Back to Where the Red Fern Grows
Where the Red Fern Grows
Day Six
The twinkle in Grandpa's eyes reminded me of
what my father had said: "Seems like that old man
can cook up more deals than anyone in the country."
I didn't care how many deals grandpa cooked
up. He was still the best grandpa in the whole wide
world.
"What have you got?" I asked.
"Come over to the store," he said, "and I'll show
you."
On our way over, I heard him mutter, "I hope
this doesn't turn out like the ghost-coon hunt."
On entering the store, Grandpa walked to the
post office department, and came back with a news-
paper in his hand. He spread it out on the counter.
Pointing with his finger, he said in a loud voice,
"Look, there!"
I looked. The large black letters read: CHAMPION-
SHIP COON HUNT TO RE HELD. My eyes popped open.
Again I read the words.
Grandpa was chuckling.
I said, "Boy, if that isn't something. A champion-
ship coon hunt." Wide-eyed, I asked, "Where are they
having this hunt, and what does it have to do with
us?"
Grandpa was getting excited. Off came his glass-
es and out came the old red handkerchief. He blew
his breath on the lens and polished them. He snorted
a time or two, reared back, and almost shouted, "Do
with us? Why it has everything to do with us. All my
life I've wanted to go to one of these big coon hunts.
Why I've even dreamed about it. And now the oppor-
tunity has come. Yes, sir, now I can go." He paused.
"That, is, if it's all right with you."
I was dumbfounded. I said, "All right with me?
Why, Grandpa, you know it's all right with me, but
what have I got to do with it?"
Grandpa was so excited I thought he was going
to burst a blood vessel.
Talking excitedly, he said, "I've got it all fixed
Billy. We can enter Old Dan and Little Ann in this
championship hunt."
I was so surprised at what Grandpa had said I
couldn't utter a word. At first I was scared and then a
wonderful feeling came over me. I felt the excitement
of the big hunt as it burned its way into my body. I
started breathing like I had been running for a hun-
dred miles. After several attempts, I croaked, "Can
just any dog be in this hunt?"
Grandpa almost jumped as he answered, "No, sir,
not just any hound can be entered. They have to be
the best, and they have to be registered, too."
He started talking with his hands. Pointing to a
chair, he said, "Sit down and I'll tell you all about it."
Grandpa calmed down a little and started talking
in a serious voice. "Billy," he said, "it takes some
doing to have a set of dogs entered in this hunt. I've
been working on this for months. I've written letters
on top of letters. I've even had several good friends in
town helping me. You see, I've kept a record of all
the coons your dogs have caught, and believe me,
their catch is up there with the best of them. Now, I
have already paid the entry fee and everything is
fixed. All we have to do is go."
"Entry fee? How much did it cost?" I asked.
"You let me worry about that," he said. "Now
what do you say? Want to give it a whirl? I under-
stand the winner receives a gold cup, and you never
can tell, we might come home with it. We have as
good a chance as anyone else."
Grandpa had me so worked up by this time, I
didn't think anyone else had any good hounds but
me.
I reared back and blurted, "It's all right with me,
Grandpa. Just tell me what to do."
Grandpa flew out of gear like a Model T Ford.
He slapped the counter with his hand. In a pent-up
voice, he said, "That's the boy! That's the way I like
to hear a coon hunter talk."
With a questioning look on his face, he asked,
"Didn't I see your dogs with you when you came up?"
"Yes, they followed me," I said. "They're outside."
"Well, call them in," he said. "I've got something
for them."
I called to them. Little Ann came in the store,
walking like she was scared. Old Dan came to the
door and stopped. I tried to coax him in. It was no
use. My dogs, never being allowed in the house, were
scared to come in.
Grandpa walked over to a hoop of cheese and
cut off two chunks about the size of my fist. He
walked to the door, talking to Old Dan. "What's the
matter, boy?" he said. "You scared to come in? Well,
that shows you're a good dog."
He handed him a piece of the cheese. I heard it
rattle in his throat as he gulped it down.
Grandpa came back and set Little Ann up on the
counter. He chuckled as he broke the cheese up in
small pieces and fed her.
"Yes, sir," he said, "I think we have the best darn
coon hounds in these Ozark Mountains, and just as
sure as shooting', we're going to win that gold cup."
Grandpa didn't have to say that. The way I was
feeling, I already had the cup. All I had to do was go
and get it.
Finished with his feeding of Little Ann, Grandpa
said, "Now, let's see. The hunt starts on the twenty-
third. That's about-well, let's see-this is the seven-
teenth." Counting on his fingers he finally figured it
out. "That's six days from now," he said in a jubilant
voice.
I nodded my head.
"We can leave here early on the morning of the
twenty-second," he said, "and barring accidents, we
should make the camp ground in plenty of time for
the grand opening.
I asked how we were going.
"We'll go in my bug," he said. "I'll load the tent
and everything the night before."
I asked him what he wanted me to bring.
"Nothing," he said, "but these two little hounds,
and you be here early; and I believe I'd let these
dogs rest, cause we want them in tiptop shape when
we get there."
I saw the thinking wrinkles bunch up on
Grandpa's forehead.
"You reckon your daddy would like to go?" he
asked. "As late in the fall as it is, I don't think he's
too busy, is he?"
"No, our crops are all gathered," I said. "We've
been clearing some of the bottom land, but that's al-
most done now."
"Well, ask him," he said. "Tell him I'd like to
have him go."
"I'll ask him," I said, "but you know how Papa is.
The farm comes first with him."
"I know," Grandpa said, "but you ask him any-
way, and tell him what I said. Now it's getting late
and you had better be heading for home."
