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Where the Red Fern Grows

Day Seven

Grandpa asked, "What's happened?"

    I told him the coon had probably pulled some

kind of trick.

    Coming up to my dogs, we saw they were work-

ing up and down an old rail fence. We stood and

watched. Every now and then, Old Dan would rear

up on a large hackberry tree that was standing about

seven feet from the fence and bawl treed.

    As yet Little Ann had not bawled the tree bark.

We watched her. She was working everywhere. She

climbed up on the rail fence and followed its zigzag,

course until she disappeared in the darkness.

    I told Papa I was sure the coon had walked the

rail fence and in some way had fooled my dogs.

    Old Dan would keep coming back to the hack-

berry tree. He would rear up on it and bawl treed. We

walked up to him. Looking the tree over, we could

see that the coon wasn't in it.

    The judge said, "It looks like he has them

fooled."

    "Maybe you had better call them off," Grandpa

said. "We can go someplace else and hunt. We've got

to get one more coon, even if I have to tree it myself.

    For some reason, no one laughed at his remark.

    "It's almost daylight," Papa said.

    "Yes, that's what has me worried," I said. "We

don't have time to do any more hunting. If we lose

this one, we're beat."

    Hearing the word beat, Grandpa began to fidget.

He asked me, "What do you think happened? How did

that coon fool them?"

    "I don't know for sure," I said. "He walked that

rail fence. The hackberry tree has something to do

with his trick, but I don't know what."

    "Son," the judge said, "I wouldn't feel too badly if

I were you. I've seen some of the very best hounds

fooled by a smart old coon."

    Regardless of all the discouraging talk, the love

and belief I had in my little red hounds never fal-

tered. I could see them now and then, leaping over

old logs, tearing through the underbrush, sniffing and

searching for the lost trail. My heart swelled with

pride. I whooped, urging them on.

    In a low voice, the Judge said, "I'll say one thing.

They don't give up easily."

    Birds began to chirp all around us. The sky took

on a light gray color. Tiny dim stars were blinking the

night away.

    "It looks like we're beat," Papa said. "It's getting

daylight."

    At that moment, the loud clear voice of a red-

bone hound, bawling treed; rang through the river

bottoms. It was the voice of Little Ann.

    Sucking in a mouthful of air, I held it. I could

feel my heart pounding against my ribs. I closed my

eyes tight and gritted my teeth to keep the tears from

coming.

    "Let's go to them," Grandpa said.

    "No, wait a minute," I said.

    Why?" be asked.

    "Wait till Old Dan gets there," I said. "It's day-

light now, and if we walk up to the tree, the coon will

jump out. It's hard to keep a coon in a tree after day-

light. Let's wait until Old Dan gets there. Then if he

jumps, he won't have a chance to get away."

    "The boy's right" the judge said. "It's hard to

keep a coon in a tree after daybreak."

    Just then we heard Old Dan. His deep voice shat-

tered the morning silence. Searching for the lost trail,

he had crossed the fence and worked his way out into

an old field. Turning around we saw him coming. He

was a red blur in the gray morning shadows. Coming

to the rail fence, and without breaking his stride he

raised his body into the air. About halfway over and

while still in the air he bawled.

    Hitting the ground with a loud grunt, he ran past

us. Everyone whooped to him. Ahead was a deep

washout about ten feet wide. On the other side was a

canebrake. His long red body, stretched to its fullest

length, seemed to float in the air as he sailed over it.

We could hear the tall stalks rattling as he plowed his

way through them. A bunch of sleepy snow birds rose

from the thick cane, flitted over, and settled in a row

on the old rail fence.

    Nearing the tree, we could see it was a tall syc-

amore, and there high in the top was the coon.

    Grandpa threw a fit.  He hopped around

whooping and hollering. He threw his old hat down

on the ground and jumped up and down on it. Then

be ran over and kissed Little Ann right on the head.

    After we killed and skinned the coon, the judge

said, "Let's walk back to that old fence. I think I

know how the old fellow pulled his trick."

    Back at the fence, the Judge stood and looked

around for a few minutes. Smiling, he said, "Yes,

that's how he did it."

    "How?" Grandpa asked.

    Still smiling, the Judge said, "That old coon

walked this rail fence. Coming even with the hack-

berry tree, he leaped up on its side, and climbed up.

Notice how thick the timber is around here. See that

limb way up there in the top, the one that runs over

and almost touches the sycamore?"

    We saw what he meant.

