a pole, saying, "He may come out
on this side."
Knowing the ghost coon was desperate, I won-
dered what he would do. Reaching a gravel bar be-
low the high bank, we ran out on it to the water's
edge. Then the ghost coon did something that I never
expected. Coming even with us, he turned from mid-
stream and came straight for us.
I heard Rubin yell, "Here he comes!"
He churned his way through the shallows and ran
right between us. Rubin swung his pole, missed the
coon, and almost hit Little Ann. The coon headed for
the river bottoms with her right on his heels.
The bawling of Little Ann and our screaming
and hollering made so much noise, I didn't hear Old
Dan coming. He tore out of the river, plowed into me,
and knocked me down.
We ran through the bottoms, following my dogs.
I thought the ghost coon was going back to the syc-
amore log but he didn't. He ran upriver.
While hurrying after them, I looked over at
Rainie. For once in his life, I think he was excited. He
was whooping and screaming, and falling over logs
and limbs.
I felt good all over.
Glancing over at me, Rainie said, "They ain't got
him yet."
The ghost coon crossed the river time after time.
Seeing that he couldn't shake Old Dan and Little
Ann from his trail, he cut through the river bottoms
and ran out into an old field.
At this maneuver, Rubin said to Rainie, "He's
heading for that tree."
"What tree?" I asked.
"You'll see," Rainie said. "When he gets tired, he
always heads for that tree. That's where, he gets his
name, the ghost coon. He just disappears."
"If he disappears, my dogs will disappear with
him," I said.
Rainie laughed.
I had to admit one thing. The Pritchard boys
knew the habits of the ghost coon. I knew he couldn't
run all night. He had already far surpassed any coon I
had ever chased.
"They're just about there," Rubin said.
Just then I heard Old Dan bark treed. I waited
for Little Ann's voice. I didn't hear her. I wondered
what it could be this time.
"He's there all right," Rubin said. "He's in that
tree."
"Well, come on," I said. "I want to see that tree."
"You might as well get your money out," Rainie
said.
I told him he had said that once before, back on
the riverbank.
Chapter 13.
COMING UP TO THE TREE, I COULD SEE IT WAS A HUGE
bur oak. It wasn't tall. It was just the opposite, rather
low and squatty. The top was a thick mass of large
limbs, and it hadn't shed all of its leaves yet.
It stood by itself in an old field. There were no
other trees within fifty yards of it. About fifteen feet
of the left were the remains of a barbed-wire fence.
An old gate hung by one rusty hinge from a large cor-
ner post. I could tell that at one time a house had
stood close by.
Rubin saw me looking around. "A long time ago
some Indians lived here and farmed these fields," he
said.
I walked around the tree looking for the coon,
but could see very little in the dark shadows.
"Ain't no use to look," Rubin said. "He won't be
there."
Rainie spoke up. "This ain't the first time we've
been to this tree," he said.
Rubin told Rainie to shut up. "You talk too
much," he said.
In a whining voice, Rainie said, "Rubin, you
know the coon ain't in that tree. Make him pay off
and let's go home. I'm getting tired."
I told Rubin I was going to climb the tree.
"Go ahead," he said. "It won't do you any good."
The tree was easy to climb. I looked all over
on each limb, and in every dark place. I looked for a
hollow. The ghost coon wasn't there. I climbed back
down, scolded Old Dan to stop his loud bawling, and
looked for Little Ann.
I saw her far up the old fence row, sniffing and
running here and there. I knew the ghost coon had
pulled a real trick, but I couldn't figure out what it
was. Little Ann had never yet barked treed. I knew if
the coon was in the tree she wouldn't still be search-
ing for a trail.
Old Dan started working again.
My dogs covered the field. They circled and cir-
cled. They ran up and down the barbed-wire fence
on both sides.
I knew the coon hadn't walked the barbed wire.
Ghost or no ghost, he couldn't do that. I walked over
to the old gate and looked around. I sat down and
stared up into the tree. Little Ann came to me.
Old Dan, giving up his search, came back to the
tree and bawled a couple of times. I scolded him
again.
Rubin came over. Leering at me, he said, "You
give up?"
I didn't answer.
Little Ann once again started searching for
lost trail. Old Dan went to help her.
Rainie said, "I told you that you couldn't tree the
ghost coon. Why don't you pay off so we can go
home?"
I told him I hadn't given up. My dogs were
hunting. When they gave up, I would, too.