I was almost to the door when Grandpa said,
"Wait a minute."
He walked over behind the candy counter and
shook out one of the quarter sacks. He filled it up to
the brim, bounced it on the counter a few times, and
dropped in a few more gumdrops.
With a twinkle in his eye, and a smile on his
face, he handed it to me saying, "Save some for your
sisters."
I was so choked up I couldn't say anything. I
took it and flew out the door, calling to my dogs.
On my way home I didn't walk on the ground. I
was way up in the clouds just skipping along. With a
song, I told the sycamore trees and the popeyed gray
squirrels how happy I was.
Little Ann sensed my happiness. She pranced
along on the trail. With a doggish grin on her face,
she begged for a piece of candy, which I so gladly
gave.
Even Old Dan felt the pleasant atmosphere. His
long red tail fanned the air. Once he raised his head
and bawled. I stood still and listened to the droning
tones of his deep voice. The sound seemed to be
trapped for an instant in the thick timber. It rolled
around under the tall white sycamores, beat its way
through the wild cane, and found freedom out over
the clear blue waters of the river. The sound, follow-
ing the river's course, rolled like the beat of a jungle
drum.
As the echo died away in the distance, silence
settled over the bottoms. The gray squirrels stopped
their chattering. The wild birds quit their singing. I
stood still. No sound could be heard. It seemed that
all the creatures of the wild were holding their
breath. I gazed up to the towering heights of the tall
trees. No leaf was stirring. The silence seemed
strained and expectant, like a young boy waiting for a
firecracker to explode.
I looked at Old Dan. He was standing perfectly
still, with his right front foot raised and his long ears
fanned open. He seemed to be listening, and challenge-
ing any living creature to make a noise.
The silence was broken by the look of a
red-tailed hawk. This seemed to be a signal. All
around me the happy atmosphere resumed its natural
state.
I heard the "Bam, bam, bam" of a woodpecker
high in the top of a box elder snag. The cry of a king-
fisher and the scream of a bluejay blended perfectly
with the drumlike beat. A barking red squirrel, glued
to the side of a hackberry tree, kept time to the music
with the beat of his tail.
Each noise I heard and each sight I saw was very
familiar to me but I never grew tired of listening and
watching. They were a God-sent gift and I enjoyed
them all.
As I skipped along, it was hard for me to realize
all the wonderful things that had happened to me in
such a few short years. I had two of the finest little
hounds that ever bawled on the frail of a ringtail
coon. I had a wonderful mother and father and three
little sisters. I had the best grandpa a boy ever had,
and to top it all, I was going on a championship coon
hunt. It was no wonder that my heart was bursting
with happiness. Wasn't I the luckiest boy in the
world?
Everyone was just sitting down to supper when I
got home. My sisters quit the table for the candy. I
told them to divide it equally. The oldest one asked if
I wanted any of it.
"No," I said. "I brought it all for you." Of course,
I didn't tell them about the four pieces I had in my
pocket.
They thanked me with their clear blue eyes.
I guess it's pretty hard for a young boy to fool his
mama. She took one look at me and called me over.
She ruffled up my hair, kissed me, and said, "If my
little boy's eyes get any bigger they're going to pop
right out of his head. Now tell me, what are you so
happy about?"
Before I could say anything, Papa chucked and
asked, "What's going on between you and your
grandpa? What are you and that old man cooking up
now?"
As fast as I could talk I started telling about the
big coon hunt I told how hard Grandpa had been
working to have my dogs entered, and how he had al-
ready paid my entry fee.
Catching my breath and looking at Papa, I said,
"We're going in his buggy and he wants you to go."
I waited in silence for his reply. Papa sat there
staring off into space, sipping his coffee and saying
nothing. I knew he was thinking.
In the silence I was sure I could hear my heart
thumping.
I said, "Papa, please go. We'll have a lot of fun
and besides the winner receives a big golden cup."
He scratched his head and said, "Billy, I'd sure
like to go, but I don't see how I can with all this work
around here."
I was beginning to think that Papa wasn't going
to go. Then Mama started talking.
"Work" she said. "Why, all the work is practi-
cally done. I don't know of one thing you couldn't put
off for a few days. Why don't you go? You haven't
been anywhere since I don't know when."
"It's not only the work I'm thinking of," Papa
said. "It's you and the girls."
"Why, don't worry about the girls and me,"
Mama said. "We'll be all right. Besides, it'll be several
months yet before I need any help."
When Mama said this, it dawned on me. I had
been so busy with my coon hunting I hadn't noticed
anything unusual. Mama's tummy was all swelled up.
She was going to have a baby. I felt guilty for not
having noticed. I went over and put my arms around
her and kissed her.
Papa spoke up. "It's sure going to be a big hunt,"
he said. "I heard something about it up at the store
one day."
"Grandpa said there would be hunters there from
everywhere," I said, "and some of the best coon
hounds in the country."
"Do you think you have a chance to win the
cup?" Papa asked.
I started to answer him when the little one piped
up. "They can't beat Old Dan and Little Ann," she
said. "I just bet they can't."
Everyone laughed at her serious remark. I would
have kissed her but she had candy, corn bread, and
molasses all over her face.
I told Papa I didn't know how good those dogs
were, but there was one thing I did know. If they
beat mine, they would have to hunt harder than they
ever had before.
After I had had my say about the dogs, a silence
settled over the dining room. Everyone was looking at
Papa and waiting for his answer.
I saw a pleased smile spread over his face. He
stood up. "All right, I'll go," he said, "and, by golly,
we'll bring that gold cup back, too."