    "The coon walked out on that limb," be said,

"leaped over, and caught the sycamore limb. Re-

peating this over and over, from tree to tree, he

worked his way far out into the river bottoms. What I

can't figure out is how that hound found him.

    Gazing at Little Ann, he shook his head and said,

"I've been hunting coons and judging coon hunts for

forty years, but I've never seen anything like that."

    He looked at me. "Well, son," he said, "you have

tied the leading teams. There's only one more night of

eliminations. Even if some of them get more than

three coons, you will still be in the runoff, and from

what I've seen here tonight, you have a good chance

of winning the cup."

    I knew that Little Ann had scented the coon in

the air, the same as she had the ghost coon. I walked

over and knelt down by her side. The things I want-

ed to say to her I couldn't, for the knot in my throat,

but I'm sure she understood.

    As we came into the campground, the hunters

came out of their tents and gathered around us. The

judge held up the three big coon hides. There was a

roar from the crowd.

    One man said, "That was the most beautiful sight

I've ever seen."

    "What was a beautiful sight?" Grandpa asked.

    "Last night those little red hounds brought that

coon right through camp."

    The Judge said, "We figured they did when we

heard the noise."

    Laughing, the man said, "We heard them when

they ran up the other side of the river. Way up above

here they crossed over. We could tell they were com-

ing back so we doused all the fires and, sure enough,

they came right through camp. Those two little

hounds weren't fifty yards behind the coon, running

side by side. Boy, they were picking them up and

laying them down, and bawling every time their feet

touched the ground. I'll tell you, it was the prettiest

sight I ever saw."

    When the judge started telling about the last

coon Little Ann had treed I took my dogs over to our

tent and fed and watered them. After they had had

their fill, I gave them a good rubdown with a piece of

gunny sack. Taking them out to the buggy, I tied

them up. I stood and watched while they twisted

around in the hay making their bed.

    That day I tried to get some sleep in our tent,

but the soaking Grandpa had taken in the river had

given him a cold, causing him to snore. I never heard

such a racket in all my life. I'd have sworn he rattled

the paper sacks in our grocery boxes. Taking a blan-

ket, I went out to my dogs. Little Ann had wiggled

up as close to Old Dan as she could. Prying them

apart, I lay down between them and fell asleep.

    The last night of the eliminations turned out like

the second night. None of the judges turned in more

than two hides.

    That day, about noon, the owners of the other

winning teams and I were called for a conference

with the head Judge. He said, "Gentlemen, the elimi-

nations are over. Only three sets of hounds are left for

the runoff. The winner of tonight's hunt will receive

the gold cup. If there is a tie for the championship,

naturally there will be another runoff."

    He shook hands with each of us and wished us

good luck.

    Tension began to build up in the camp. Here and

there hunters were standing in small groups, talking.

Others could be seen going in and out of tents with

rolls of money in their hands. Grandpa was the

busiest one of all. His voice could be heard all over

the camp. Men were looking at me, and talking in

low tones. I strutted like a turkey gobbler.

    That evening, while we were having supper, a

hunter dropped by. He had a small box in his hand.

Smiling, he said, "Everyone has agreed that we

should have a jackpot for the winner. I've been

picked to do the collecting."

    Grandpa said, "You may as well leave it here

now."

    Looking at me, the hunter said, "Son, I think al-

most every man in this camp is hoping you win it, but

it's not going to be easy. You're going up against four

of the finest hounds there are." Turning to my father,

he said, "Did you know the two big walker hounds

have won four gold cups?"

    Very seriously, Papa said, "You know I have two

mules down on my place. One is almost as big as a

barn. The other one isn't much bigger than a jack rab-

bit, but that little mule can outpull the big one every

time."

    Smiling, the hunter turned to leave. He said, "You

could be right."

    Papa asked me again where I thought we should

start hunting.

    I  had been thinking about this all day. I said

"You remember where we jumped the last coon in the

swamp?"

    Papa said, "Yes."

    "Well, the way I figure, more than one coon lives

in that swamp, I said. "It's a good place for them as

there are lots of crawfish and minnows in those

potholes. If a hound jumps one there, he has a good

chance to tree him.

    Papa asked , "Why?"

    "It's a long way back to the river, and about the

same distance to the mountains," I said. "Either way

he runs, a dog can get pretty close to him, and so he

would have to take to a tree."

    That evening we climbed into Grandpa's buggy

and headed for the swamp. It was dark by the time

we reached it.