Rubin said, "Well, we're not going to stay here all
night."
Looking back to the tree, I thought perhaps I
had overlooked something. I told Rubin I was going
to climb it again.
He laughed, "Go ahead. Won't do any good. You
climbed it once. Ain't you satisfied?"
"No, I'm not satisfied," I said. "I just don't believe
in ghost coons."
Rubin said, "I don't believe in ghosts either, but
facts are facts. To tell you the truth, I've climbed that
tree a dozen times and there just ain't no place in it
for a coon to hide."
Rainie spoke up. "Our old blue hound has treed
the ghost coon in this tree more times than one.
Maybe you two don't believe in ghosts, but I do. Why
don't you pay off so we can get away from here?"
"I'll climb it one more time," I said. "If I can't
find him, I'll pay off."
Climbing up again, I searched and searched
when I got through, I knew the ghost coon wasn't in
that tree. When I came down, I saw my dogs had
given up. That took the last resistance out of me. I
knew if they couldn't find the ghost coon, I couldn't.
Digging the two one-dollar bills out of my
pocket, I walked over to Rubin. Little Ann was by
my side. I handed my money over, saying "Well, you
won it fair and square."
With a grin on his face, Rubin took my money. He
said, "I bet this will break your old grandpa's heart."
I didn't reply.
Reaching down, I caught Little Ann's head in my
bands. Looking into her warm friendly eyes, I said,
"It's all right, little girl, we haven't given up yet. We'll
come back. We may never catch the ghost coon, but
we'll run him until he leaves the country.
She licked my hands and whined.
A small breeze began to stir. Glancing up into
the tree, I saw some leaves shaking. I said to Rubin,
"Looks like the wind is coming up. It may blow up a
storm. We'd better be heading or home."
Just as I turned, I saw Little Ann throw up her
head and whine. Her body grew stiff and taut. I
watched her. She was testing the wind. I knew she
had scented something in the breeze. Stiff-legged,
head high in the air, she started walking toward the
tree. Almost there, she turned back and stopped. I
knew she had caught the scent but could only catch it
when a breeze came.
Looking at Rubin, I said, "I haven't lost that two
dollars yet."
Another breeze drifted out of the river bottoms,
Little Ann caught the scent again. Slowly she walked
straight to the large gatepost, reared up on it with her
front feet, and bawled the most beautiful tree bark I
ever heard in my life.
Old Dan, not understanding why Little Ann was
bawling, stood and looked. He walked over to the
post, reared up on it, and sniffed. Then, raising his
head, he shook the dead leaves in the bur oak free
with his deep voice.
I looked at Rainie. Laughing, I said, "There's
your ghost coon. Now what do you think of my dogs?"
For once he made no reply.
Going over to the post, I saw it was a large black
locust put there many years ago to hang the gate.
Looking up at the tree, I saw how the ghost coon had
pulled his trick. One large long limb ran out and
hung directly over the gate. It was a drop of a good
twelve feet from the branch to the top of the gate
post, but I knew we weren't after an ordinary coon.
This was the ghost coon.
I said to Rubin, "Boost me up and I'll see if the
post is hollow."
After breaking off a long Jimpson weed to use as
a prod, I got up on Rubin's shoulder, and he raised
me up. The post was hollow. Not knowing how far
down the hole went, I started the switch down.
About halfway, I felt something soft. I gave it a hard
jab.
I heard him coming. He boiled out right in my
face. I let go of everything. Hitting the ground, I
rolled over on my back and looked up.
For a split second, the ghost coon stayed on top
of the post, and then he jumped. My dogs were on
him the instant he hit the ground. The fight was on.
I knew the coon didn't have a chance as he
wasn't in the waters of the river, He didn't give up
easily even though he was on dry land. He was fight-
ing for his life and a good account he gave. He fought
his way to freedom, and made it back to the bur oak
tree. He was a good six feet up the side when Old
Dan, leaping high in the air, caught him and pulled
him back down.
At the foot of the tree, the fight went on. Again
the ghost coon fought his way free. This time he
made it and disappeared in the dark shadows of the
tree. Old Dan was furious. Never before had I seen a
coon get away from him.
I told Rubin I would climb up and run him out.
As I started climbing, I saw Little Ann go to one side
and Old Dan to the other. My dogs would never stay
together when they had treed a coon, so that any way
he left a tree, he was met by one of them.