My sisters started clapping their hands and
squealing with delight. A satisfied smile spread over
my mother's face.
At that moment I'm sure no boy in the world
could have been happier than I. Tears of happiness
rolled down my cheeks. Mama wiped them away
with her apron.
In the midst of all the excitement, my little sister,
saying not a word, climbed down from her chair. No
one said anything. We just watched her.
Still clutching a spoon in her small hand, she
came around the table and walked up to me. Looking
down at the floor, in a bashful voice, she asked, "Can
I have the gold cup?"
Putting my finger under her sticky little chin, I
tilted her head up. I smiled as I looked into her clear
blue eyes. I said, "Honey, if I win it, I'll give it to no
one but you."
I had to cross my heart and hope to die several
times before she was satisfied.
Back in her chair she gloated over the others.
"You just wait and see," she said. "It'll be all mine, no-
body's but mine, and I'll put my banty eggs in it."
"Silly, you don't put banty eggs in a gold cup,"
the oldest one said. "They're just made to look at."
That night I dreamed about gold cups, little red
hounds, and coons as big as rain barrels. Once I woke
myself up whooping to my dogs.
The next few days were busy ones for me. Know-
ing that Papa and I would be gone for several days, I
did everything I could to make things convenient for
Mama. I chopped a large pile of wood and stacked it
close to the kitchen door. To make it easy for her to
feed our stock, I cut some poles from the hillside and
boxed up one of the stalls in the barn. I filled it full of
hay so she wouldn't have to climb the ladder to the
loft.
Papa laid down the law to my sisters about being
good and helping Mama while we were gone.
The day before we were to leave, I was as ner-
vous as a June bug in a henhouse. The day seemed
endless. A few of the miserable hours were spent talk-
ing to my dogs. I told them all about the big hunt
and how important it was.
"Now if you don't win the golden cup," I said, "I
won't be mad because I know you will do your best."
Old Dan wouldn't even look at me, and paid no
attention to what I said. He was sulking because I
hadn't been taking him hunting. When I talked to
Little Ann, it was different. She listened and seemed
to understand everything I said.
I dreaded to go to bed that night. I thought sleep
would be impossible. I must have been more tired
than I thought I was. I fell asleep almost immedi-
ately. Old Red, our rooster, woke me at daybreak,
crowing his fool head off.
It was a beautiful morning, clear and frosty.
After a good breakfast, we kissed Mama good-
bye and started for the store.
I'm sure there were a lot of coon hunters in the
Ozarks, but on that morning none could have felt as
big and important as I. Walking along by the side of
my father, I threw out my chest and tried hard to
keep pace with his long strides. He noticed and
laughed.
"You'll have to grow a little bit," he said, "before
you can take steps that long."
I didn't say anything. I just smiled.
Hearing a noise overhead, I looked up. The gray
ones were winging their way southward. I listened to
their talking and wondered what they were saying.
Looking to the mountains around us, I saw that
the mysterious artist who comes at night had paid us
a visit. I wondered how he could paint so many dif-
ferent colors in one night; red, wine, yellow, and rust.
My dogs were trotting along in front of us. I
smiled at the way their hind quarters shifted to the
right. Little Ann would jump and bounce and try to
get Old Dan to play, but the solemn old boy just
jogged along, heedless of everything.
"You know," Papa said, "she doesn't even act like
a hound. She is bouncing and playing all the time.
Why, she acts more like a little pup than a hound."
"Yes, I know," I said. I've noticed that myself,
but you know one thing, Papa, she's the smartest dog
I've ever seen. Why, some of the things she does are
almost unbelievable."
"Yes, I know," said Papa, "but still it's strange,
very strange."
"There's only one thing wrong with her, Papa," I
said.
"Yea, what's that?" he asked.
"You won't believe it," I said, "but she's gun-shy."
"Gun-shy? How do you know she's gun-shy?" Papa
asked.
"I didn't know for a long time," I said, "until one
day when I was hoeing corn down in the field by the
old slough. She and Old Dan were digging in a bank
after a ground hog. Across the river some fishermen
started shooting a gun. It scared Little Ann, and she
came running to me, shaking all over."
"Aw," Papa said, "maybe you just thought she
was scared."
"No, I didn't, Papa," I said. "It happened again
up at the store one day. Grandpa shot a chicken
hawk. When the gun went off, it scared her half to
death. No, she's gun-shy all right."
"Aw, well," Papa said, "that doesn't mean any-
thing. A lot of dogs are afraid of guns."
I know," I said, "but you wouldn't think she
would be that way. I believe if I had a gun of my
own I could break her of being gun-shy."
Papa looked at me. He said, "from what your
mother says, you won't be getting a gun for some time
yet."
"Yes, I know," I said.
When we reached the store we saw the team was
already hitched to the bug and was standing in
front of the store. Grandpa had loaded the tent and
several boxes of groceries.
I had never seen him in such high spirits. He
slapped Papa on the back, saying, "I'm sure glad you
could go with us. It'll do you good to get out once in
a while."
Papa laughed and said, It looked like I had to
go or have everyone in the family mad at me."
Looking in the buggy I saw my ax. I didn't think
I ever wanted to see it again, but for some reason it
didn't look like I thought it would. There was no blood
on it and it looked harmless enough laying there all
clean and bright.
Grandpa saw me looking at it. He came over.
"I kept it a few days," he said, "just in case the
marshal wanted to ask some questions. Everything
seems to be all right now, and we may need a good
ax on this hunt."
Grandpa sensed how I felt about the ax. He
waited in silence for my answer.
The excitement of the hunt was so strong in me,
even the sight of the ax brought back only a fleeting
remembrance of Rubin's accident.