    Grandpa handed Papa his gun, saying. "You're

getting to be a pretty good shot with this thing."

    "I hope I get to shoot it a lot tonight," Papa said.

    Under my breath, I said, "I do, too."

    After untying the ropes from my dogs, I held

onto their collars for a minute. Pulling them up close

I knelt down and whispered, ""This is the last night. I

know you'll do your best."

      They seemed to understand and tugged at their

collars. When I turned them loose, they started to

the timber. Just as they reached the dark shadows

they stopped, turned around, and stared straight at

me for an instant.

    The Judge saw their strange actions. Laying a

hand on my shoulder, he asked, "What did they say

son?"

    I said, "Nothing that anyone could understand,

but I can feel that they know this hunt is important.

They know it just as well as you or I."

   It was Little Ann who found the trail. Before the

echo of her sharp cry had died away, Old Dan's deep

voice floated out of the swamp.

    "Well, let's go," Papa said eagerly.

    "No, let's wait a minute," I said.

    "Wait? Why?" Grandpa asked.

    "To see which way he's going to run," I said.

    The coon broke out of the swamp and headed for

the river. Listening to my dogs, I could tell they were

close to him. I said to Papa, "I don't think he'll ever

make it to the river. They're right on his heels now."

    By the time we had circled the swamp, they

were bawling treed.

    The judge said, "Boy, that was fast."

    I felt my father's hand on my shoulder. Looking

at me, he smiled and nodded his head. Papa and I

knew I had judged the coon perfectly. He didn't have

time to reach the river or the mountains.

    My dogs had treed the coon in a tall ash which

stood about fifty yards from the river. I knew the fifty

yards had saved us a good hour, because he could

have pulled trick after trick if he had gotten in the

water.

    We spied the coon in the topmost branches. At

the crack of the gun, he ran far out on a limb and

jumped. He landed in an old fallen treetop. He scooted

through it. Coming out on the other side, he ran for

the river. The tangled mass of limbs slowed my dogs

and they all but tore the treetop apart getting out of

it. The coon was just one step ahead of them as they

reached the river. We heard them hit the water.

    Running over, we stood and watched the fight.

The coon was at home in the river. He crawled up on

Old Dan's head, trying to force him under. Before he

could do it, Little Ann reached up and pulled him

off.  In a scared voice, Papa said, "That water looks

deep to me."

    "Maybe you had better call them off," said the

judge. "That's a big coon and he could drown one of

them easily in that deep water."

    "Call them off?" I said. "Why, you couldn't whip

them off with a stick. There's no use for anyone to get

scared. They know exactly what they're doing. I've

seen this more times than one."

    Grandpa was scared and excited. He was jumping

up and down, whooping and hollering.

    Papa raised the gun to aim.

    I jumped and grabbed his arm. "Don't do that," I

yelled. "You're sure to hit one of my dogs."

    Round and round in the deep water the fight

went on. The coon climbed on Old Dan's head and

sank his teeth in one of his long tender ears. Old Dan

bawled with pain. Little Ann swam in and caught

one of the coon's hind legs in her mouth. She tried

hard to pull him off. All three disappeared under the

water.

    I held my breath.

    The water churned and boiled. All three came to

the top about the same time. The coon was between

the bank we were standing on and my dogs. He swam

toward us. They caught him again just as he reached

shore. He fought his way free and ran for a large syc-

amore. Old Dan caught him Just as he started up. I

knew that was the end of the fight.

    After it was all over and the coon had been

skinned, Grandpa said, "I hope we don't have to go

through that again tonight. For a while I sure thought

your dogs were goners."

    The Judge said, "Well, have you ever seen that?

Look over there!"                               I

   Old Dan was standing perfectly still, with eyes

closed and head hanging down. Little Ann was lick-

ing at his cut and bleeding ears.               a

    "She always does that," I said. "If you'll watch,

when she gets done with him, he'll do the same for  

her."

    We stood and watched until they had finished  

doctoring each other. Then, trotting side by side, they

disappeared in the darkness.

    We followed along, stopping now and then to lis-

ten.

Chapter 17.

    LOOKING UP THE SKY, PAPA SAID, "THAT DOESN'T

look good up there. I think we are in for a storm."

    The sky had turned a dark gray. Fast-moving

clouds were rolling through the heavens.

    Grandpa said.  "Looks like we're going to get

some wind, too."

    Scared and thinking everyone might want to stop

hunting because of a few clouds, I said, "if a storm is

brewing, it's a good night to hunt. All game stirs just

before a storm."