About halfway up, far out on a limb, I found the
ghost coon. As I started toward him, my dogs stopped
bawling. I heard something I had heard many times.
The sound was like the cry of a small baby. It was
the cry of a ringtail coon when he knows it is the end
of the trail. I never liked to hear this cry, but it was
all in the game, the hunter and the hunted.
As I sat there on the limb, looking at the old fel-
low, he cried again. Something came over me. I
didn't want to kill him.
I hollered down and told Rubin I didn't want to
kill the ghost coon.
He hollered back, "Are you crazy?"
I told him I wasn't crazy. I just didn't want to kill
him.
I climbed down.
Rubin was mad. He said, "what's the matter with
you?"
"Nothing," I told him. "I just don't have the heart
to kill the coon."
I told him there were plenty more; why kill him?
He had lived here a long time, and more than one
hunter had listened to the voices of his hounds
bawling on his trail.
Rainie said, "He's chicken-livered, that's what it
is."
I didn't like that but, not wanting to argue, I
didn't say anything.
Rubin said, "I'll go up and run him out."
"I won't let my dogs kill him," I said.
Rubin glared at me. "I'm going up and run that
coon out," he said. "If you stop your dogs, I'm going
to beat you half to death."
"Do it anyway, Rubin," Rainie said.
"I've a good mind to," said Rubin.
Just as Rubin started to climb the tree, Old Dan
growled. He was staring into the darkness. Something
was coming.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I don't know," Rubin said. "Don't sound like
anything I ever heard."
"It's ghosts," Rainie said. "Let's get away from
here."
An animal was coming out of the darkness. It
was walking slowly in an odd way, as if it were walk-
eyeing sideways. The hair on the back of my neck stood
straight out.
As the animal came closer, Rainie said, "Why, it's
Old Blue. How did he get loose?"
It was a big blue tick hound. Around his neck
was a piece of rope about three feet long. One could
see that the rope had been gnawed in two. The
frayed end had become entangled in a fair-sized dead
limb. Dragging the limb was what made the dog look
so odd. I felt much better when I found out what it
was.
The blue tick hound was like the Pritchards,
mean and ugly. He was a big dog, tall and heavy. His
chest was thick and solid. He came up growling. The
hair on his back was standing straight up. He walked
stiff-legged around Old Dan, showing his teeth.
I told Rainie he had better get hold of his dog, or
there was sure to be a fight.
"You better get hold of your dog," he said. "I'm
not worried about Old Blue. He can take care of him-
self."
I said no more.
"Don't make no difference now whether you kill
the ghost coon or not," Rubin said. "Old Blue will
take care of him."
I knew the killing of the coon was out of my con-
trol, but I didn't want to see him die. I said to Rubin,
"Just give back my two dollars and I'll go home. I
can't keep you from killing him, but I don't have to
stay and see it."
"Rubin, don't give him the money," Rainie said.
"He ain't killed the ghost coon."
"That's right," Rubin said. "You ain't, and I
wouldn't let you now, even if you wanted to."
I told them my dogs had treed the ghost coon
and that was the bet, to tree the ghost coon.
"No, it wasn't," Rubin said. "You said you would
kill him."
"It was no such thing," I said. "I've done all I said
I would."
Rubin walked up in front of me. He said, "I ain't
going to give you the money. You didn't win it fair.
Now what are you going to do about it?"
I looked into his mean eyes. I started to make
some reply, but decided against it.
He saw my hesitation, and said, "You better get
your dogs and get out of here before you get
whipped."
In a loud voice, Rainie said, "Bloody his nose,
Rubin."
I was scared. I couldn't whip Rubin. He was too
big for me. I started to turn and leave when I thought
of what my grandfather had told them.
"You had better remember what my grandpa
said," I reminded them. "He'll do just what he said he
would."
Rubin didn't hit me. He just grabbed me and
with his brute strength threw me down on the
ground. He had me on my back with my arms out-
spread. He had a knee on each arm. I made no effort
to fight back. I was scared.
"If you say one word to your grandpa about this,"
Rubin said, "I'll catch you hunting some night and
take my knife to you.
Looking up into his ugly face, I knew he would
do just what he said. I told him to let me up and I
would go and not say anything to anyone.
"Don't let him up, Rubin," Rainie said. "Beat the
hell out of him, or hold him and let me do it.