I said, "Yes, we will need one. Besides, it's a good
one and there's no use in throwing it away."
Grandpa laughed, reached over, and screwed my
cap around on my head, saying, "That the boy, that's
what I wanted you to say. Now, you better go to the
barn and get some hay and make a bed in the buggy
box for your dogs."
"Aw, Grandpa," I said, "they can walk. They
don't ever get tired; besides, they're used to walking."
"Walk!" Grandpa almost shouted. "They're not
going to walk. No, sir, not if I can help it. You want
them to be footsore when we get there?"
Papa chuckled and said, "We can't win a gold
cup with two sore-footed hounds, can we?"
"Of course not," Grandpa said. "Now, you go
get that hay like I said."
As I turned to go to the barn I couldn't help but
smile. It made me feel good to have my papa and
grandpa so concerned about my dogs.
I had taken only a few steps when Grandpa said,
"Oh, wait a minute."
I stopped and turned around.
Walking up to me and glancing toward the house
as he did, he whispered, "In that empty kraut barrel
in the harness room, there's a jug of corn liquor.
Cover it up in the hay so your grandma won't see it
and bring it back with you."
With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "You never
can tell when we'll need some medicine."
I knew my father wouldn't drink any of the
liquor, but if Grandpa wanted to take along a whole
barrel, it was all right with me.
Just when I thought we were ready to leave,
Grandma came bustling out.
Grandpa got nervous. He whispered and asked,
"did you hide the jug good?"
I nodded my head.
Grandma handed Grandpa a pair of long-handle
underwear and a scarf, saying, "I knew you'd forget
something."
Grandpa snorted, but knew there was no use ar-
guing with her.
She started picking around in the groceries,
asking about salt, pepper, and matches.
"Nannie, we've got everything," he said. "You
must think I'm a baby and don't know how to pack a
grub box."
"A baby," Grandma snorted. "Why, you're worse
than a baby. At least they have a little sense. You
don't have any at all. An old codger like you out chas-
ing a coon all over the hills."
At her biting remark, I thought Grandpa was
going to blow up. He snorted like Daisy, our milk cow,
when she had seen a booger.
I crawled up in the buggy box with my dogs and
hung my feet out.
Grandma came over and asked me about warm
clothes. I told her I had plenty.
She kissed me good-bye and we were on our
way.
Chapter 15.
OVER A DIM ROCKY ROAD, IN A NORTHEASTERLY DIREC-
tion, our buggy moved on.
I noticed that the road stayed at the edge of the
foothills, but always in sight of the river.
About the middle of the afternoon we stopped at
a small stream to water the team. Papa asked
Grandpa if he intended to go all the way to the
campground before stopping.
"No," he said, "I figured to put up for the night
when we reach Bluebird Creek. With a good early
start in the morning, we can make the campgrounds
in plenty of time to pitch our tent and set up camp."
Late that evening we reached Blue bird Creek.
"We didn't set up our tent with a tarp. We made a
lean-to and built a large fire out in front of it.
While Grandpa fed and watered the team, Papa
and I carried our bedding to the shelter and made
down our beds.
Grandpa said, "While we're cooking supper, you
see to your dogs. Feed them and fix them a warm
bed."
"I figured to cook them some corn-meal mush," I
said. "That's what they're used to eating."
"Mush!" Grandpa growled. "They're not going to
have mush, not if I can help it."
He walked over to a grocery box, mumbling as he
did, "Mush! A hound can't hunt on a bellyful of that
stuff."
He came back and handed me two large cans of
corned-beef hash, saying, "Here. Reckon they'll eat
this?"
I wanted to hug my old grandpa's neck. "Sure,
Grandpa," I said, "they'll love that."
Opening one of the cans, I dumped it out on a
piece of bark in front of Old Dan. He sniffed at it and
refused to eat. I laughed, for I knew why. While I
was opening the other can, Grandpa came over.
"What's the matter," he asked. "Won't he eat it?"
"Sure, Grandpa," I said, "he'll eat, but not before
Little Ann eats her share."
With the second can opened, I fed her on an-
other piece of bark. Both of them started eating at
the same time.
With an astonished look on his face, Grandpa ex-
claimed, "Well, I'll be darned. I never saw anything
like that. Why, I never saw a hound that wouldn't
eat. Did you train them to do that?"
"No, Grandpa," I said. "They've always been that
way. They won't take anything away from each other,
and everything they do, they do it as one.
Papa had overheard our conversation. He said,
"You think that's strange. You should have seen what
I saw one day.
"One of the girls threw two cold biscuits out in
the back yard to Old Dan. He stood and looked at
them for a bit, then, picking both of them up in his
month, he trotted around the house. I followed just to
see what he was going to do. He walked up in front of
the doghouse, laid them down, and growled; not like
he was mad. It was a strange kind of a growl. Little
Ann came out of the doghouse and each of them ate
a biscuit. Now, I saw this with my own eyes. Believe
me, those dogs are close to each other-real close."
After Papa had stopped talking, silence settled
over the camp.
Grandpa stood staring at my dogs. In a slow
voice, as if he were picking his words, he said, "You
know, I've always felt like there was something
strange about those dogs. I don't know just what it is,
and I can't exactly put my finger on it, yet I can feel
it. Maybe it's just my imagination. I don't rightly
know."
Turning to my father, he said, "Did you ever no-
tice the way they watch this boy? They see every
move he makes."
Papa said, "Yes, I've noticed a lot of things they
have done. In fact, I could tell you of a few that you
would never believe, but right now here's something
you had better believe. Supper is ready."