    Thirty minutes later, Papa said, "Listen."

    We stood still. A low moaning sound could be

heard in the tops of the tall sycamores.

    Grandpa said, "I was afraid of that. We're going

to get some wind."

    We heard a rattling in the leaves and under-

brush. It was beginning to sleet. The air turned cold

and chilly.

    From far downriver, we heard the deep baying

of a hound on a trail. It was Old Dan. Seconds later,

the rhythmic crying of Little Ann could be heard.

Swallowing the lump that had jumped up in my                      

throat, I whooped as loud as I could.

    The ground was turning white with sleet. The

storm had really set in. We hurried along.

    I said to Papa, "if this keeps up, that old coon

won't run long. He'll head for his den."

    "If it gets much worse," Grandpa said, I know

some coon hunters that won't be running very long.

They'll be frozen too stiff to run."

    The judge asked if there was any danger of get-

ting lost.

    "I don't know," Papa said. it's all strange country

to me."

    My dogs' voices sounded far away. I knew they

were much closer than they sounded as they were

downwind from us. Finding three large sycamores

growing close together, we stopped on the leeward

side.

    Papa shouted above the wind, "I don't know if

we can take much more of this."

    "It is bad," Grandpa replied, and it looks like it's

going to get worse."

    "You can't see over fifteen feet now," the judge

said. "Do you think we can find the buggy?"

    "I think we can find the buggy all right," Papa

said.

    I could no longer hear the voices of my dogs.

This had me worried. I didn't want to leave them out

in the storm.

    "Can anyone hear the hounds," Grandpa asked.

    "I can't," Papa said.

    The judge spoke up. "Fellows, I think we'd bet-

ter go in," he said.  "There's no telling where they are.

They may have crossed the river."

    Scared and knowing I had to do something, I

said, "They're closer than you think, probably treed

by now. You can't hear them for this wind." I begged,

"Let's go a little further."

    There was no reply and no one made a move to

leave the shelter of the trees.

    Taking a few steps, I said, "I'll take the lead. Just

follow me."

   "Billy, we couldn't find them," Papa said. "You

can't see or hear a thing. We had better start back for

camp."    

  "I think so, too," the judge said.

   At this remark, I cried, "I've been out in storms

like this before, all by myself. "I've never left my dogs

in the woods, and I'm not going to now, even if I

have to look for them by myself."

   No one answered.

   "Please go just a little further," I begged. "I just

know we'll hear them."

   Still no one spoke or made a move to go on.

   Stepping over to my father, I buried my face in

his old mackinaw coat. Sobbing, I pleaded with him

not to turn back.

   He patted my head. "Billy," he said, a man could

freeze to death In this storm, and besides, your dogs

will give up and come in."

   "That's what has me worried," I cried. "They

won't come in. They won't, Papa. Little Ann might,

but not Old Dan. He'd die before he'd leave a coon in

a tree."

   Papa was undecided. Making up his mind, he

stepped away from the tree and said to the others,

"I'm going on with him. You fellows coming, or going

back?"

   He turned and followed me. Grandpa and the

judge fell in behind him.

   By this time the ground was covered with a thin

white layer of sleet. We kept slipping and falling. I

could hear Grandpa mumbling and grumbling. The

wind-driven sleet stung our skin like thousands of

pricking needles. Strong gusts of wind growled and

moaned through the tops of the tall timber.

   Once during a momentary lull of the storm, I

thought I heard the baying of a hound. I told my fa-

ther I thought I had heard Old Dan.

   "From which direction?" he asked.

   "From that way," I said, pointing to our left.

   We started on. A few minutes later Papa stopped.

He shouted to my grandfather, "Did you hear any-

thing?"

    "No," Grandpa shouted back. "I can't hear any-

thing in this storm."

    "I thought I did, but I'm not sure," the judge

said.

    "Where was it coming from?" Papa asked.

    "Over that way," the Judge said, pointing to our

right.

    "That's the way it sounded to me," Papa said.

    At that moment, all of us heard the deep voice of

Old Dan.

    "It sounds as if they're close," Grandpa said.

    "Let's split up," said the Judge. "Maybe one of us

can find them."

    "No," Papa said, "it'd be easy to get lost in this

storm."

    "I think they're more to the right of us," I said.

    "I do, too," Papa said.

    We trudged on. Old Dan bawled again. The

sound of his voice seemed to be all around us.