Just then I heard growling, and a commotion off
to one side. The blue hound had finally gotten a fight
out of Old Dan. Turning my head sideways, I could
see them standing on their hind legs, tearing and
slashing at each other. The weight of the big hound
pushed Old Dan over.
I told Rubin to let me up so we could stop the
fight.
He laughed, "While my dog is whipping yours, I
think I'll just work you over a little." So saying, he
jerked my cap off, and started whipping me in the
face with it.
I heard Rainie yell, "Rubin, they're killing Old
Blue."
Rubin jumped up off me.
I clambered up and looked over to the fight.
What I saw thrilled me. Faithful Little Ann, bitch
though she was, had gone to the assistance of Old
Dan.
I knew my dogs were very close to each other.
Everything they did was done as a combination, but I
never expected this. It is a very rare occasion for a
bitch dog to fight another dog, but fight she did.
I could see that Little Ann's jaws were glued to
the throat of the hound. She would never loosen
that deadly hold until the last breath of life was gone.
Old Dan was tearing and slashing at the soft
belly. I knew the destruction his long sharp teeth
were causing.
Again Rainie yelled, "Rubin, they're killing him.
They're killing Old Blue. Do something quick."
Rubin darted over to one side, grabbed my ax
from the ground, and said in a loud voice, I'll kill
them damn hounds."
At the thought of what he was going to do with
the ax, I screamed and ran for my dogs. Rubin was
about ten feet ahead of me, bent over, running with
the ax held out in front of him. I knew I could never
get to them in time.
I was screaming ,"No, Rubin, no!"
I saw the small stick when it whipped up from
the ground. As if it were alive, it caught between
Rubin's legs. I saw him fall. I ran on by.
Reaching the dogfight, I saw the big hound was
almost gone. He had long since ceased fighting. His
body lay stretched full-length on the ground. I
grabbed Old Dan's collar and pulled him back. It was
different with Little Ann. Pull as I might, she wouldn't
let go of the hound's throat. Her jlaws were locked.
I turned Old Dan loose and, getting astraddle of
Little Ann, I pried her jaws apart with my hands. Old
Dan had darted back in. Grabbing his collar again, I
pulled them off to one side.
The blue hound lay where he was. I thought per-
haps he was already dead, and then I saw him move
a little.
Still holding my dogs by their collars, I looked
back. I couldn't understand what I saw. Rubin was
laying where he had fallen. His back was toward me,
and his body was bent in a "U" shape. Rainie was
standing on the other side of him, staring down.
I hollered and asked Rainie, "What's the matter?"
He didn't answer. He just stood as though in a
trance, staring down at Rubin.
I hollered again. He still didn't answer. I didn't
know what to do. I couldn't turn my dogs loose. They
would go for the hound again.
Again I hollered at Rainie, asking him to come
and help me. He neither moved nor answered. I had
to do something.
Looking around, my glance fell on the old barbed-
wire fence. I led my dogs to it. Holding onto their
collars with one hand, I worked a rusty barbed wire
backwards and forwards against a staple until it
broke. Running the end of it under their collars, I
tied them up. They made two or three lunges toward
the hound, but the wire held.
I walked over and stopped at Rainie's side. I
again asked, "What's the matter?"
He said not a word.
I could see that Rainie was paralyzed with fright.
His mouth and eyes were opened wide, and his face
was as white as chalk. I laid my hand on his shoulder.
At the touch of my hand, he jumped and screamed.
Still screaming, he turned and started running. I
watched him until he disappeared in the darkness.
Looking down at Rubin, I saw what had par-
alyzed Rainie. When Rubin had tripped, he had fall-
en on the ax. As it entered his stomach, the sharp
blade had sunk to the eye of the double-bitted ax.
Turning my back to the horrible sight, I closed
my eyes. The muscles in my stomach knotted and
jerked. A nauseating sickness spread over my body. I
couldn't look at him.
I heard Rubin whisper. Turning around, I knelt
down by his side with my back to the ax. I couldn't
understand what he was whispering. Kneeling down
closer, I heard and understood. In a faint voice, he
said, "Take it out of me."
I hesitated.
Again he pleaded, "Please, take it out of me."
Turning around, I saw his hands were curled
around the protruding blade as if he himself had tried
to pull it from his stomach.
How I did it, I'll never know. Putting my hands
over his and pressing down, I pulled the ax from the
wound. The blood gushed. I felt the warm heat as it
spread over my hands. Again the sickness came over
me. I stumbled to my feet and stepped back a few
paces.