While I was helping myself to hot dutch-oven
corn bread, fried potatoes, and fresh side meat,
Grandpa poured the coffee. Instead of the two cups I
expected to see, he set out three and filled them to
the brim with the strong black liquid.
I had never been allowed to drink coffee at home
and didn't exactly know what to do. I glanced at
Papa. He seemed too busy with his eating to pay any
attention to me. Taking the bull by the horns, I
reached over and ran my finger through the cup's
handle. I held my breath as I walked over and sat
down by a post oak stump. Nothing was said.
Grandpa and Papa paid no attention to what I did.
My head swelled up as big as a number-four wash-
tub. I thought, "I'm not only big enough to help Papa
with the farm. Now I'm big enough to drink coffee.
With supper over and the dishes washed,
Grandpa said, "Well we had better turn in as I want
to get an early start in the morning."
Long after Grandpa and Papa had fallen asleep,
I lay thinking of the big hunt. My thoughts were in-
terrupted when the wonders of night life began to
stir in the silence around us.
From a ridge on our right a red fox started bark-
ing. He was curious and, in his small way, challenging
the intruders that had dared to stop in his wild
domain. From far back in the flinty hills, the monot-
onous call of a hoot owl floated down in the silent
night. It was the mating call and was answered from
a distant mountain.
I could hear the stamping feet of our horses, and
the grinding, crunching noise made by their strong
teeth as they ate the hard, yellow kernels of corn in
their feed boxes. A night hawk screamed as he
winged his way through the starlit night. An eerie
screech from a tree close by made shivers run up and
down my spine. It was a screech owl.
I didn't like to hear the small owl, for there was a
superstition in the mountains concerning them. It was
said that if you heard one owl it meant nothing at all,
but if you heard more than one, it meant bad luck.
I lay and listened to the eerie twittering sound. It
was coming from the left of our camp. The creepy
noise stopped, and for several moments there was
silence. When next I heard the cry, it was coming
from the right. I sat up in alarm. Had I heard two
owls?
My movement had awakened Grandpa. In a
sleepy voice, he asked, "What's the matter? Can't you
sleep? What are you sitting up like that for?"
"Grandpa, I heard two screech owls," I said.
Grunting and mumbling, he sat up. Rubbing the
sleep from his eyes, he said, "You heard two screech
owls. Why, that's nothing. I've heard two-oh, I see.
You're thinking of the bad luck superstition. There's
nothing to that; nothing at all. Now you lie down and
go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a big day."
I tried hard to fall asleep, but couldn't. I couldn't
get the owls out of my mind. Had I really heard two?
Were we going to have bad luck? Surely nothing bad
could happen. Not on such a wonderful hunt.
I found peace in my mind by telling myself that
the owl had changed trees. Yes, that was it. He had
simply flown out of one tree to another.
The next morning, while having breakfast
Grandpa started kidding me about the screech owls.
"I wish you could have caught one of those owls
last night," he said, "We could have boiled him in our
coffee pot. I've heard there is nothing like strong
hoot-owl coffee."
"It wasn't a hoot owl, Grandpa," I said. It was a
screech owl. I don't know for sure if I heard one or
two. It could have been just one." Pointing to a small
red oak, I said, "I think the first time I heard him, he
was over there. The next time, it was over in that di-
rection. Maybe he changed trees. I sure hope so."
Grandpa saw I was bothered. "You don't believe
that hogwash superstition, do you? Bad luck! Baw,
there's nothing to it."
Papa laughed, and said, "These mountains are
full of that jinx stuff. If a man believed it all, he'd go
crazy.
The encouraging words from Papa and Grandpa
helped some, but there was still some doubt. It's hard
for a young boy to completely forget things like that.
Breakfast over, and our gear stowed back in the
buggy, we left Bluebird Creek.
On that day Grandpa drove a little faster than he
had on the previous one. I was glad of this, for I was
anxious to reach the campground.
About noon he stopped the team. I heard him
ask Papa, "Is this Black Fox Hollow?"
"No," Papa said. "This is Waterfall. Black Fox is
the next one over. Why?"
"Well," Grandpa said, "there's supposed to be a
white flag in the mouth of Black Fox. That's where
we leave the road. The camp is in the river bottoms."
By this time I was so excited, I stood up in the
buggy box so I could get a better view.
"Maybe you ought to step them up a little,
Grandpa," I said. "It's getting pretty late."
Papa joined in with his loud laughter. "You just
take it easy," he said. "We'll get there in plenty of
time. Besides, these mares can't fly."
I saw the flag first. "There it is, Grandpa," I
shouted.
"Where?" he asked.
"Over there. See, tied on that grapevine."
As we left the main road, I heard Papa say, "Boy,
look at all those tracks. Sure has been a lot of travel-
ing on this road."
"That smoke over there must be coming from the
camps," Grandpa said.
When we came in sight of the camp, I couldn't
believe what I saw. I stared in amazement. I had
never seen so many people at one gathering. Tents
were spread out over an acre and a half of ground; all
colors, shapes, and sizes. There were odd-looking cars,
buggies, wagons, and saddle horses.
I heard Grandpa say almost in a whisper, "I
knew there would be a lot of people here but I never
expected so many.
I saw the astonished look on my father's face.
Off to one side of the camp, under a large black
gum tree, we set up our tent. I tied my dogs to the
buggy, and fixed a nice bed for them under it. After
everything was taken care of, I asked if I could look
around the camp.
"Sure," Grandpa said. "Go any place you want to
go, only don't get in anyone's way."
I started walking through the large camp. Every-
one was friendly. Once I heard a voice say, "That's
the boy who owns the two little red hounds. I've
heard they're pretty good."