    "The way that wind is whipping the sound

through this timber," the judge said, "we'd be lucky if

we ever found them."

    Papa shouted over the roar of the wind, "We

can't take much more of this. We'll freeze to death."

    The men were giving up. I felt the knot again as

it crawled up in my throat. Salt water froze on my

eyelashes. Kneeling down, I put my ear close to the

icy ground in hopes I could hear my dogs, but I

couldn't hear anything above the roar of the blizzard.

    Standing up, I peered this way and that. All I

could see was a white wall of whirling sleet. I closed

my eyes and said a silent prayer and hoped for a mir-

acle.

    We heard a sharp crack and a loud crashing

noise. A large limb, torn from a tree by the strong

wind, fell to the ground. The sharp crack of the limb

gave me the idea. Shouting to my father, I said,

"Shoot the gun. If my dogs are close enough to hear

it, maybe Little Ann will come to us.

    Papa didn't hesitate. Pointing the gun high over

his head he pulled the trigger. The sharp crack rang

out into the teeth of the storm.

   We waited.

    Just when I had given up all hope and had sunk

to the lowest depth of despair, out of the white wall

of driving sleet my little dog came to me. I knelt

down and gathered her in my arms.

    Taking one of the lead ropes from my pocket, I

tied it to her collar. I said, "Find him, little girl.

Please find Old Dan."

    Right then I didn't care about coons, gold cups,

or anything. All I wanted was my dogs.

    I don't know how she did it. Straight into the

face of the storm she led us. Time after time she

would stop and turn her head this way and that. I

knew she couldn't scent or see anything. Instinct

alone was guiding her. Over a winding and twisting

trail, we followed.

    Coming out of the bottoms, she led us into a

thick canebrake. The tall stalks sheltered us from the

storm. The roaring of the wind didn't seem as loud.

Like ghostly figures, large trees loomed out of the al-

most solid mass. FaIling and stumbling, we kept push-

ing on.

   Grandpa shouted, "Hold up a minute. I'm just

about all in."

    We stopped.

    "Do you think that hound knows what she's

doing?" the judge asked. "Maybe we're just running

around in circles."

    Looking at me, Papa said, "I hope she does."

Some of these canebrakes cover miles. If we get lost

in here, we'll be in bad shape."

   Grandpa said, "I think we've gone too far. The

last time I heard Old Dan, he sounded quite close."

"That was because the wind carried the sound," I

said.

    The judge spoke up, "Fellows, no dog is worth

the lives of three men. Now let's do the smart thing

and get out of here while we can. Our clothes are

wet. If we keep on wandering around in this jungle,

we'll freeze to death. It doesn't look like this blizzard

is ever going to let up."

    I could hear the roar of the blizzard back in the

thick timber of the bottoms. Two large limbs being

rubbed together by the strong wind made a grinding

creaking sound.   The tall slender cane around us rat-

tled and swayed.

    I could feel the silence closing in. I knew the

judge's cold logic had had its effect on my father and

grandfather. The men had given up. There was no

hope left for me.

    Kneeling down, I put my arms around Little

Ann. I felt the warm heat from her moist tongue

caressing my ear. Closing my eyes, I said,  Please,

Dan, bawl one more time, just one more time."

    I waited for my plea to be answered.

    With its loud roaring, the north wind seemed to

be laughing at us. All around, tall stalks of cane were

weaving  and dancing to the rattling rhythm of their

knife-edged blades.

    My father tried to talk above the wind, but his

words were lost in the storm. Just before another

blast, clear as a fog horn on a stormy sea, Old Dan's

voice rang loud and clear. It seemed louder than the

roar of the wind or the skeleton-like rustling of the

tall swaying cane.

    I jumped to my feet. My heart did a complete

flip-flop.  The knot in my throat felt as big as an ap-

ple. I tried to whoop, but it was no use. Little Ann 

bawled and tugged on the rope.

   There was no mistaking the direction. We knew

that Little Ann had been right all along. Straight as

an arrow, she had led us to him.

   Old Dan was treed down in a deep gully. I slid

off the bank and ran to him. His back was covered

with a layer of frozen sleet. His frost-covered whiskers

stood out straight as porcupine quills.

    I worked the wedges of ice from between his

toes, and scraped the sleet from his body with my

hands. Little Ann came over and tried to wash his

face. He didn't like it. Jerking loose from me, he ran

over to the tree, reared up on it, and started bawling.