Seeing a movement from Rubin, I thought he
was going to get up. With his hands, he pushed him-
self halfway up. His eyes were wide open, staring
straight at me. Stopping in his effort of getting up,
still staring at me, his mouth opened as if to say
something. Words never came. Instead, a large red
bubble slowly worked its way out of his mouth and
burst. He fell back to the ground. I knew he was
dead.
Scared, not knowing what to do, I called for
Rainie. I got no answer. I called his name again and
again. I could get no reply. My voice echoed in the
darkness of the silent night. A cold chill ran over my
body.
I suppose it is natural at a time like that for a
boy to think of his mother. I thought of mine. I want-
ed to get home.
Going over to my dogs, I glanced to where the
blue hound was. He was trying to get up. I was glad
he wasn't dead.
Picking up my lantern, I thought of my ax. I left
it. I didn't care if I never saw it again.
Knowing I couldn't turn my dogs loose, I broke
off enough of the wire to lead them. As I passed un-
der the branches of the bur oak tree, I looked up into
the dark foliage. I could see the bright eyes of the
ghost coon. Everything that had happened on this
terrible night was because of his very existence, but it
wasn't his fault.
I also knew he was a silent witness to the horri-
ble scene. Behind me lay the still body of a young
boy. On my left a blue tick hound lay torn and bleed-
eyeing. Even after all that had happened, I could feel no
hatred for the ghost coon and was not sorry I had let
him live.
Arriving home, I awakened my mother and fa-
ther. Starting at my grandfather's mill, I told every-
thing that had happened. I left nothing out. My
mother had started crying long before I had com-
pleted my story. Papa said nothing, just sat and lis-
tened. When I had finished, he kept staring down at
the floor in deep thought. I could hear the sobbing of
my mother in the silence. I walked over to her. She
put her arms around me and said, "My poor little
boy."
Getting to his feet, Papa reached for his coat and
hat. Mama asked him where he was going.
"Well, I'll have to go up there," he said. I'm
going to get Grandpa, for he is the only man in the
country that has authority to move the body?"
Looking at me, he said, "You go across the river
and get Old Man Lowery, and you may as well go on
up and tell the Bufords, too. Tell them to meet us at
your grandfather's place."
I hurried to carry the sad message.
The following day was a nasty one. A slow, cold
drizzle had set in. Feeling trapped indoors, I prowled
from room to room. I couldn't understand why my fa-
ther hadn't come back from the Pritchards'. I sat by
the window and watched the road.
Understanding my feelings, Mama said, "Billy, I
wouldn't worry. He'll be back before long. It takes
time for things like that."
"I know," I said, "but you would think he
would've been back by now.
Time dragged slowly by. Late in the afternoon, I
saw Papa coming. Our old mule was jogging along.
Water was shooting out from under his feet in small
squirts at every step.
Papa had tied the halter rope around the mule's
neck. He was sitting humped over, with his hands
jammed deep in the pockets of his patched and worn
mackinaw. I felt sorry for him. He was soaking wet,
tired, sleepy, and hungry.
Telling Mama, "Here he is," I grabbed my jumper
and cap, and ran out to the gate and waited.
I was going to ask him what had happened at
the Pritchards' but on seeing his tired face and wet
clothes, I said, "Papa, you had better go in to the fire.
I'll take care of the mule, and do the feeding and
milking.
"That would be fine," he said.
After doing the chores, I hurried to the house. I
couldn't wait any longer. I had to find out what had
happened.
Walking into the front room, I saw my father had
changed clothes. He was standing in front of the fire-
place, drinking coffee.
"Boy, that's bad weather, isn't it?" he said.
I said it was, and asked him about Rubin.
"We went to the old tree and got Rubin's body,"
Papa said. "We were on our way back to the
Pritchards' when we met them. They were just this
side of their place. They had started to look for him.
Rainie had been so dazed when he got home, they
couldn't make out what he was trying to tell them,
but they knew it must have been something bad.
They wanted to know what had happened. I did my
best to explain the accident. It hit Old Man Pritchard
pretty hard. I felt sorry for him."
Mama asked how Mrs. Pritchard was taking it.
Papa said he didn't know as he never did get to
any of the womenfolks. He said they were the fun-
niest bunch he had ever seen. He couldn't understand
them. There wasn't one tear shed that he could see.
All of the men had stayed out at the barn. They
never had been invited in for a cup of coffee or any-
thing.