If my head had gotten any bigger, I know it
would have burst.
I walked on, as straight as a canebrake cane.
I looked at the hounds. They were tied in pairs
here and there. I had seen many coon hounds but
none that could equal these. There were redbones,
blue ticks, walkers, and blood hounds. I marveled at
their beauty. All were spotlessly clean with slick and
glossy coats. I saw the beautiful leather leashes and
brass-studded collars.
I thought of my dogs. They were tied with small
cotton ropes, and had collars made from old check-
line leather.
As I passed from one set of dogs to another, I
couldn't help but wonder if I had a chance to win. I
knew that in the veins of these hounds flowed the
purest of breeded blood. No finer coon hounds could
be found anywhere. They came from the Smoky
Mountains of Tennessee, the bayou country of Louisi-
ana, the Red River bottoms of Texas, and the flinty
hills of the Ozarks.
Walking back through the camp, I could feel the
cold fingers of doubt squeezing my heart. One look at
my dogs drove all doubt away. In the eyes of Little
Ann it seemed I could read this message: "Don't
worry. Just wait. We'll show them."
That night, Grandpa said, "Tomorrow they'll
have a contest for the best-looking hound. Which one
are you going to enter?"
I told him I didn't think I'd enter either one of
my dogs. They were so little. I didn't think they had
a chance.
Grandpa got all huffed up. He said, "It doesn't
make any difference how little they are. They're coon
hounds, aren't they?"
I asked him if he had seen any of the other
hounds.
He said, "Yes, I've seen them all. Sure they're big
and good dogs, too, but it makes no difference. I don't
care if your dogs are no bigger than a snuff can. They
still have a chance. Now, which one are you going to
enter?"
I couldn't decide. I said, I'll think it over tonight
and let you know tomorrow."
The next morning when I stepped outside the
tent I saw men everywhere. They were combing and
brushing their dogs, and getting them pruned for the
beauty contest. Beautiful combs and brushes were
used to brush expensive oils into their glossy hair.
Going over to my dogs, I stood and looked at
them. I started to untie Old Dan but, taking a closer
look at him, I could see he could never win a beauty
contest. His face and ears were a mass of old scars,
caused from the many fights with tough old coons
and bobcats. I held his head in my hands and felt
sorry for him, but loved him that much more.
I looked Little Ann over and couldn't see any
scars. I laughed because I knew why. She was too
smart to walk right up in the face of a fight. She
would wait until Old Dan took hold and then dart in.
I untied her rope and walked her over to our
tent.
My father and grandfather were gone. No doubt
they were over in some tent visiting old friends and
making new ones.
Looking around to find something I could use to
groom my dog, I saw Grandpa's open suitcase. There,
right on top, was the very thing I needed, his beauti-
ful hone-handled hairbrush and his ivory comb. Pick-
ing them up, I turned them over and over in my
hand.
Little Ann stood looking at me. Impulsively I
reached down and raked her from shoulder to hip
with the brush. She seemed to like it. I knew I
shouldn't do it, but I decided to use them.
Knowing I had no oils, I got some butter from
our grocery box. With the homemade butter and
Grandpa's hair set, I brushed her until she shone. All
the time I was grooming her, she tried to lick the but-
ter from my hands.
The job completed, I stepped back and inspected
her. I was surprised at the change. Her short red hair
glistened and every one was in perfect place.
Shaking my finger at her, I said, "If you lay down
and roll, I'll wear you out," although I knew I
wouldn't.
Hearing a lot of movement outside, I looked out.
Men were setting their dogs on a long table which
had been built in the center of the camp ground.
Leading Little Ann to it, I picked her up and set her
on the table, too.
I told her to act like a lady. She wagged her tail
as though she understood. I untied the rope and
stepped back.
After the dogs were all lined up, the judging
started. Four judges walked around and around the
table, looking at them from all angles. When one of
them would point at a hound, he was taken down
and eliminated from the contest. Dog after dog was
disqualified. Little Ann was still on the table.
My eyes were wide, my throat dry, and my
heart thumping. One judge stopped in front of Little
Ann. My heart stopped, too. Reaching over, he patted
her on the head.
Turning to me, he asked, "Is this your dog?"
I couldn't speak. I just nodded my head.
He said, "She's a beautiful hound."
He walked on down the line. My heart started
beating again.
There were eight dogs left. Little Ann was still
holding her own. Then there were four. I was ready
to cry. Two more were taken down. Little Ann and a
big walker hound owned by a Mr. Kyle were the only
ones left. The judges couldn't seem to make up their
minds.
Everyone started shouting, "Walk them! Walk
them!"
I didn't know what they meant.
Mr. Kyle and I were told to go to one end of the
table. Our dogs were placed at the other end. Mr.
Kyle snapped his fingers and called to his dog.
The big hound started walking toward his mas-
ter. What a beautiful sight it was. He walked like a
king. His body was stiff and straight, his head high in
the air, his large muscles quivered and jerked under
his glossy coat, but something went wrong. Just be-
fore he reached the end, he broke his stride, turned,
and jumped down from the table.
A low murmur ran through the crowd.
It was my turn. Three times I tried to call to Lit-
tle Ann. Words just wouldn't come out. My throat
was too dry. The vocal cords refused to work, but I
could snap my fingers. That was all I needed. She
started toward me. I held my breath. There was
silence all around me.
As graceful as any queen, with her head high in
the air, and her long red tail arched in a perfect rain-
bow, my little dog walked down the table. With her
warm gray eyes staring straight at me, on she came.
Walking up to me, she laid her head on my shoulder.
As I put my arms around her, the crowd exploded.
During the commotion I felt hands slapping me
on the back, and heard the word "congratulations"
time after time. The head judge came over and made
a speech. Handing me a small silver cup, he said,
"Congratulations, son. It was justly won."
The tears came rolling. I gathered my dog up in
my arms and walked to our tent. Grandpa followed,
proudly carrying the cup.
That evening the head judge stepped up on the
table. He had a small box in his hand. He shouted,
"Over here, men! I have some announcements to
make."
We all gathered around.
In a loud voice, he said, "Gentlemen, the contest
will start tonight. I'm sure most of you men have been
in these hunts before. For those of you who haven't, I
will explain the rules. Each night five sets of dogs will
be taken out to hunt. A judge will go along with each
pair of hounds. Every morning, the judges will turn in
that night's catch. The two hounds that tree the most
coons will qualify for the championship runoff. The
other four sets will be eliminated from the hunt. Of
course, If there is a tie, both sets will qualify. On the
following nights, only these hounds tying the first
night's score, or getting more, will be in the runoff.
"Now, gentlemen, this hunt must be carried out
in a sportsmanlike way. If the coon is treed where he
can't be caught, such as in a bluff, it will not be count-
ed. You must catch the coon, skin it, and turn the
hide over to your judge.
"You are allowed to take an ax, a lantern, and a
gun with bird shot, which you can use to get a coon
out of a tree.
"Twenty-five sets of hounds have been entered in
the hunt. In this box, I have twenty-five cards. Every-
one in the contest will now line up for the drawing.
The card you draw will tell you what night your
hounds are to hunt."
Walking along in the line, I noticed the beautiful
red coats, the caps, and the soft leather boots worn by
the other hunters. I felt out of place in my faded blue
overalls, old sheepskin coat, and scuffed and worn
shoes, but to the wonderful men it made no differ-
ence. They treated me like a man, and even talked to
me like a man.
When it came my time to draw, my hand was
shaking so hard I could hardly get it in the box. Pull-
ing the card out, I saw I had drawn the fourth night.
After the hunters had left, we stood around our
campfires sipping strong black coffee and listening to
the baying of the hounds. Time after time, we heard
the tree bark.
Once two hounds came close to the camp, hot on
a trail. We listened to their steady bawling. All at
once they stopped.
After several minutes of waiting, a hunter said,
"You know what? That old coon took to the river and
in some way has fooled those dogs."
Another one said, "Yes, sir, he sure has."
A friendly hunter looked at me and asked, "Do
you think he could have fooled your dogs?"
Thinking his question over, I said, "You know,
sometimes when I am hunting, away back in the
mountains or down on the river, I sing a little song I
made up myself. One of the verses goes like this:
You can swim the river, Old Mister Ringtail,
And play your tricks out one by one.
It won't do any good, Old Mister Ringtail,
My Little Ann knows every one.
The hunters roared with laughter. Some slapped
me on the back.
Tired and sleepy, but with a smile on my face, I
went off to bed.
The next morning two blue tick hounds, from the
Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, came out in the lead
with three big coons to their credit. The other four
sets were eliminated.
The following morning all five sets of dogs were
eliminated. None had even tied the blue ticks, al-
though two sets had gotten two coons, and one of
these had treed a third one in a bluff.
That day, while eating dinner, my grandfather
asked me if my dogs had ever treed three coons in
one night.
I said, "Yes, four different times, but that's all."
"Where do you think we should hunt on our
night?" Papa asked.
I told him if we could get our judge to go with us
in the buggy, we would be better off if we could go
far downriver and get out of the range where other
dogs had hunted.
He said, "That's a good idea. I'll go to see the
judges about it."
While I was washing the dishes, Grandpa said, "I
think I'll shave."
I should've left the tent then, but I wasn't done
with my dish-washing.
With a pin, Grandpa hung a small mirror on the
tent wall. After much snorting, mumbling, and screw-
ing of his face this way and that, the job was com-
pleted. Dabbing a little water on his iron-gray hair,
he reached for his brush and comb.
From the corner of my eye I watched him. I had
tried to clean the beautiful brush but hadn't been
able to get all the short red hair from it.
With two fingers, Grandpa pulled some of the
hair from the bristles. Holding it in front of him, he
looked it over carefully. Then, bending over close to
the mirror, peeking over his glasses, he inspected his
head. Straightening up, he looked at the brush again.
Turning around quickly, he looked straight at me and
said, "Say, young-"
Not waiting for anything more, I scooted for the
door. Crawling under the buggy, I lay down between
my dogs. I knew he wouldn't be mad at me, but it
would be best to stay away for a while.
The third night, the blue ticks were tied by two
black and tan hounds from the bayou country of
Louisiana.
All that day I was restless. I prowled through the
camp. Every little while I would go and see how Old
Dan and Little Ann were. Once I took two weenies
from our groceries. I heated them and gave them to
my dogs for a treat. Old Dan swallowed his down in
one gulp, and looked at me as if to say, "Is that all?"
Little Ann ate hers in a ladylike way. I could have
sworn I saw a small grin on her face.
Grandpa was hopping around like a grasshopper,
going here and there. Once, passing a tent, I heard
his voice. I knew he was bragging about my dogs. I
smiled to myself.
Another hunter stopped me and asked, "Is it true
that your hounds have treed six coons in one night,
three up in one tree, or is that old man just blowing
off steam?"
I told him my grandfather had a little steam, but
he was the best grandpa a boy ever bad.
He patted me on the head, turned, and walked
away laughing.
Chapter 16.