Mama asked when they were to have the fu-
neral.
"They have their own graveyard right there on
the place," Papa said. "Old Man Pritchard said they
would take care of everything, and didn't want to
bother people. He said it was too far for anyone to
come, and it was bad weather, too."
Mama said she couldn't help feeling sorry for
Mrs. Pritchard, and wished they were more friendly.
I asked Papa about Rainie.
Papa said, "According to what Old Man
Pritchard said, Rainie just couldn't seem to get over
the shock. They were figuring on taking him into
town to see the doctor."
In a stern voice, Papa said, "Billy, I don't want
you fooling around with the Pritchards any more. You
have plenty of country around here so you don't have
to go there to hunt."
I said I wouldn't.
I felt bad about the death of Rubin. I didn't feel
like hunting and kept having bad dreams. I couldn't
forget the way he had looked at me just before he
died. I moped and wandered around in a daze. I
wanted to do something but didn't know what it was.
I explained my feelings to my mother. She said,
"Billy, I feel the same way and would like to do
something to help, but I guess there's nothing we can
do. There are people like the Pritchards all through
the hills. They live in little worlds of their own and
are all alone. They don't like to have outsiders inter-
fere."
I told my mother I had been thinking about how
dangerous it was to carry an ax while hunting, and I
had decided I'd save a few coon hides and get a good
gun. Boy, I just shouldn't have mentioned getting a
gun. My mother got "sifting-hen" mad.
"You're not getting a gun," she said. "I won't have
that at all. I told you a long time ago you could have
one when you are twenty-one years old, and I mean
just that. I worry enough with you out there in the
hills all hours of the night, running and jumping, but
I couldn't stand it if I knew you had a gun with you.
No, sir. You can just forget about a gun."
"Yes, Mama," I said, and sulked off to my room.
Lying on my bed, still trying to figure out what I
could do to help, I glanced over to the wall. There,
tied in a small bundle, was just what I needed.
Some time back my sisters bad made some flow-
ers for Decoration Day. They had given me a small
bouquet for my room. Taking them down, I could see
they had faded a little, and looked rather old, but
they were still pretty. I blew the dust off and straight-
ened the crinkled petals. Putting them inside my
shirt, I left the house.
I hadn't gone far when I heard something behind
me. It was my dogs. I tried to tell them I wasn't going
hunting. I just had a little business to attend to, and if
they would go back, I'd take them out that night. It
was no use. They couldn't understand.
Circling around through the flats, I came to the
hollow above the Pritchards' place. Down below me, I
could see the graveyard, and the fresh mound of dirt.
As quietly as I could, I started easing myself down
the mountainside.
Old Dan loosened a rock. The further it bounced,
the louder it got. It slammed up against a post oak
tree and sounded like a gunshot. I held my breath
and watched the house. No one came out.
I glared at Old Dan. He wagged his tail, and just
to show off, he sat down on his rear and started dig-
ging at a flea with his hind leg. The way his leg was
thumping in the leaves, anyone could have heard it
for a mile. I waited until he quit thumping before
starting on.
Reaching the bottom, I had about twenty yards
of clearing to cross, but the grass and bushes were
pretty thick. Laying down on my stomach, with my
heart beating like a trip hammer, I wiggled my way
to Rubin's grave. I laid the flowers on the fresh
mound of earth, and then turned around and scooted
for the timber.
Just as we reached the mountaintop, my foot
slipped and I kicked loose a large rock. Down the
side of the mountain it rolled. This time the blue tick
hound heard the noise. He came out from under the
house bawling. I heard a door slam and Mrs.
Pritchard came out. She stood looking this way and
that way.
The hound ran up to the graveyard and started
sniffing and bawling. Mrs. Pritchard followed him.
Seeing the flowers on Rubin's grave, she picked them
up and looked at them. She scolded the hound, and
then looked up at the hillside. I knew she couldn't see
me because the timber was too thick, but I felt
uncomfortable anyway.
Scolding the hound again, she knelt down and
arranged the flowers on the grave. Taking one more
look at the hillside, she started back. Halfway to the
house, I saw her reach down and gather the long cot-
ton skirt in her hand and dab at her eyes.
I felt much better after paying my respects to
Rubin. Everything looked brighter, and I didn't have
that funny feeling any more.
All the way home my dogs kept running out in
front of me. They would stop, turn around, and look
at me. I had to smile, for I knew what they wanted. I
stopped and petted them a little and told them that
as soon as I got home and had my supper, we would
go hunting.