IN THE AFTERNOON OUR JUDGE
CAME OVER AND INTRO-
duced himself. He told us he'd be going with us that
night.
About sundown we piled
in our buggy and drove
a few miles downriver. I noticed other hunters doing
the same thing. Everyone was trying to get away
from the already-hunted territory.
It was dark by the time
Grandpa stopped. I un-
tied the ropes from my dogs. Little Ann reared up on
me and whined. Old Dan walked off a few yards,
stretched his body, and dragged his paws through the
soft bottom soil. Opening his mouth, he let out one
loud bawl, and then disappeared in the thick timber.
Little Ann was right on his heels.
We took off after them.
Grandpa got nervous. He
said to me, "Don't you
think you ought to whoop to them?"
I told him to wait a
little while. There would be
plenty of time for whooping.
He snorted and said he
thought a hunter always
whooped to his dogs.
"I do, Grandpa," I
said, "but not before they
strike a trail."
We walked on. Every now and
then we would
stop and listen. I could hear the loud snuffing of Old
Dan. Once we caught a glimpse of Little Ann as she
darted across an opening that was bathed in moon-
light. She was as silent as a ghost and as quick as a
flitting shadow.
Papa said, "It sure is
a beautiful night for hunt-
ing."
The judge said, "You
can't beat these Ozark
Mountain nights for beauty. I don't care where you
go." Grandpa started to say something. His voice was
drowned out by the bell-like cry of Little Ann.
In a whisper, I said,
"Come on, Dan. Hurry and
help her."
As if in answer to my
words, his deep voice ham-
mered its way up through the river bottoms. I felt the
blood tingling in my veins. That wonderful feeling
that only a hunter knows crept over my body.
Looking over at
Grandpa, I said, "Now you can
whoop."
Jerking off his hat and
throwing back his head,
he let out a yell. It wasn't a whoop, or a screech, it
was about halfway in between. Everyone laughed.
The coon was running
upriver toward our
campground. We turned and followed. I could tell by
the dogs' voices that they were running side by side,
and were hot on the trail. Closing my eyes, I could al-
most see them running, bodies stretched to their fill-
est length, legs pounding up and down, white steam
rolling from their hot breath in the frosty night.
Grandpa got tangled up
in some underbrush, and
lost his hat and spectacles. It took us a while to find
the glasses. Papa said something about getting them
wired on with bailing wire. Grandpa snorted. The
judge laughed.
The coon crossed the
river and ran on upstream.
Soon my dogs were out of hearing distance. I told
Papa we had better stay on our side of the river and
keep going until we could hear them again.
Twenty minutes later we
heard them coming
back. We stopped.
"I think they have
crossed back to our side," I
said.
All at once the voices
of my dogs were drowned
out by a loud roar.
"What in the world was
that?" Grandpa said.
"I don't know," the
Judge said. "Reckon it was
wind or thunder?"
About that time we
heard it again.
The judge started
laughing. "I know now what it
is," he said. "Those hounds have run that coon right
back by our camp. The noise we heard was the other
hunters whooping to them."
Everyone laughed.
A few minutes later I
heard my dogs bawling
treed. On reaching the tree, Papa ran his hand back
under his coat. He pulled out Grandpa's gun.
"That's a funny-looking
gun," the judge said. "It's
a 410 gauge pistol, isn't it?"
"It's the very thing
for this kind of work," Papa
said. "You couldn't kill a coon with it if you tried, es-
pecially if you're using bird shot. All it will do is sting
his hide a little."
At the crack of the
gun, the coon gave a loud
squall and jumped. My dogs lost no time in killing
him.
We skinned the coon,
and soon were on our way
again.
The next time my dogs
treed, they were across
the river from us. Finding a riffle, we pulled off our
shoes and started across.
Grandpa very gingerly
started picking his way.
His tender old feet moved from one smooth rock to
another. Everything was fine until we reached mid-
steam, where the current was much
swifter. He
stepped on a loose round rock. It rolled and down he
went.
As the cold river water
touched his body, he let
out a yell that could have been heard for miles. He
looked so funny we couldn't keep from laughing.
Papa and the judge
helped him to his feet.
Laughing every step of the way, we finally reached
the other side. Grandpa kept going in his wet clothes
until we reached the tree where the dogs were.
After killing the coon,
we built a large fire so
Grandpa could dry his clothes. He'd get up as close to
the fire as he could, and turn this way and that. He
looked so funny standing there with his long under-
wear steaming. I started rolling with laughter.
He looked over at me
and snapped, "What's so
funny?"
I said, "Nothing."
"Well, why are you
laughing?" he said.
At this remark, Papa
and the Judge laughed until
their eyes watered.
Mumbling and grumbling,
Grandpa said, "If you
fellows were as cold as I am, you wouldn't be laugh-
ing."
We knew we shouldn't be
laughing, but we
couldn't help ourselves.
The judge looked at his
watch. "It's after three
o'clock," he said. "Do you think they'll tree another
one?"
As if to throw the
words back in the judge's face,
Old Dan opened up. I stood up and whooped.
"Look! Get him, Dan! Get him! Put him up a lit-
tle tree."
There was a road
scramble. Grandpa tried to put
his britches on backwards. The judge and Papa ran
over to help him with his shoes. Each one tried to put
a shoe on the wrong foot. I was laughing so hard I
could do nothing.
A hundred yards from
the fire, I realized we had
forgotten the coonskins. I ran back for them.
My dogs had jumped the
coon in swampland. He
tore out for the river bottoms. I could tell they were
close to him by their fast bawling. All at once their
baying stopped. We stood still and listened. Old Dan
bawled treed a few more
times and then stopped.