Chapter 14.
A FEW DAYS LATER ON HIS
WAY BACK FROM THE MILL
one of the Hatfield boys stopped at our place. He told
me my grandfather wanted to see me. It was unusual
for Grandpa to send for me and it had me worried. I
figured that he wanted to talk to me about the death
of Rubin Pritchard. I always enjoyed talking to my
grandpa but I didn't want to talk about Rubin's
death. Every time I thought of him, I lived the horri-
ble tragedy all over again.
After a practically sleepless
night, the next morn-
ing I started for the store; I was walking along deep
in thought when Little Ann zipped by me. She was as
happy as a young gray squirrel. She wiggled and
twisted and once she barked at me. I looked behind
me. There was Old Dan trotting along. He stopped
when I turned around. Little Ann came up to me. I
scolded them and tried to explain that I wasn't going
hunting. I was just going up to the store to see what
my grandpa wanted. They couldn't, or didn't, want to
understand.
I picked up a small stick and
slapped my leg
with it in a deep voice I said, "Now you go home, or
I'm going to wear you out."
This hurt their feelings.
With their tails between
their legs and trotting side by side, they started back.
Every little way they would stop and look back at
me. It was too much. I couldn't stand it. I began to
feel bad all over.
"Well, all right," I
said." Come on, you can go,
but, Dan, if there are any dogs around the store, and
you get in a fight, I won't take you hunting for a
whole year, and I mean that," although I knew I
didn't.
They came running,
tickled to death. Little Ann
took one of her silly spells. She started nipping at the
long red tail of Old Dan. Not getting any reaction
from him, she jumped over him. She barked at him.
He wouldn't even look at her. She ran around in front
of him and laid down in the trail, acting like a cat
ready to spring. Stiff-legged, he walked up close to
her, stopped, and showed his teeth. I laughed out
loud. I knew he wouldn't bite her any more than he
would bite me. He was just acting tough because he
was a boy dog.
After several attempts
to get him to play, Little
Ann gave up. Together they started sniffing around in
the underbrush.
As I walked up in front
of the store, Grandpa
hollered at me from the barn. I went over to him.
Right away he wanted to know all about Rubin's acci-
dent. He listened while I told the story over again.
After I had had my say,
Grandpa stood looking
down at the ground. There was a deep frown on his
face, and a hurt look in his eyes. His quietness made
me feel uneasy. He finally raised his head and looked
at me. What I could see in his friendly old face tore
at my heart. It seemed that there were more wrinkles
than I had ever seen before. His uncombed, iron-gray
hair looked almost white. I noticed that his wrinkled
old hand trembled as he rubbed the wire-stiff stubble
on his chin.
In a low voice that
quivered as he talked, he
said, "Billy, I'm sorry about all this. Truly sorry. I
can't help but feel that in a way it was my fault."
"No, Grandpa," I said,
"it wasn't your fault. It
wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened and no one
could help it."
"I know," he said, "but
if I hadn't called Rubin's
bet, nothing would have happened. I guess when a
man gets old he doesn't think straight. I shouldn't
have let those boys get under my skin."
"Grandpa," I said,
"Rubin and Rainie could get
under anybody's skin. You couldn't help that. Why,
they get under everyone's skin that gets close to
them."
"Yes, I know," he said,
"but still I acted like a
fool. Billy, I had no idea things were going to turn out
like they did, or I wouldn't have called that bet."
Wanting to change the
conversation, I said,
"Grandpa, we won that bet fair and square, but they
took my money anyway."
I saw the fire come
back to his eyes. This made
me feel better. He was more like the Grandpa I loved.
"That's all right," he
said. "We'll just forget the
whole thing."
He stepped over and
laid his hand on my shoul-
der. In a solemn voice, he said, "We won't talk about
this again. Now, I want you to forget it ever hap-
pened because it wasn't your fault. Oh, I know it's
hard for a boy to ever completely forget something
like that. All through your life you'll think of it now
and then, but try not to let it bother you, and don't
ever feel guilty about it. It's not good for a young boy
to feel that way."
I nodded my head,
thinking if people would just
stop questioning me about Rubin's death, maybe I
could forget.
Grandpa said, "Well,
the accident wasn't the only
thing I wanted to talk to you about. I've got some-
thing else-something I think will help us both forget
a lot of things."