    Hearing shouting from the bank above me, I

looked up. I could dimly see Papa and the judge

through the driving sleet. At first I thought they were

shouting to me, but on peering closer I could see that

they had their backs to me. Catching hold of some

long stalks of cane that were hanging down from the

steep bank, I pulled myself up.

    Papa shouted in my ear, "Something has hap-

pened to your grandfather."

    Turning to the judge, he said, "He was behind

you. When was the last time you saw him?"

    "I don't know for sure," the judge said. I guess it

was back there when we heard the hound bawl."

    "Didn't you hear anything?" Papa asked.

    "Hear anything?" the judge exclaimed. "How

could I hear anything in all that noise? I thought he

was behind me all the time, and didn't miss him until

we got here."

    I couldn't hold back the tears. My grandfather

was lost and wandering in that white jungle of cane.

Screaming for him, I started back.

    Papa caught me. He shouted, "Don't do that."

    I tried to tear away from him but his grip on my

arm was firm.

    "Shoot the gun," the judge said.

    Papa shot time after time. It was useless. We got

no answer.

    Little Ann came up out of the washout. She

stood and stared at me. Turning, she disappeared

quickly in the thick cane. Minutes later we heard her,

it was a long mournful cry.

    The only times I had ever heard my little dog

bawl like that were when she was baying at a bright

Ozark moon, or when someone played a French harp

or a fiddle close to her ear. She didn't stop until we

reached her.

    Grandpa lay as he had fallen face down in the

icy sleet. His right foot was wedged in the fork of a

broken box elder limb. When the ankle had twisted,

the searing pain must have made him unconscious.

    Papa worked Grandpa's foot free and turned him

over. I sat down and placed his head in my lap.

While Papa and the judge massaged his arms and

legs, I wiped the frozen sleet from his eyes and face.

    Burying my face in the iron-gray hair, I cried

and begged God not to let my grandfather die.

    "I think he's gone." the judge said.

    "I don't think so." Papa said. "He took a bad fall

when that limb tripped him, but he hasn't been lying

here long enough to be frozen. I think he's just uncon-

scious."

    Papa lifted him to a sitting position and told the

judge to start slapping his face. Grandpa moaned and

moved his head.

    "He's coming around," Papa said.

    I asked Papa if we could get him back to the

gully where Old Dan was. I had noticed there was

very little wind there and we could build a fire.

    "That's the very place," he said. "We'll build a

good fire and one of us can go for help."

    Papa and the judge made a seat by catching

each other's wrists.  They eased Grandpa between

them.

    By the time we reached the washout, Grandpa 

was fully conscious again, and was mumbling and

grumbling. He couldn't see why they had to carry him

like a baby.

    After easing him over the bank and down into

the gully, we built a large fire. Papa took his knife 

and cut the boot from Grandpa's swollen foot.

Grandpa grunted and groaned from the pain. I felt

sorry for him but there was nothing I could do but

look on.                                       

    Papa examined the foot.  Shaking his head, he

said, "Boy, that's a bad one. It's either broken or

badly sprained. I'll go for some help."

    Grandpa said, "Now wait just a minute. I'm not

going to let you go out in that blizzard by yourself.

What if something happens to you? No one would

know."

    "What time is it?" he asked.

    The judge looked at his watch. "It's almost five

o'clock," he said.

    "It's not long till daylight," Grandpa said. "Then

if you want to go, you can see where you're going.

Now help me get propped up against this bank. I'll

be all right. It doesn't hurt any more. It's numb now."

    "He's right," the judge said.

    "Think you can stand it?" Papa asked.

    Grandpa roared like a bear. "Sure I can stand it.

It's nothing but a sprained ankle. I'm not going to die.

Build that fire up a little more."

    While Papa and the judge made Grandpa com-

fortable, I carried wood for the fire.

   "There's no use standing around gawking at me

Grandpa said.  "I'm all right. Get the coon out of that

tree. That's what we came for, isn't it?"

    Up until then, the coon-hunting had practically           

been forgotten.

    The tree was about thirty feet from our fire. We

walked over and took a good look at it for the first

time. My dogs, seeing we were finally going to pay

some attention to them, started bawling and running

around the tree.

    Papa said, "It's not much of a tree, just an old

box elder snag. There's not a limb on it."

    "I can't see any coon," said the judge. "It must be

hollow."

    Papa beat on its side with the ax. It gave forth a

loud booming sound. He said, "It's hollow all right."

    He stepped back a few steps, scraped his feet on

the slick ground for a good footing, and said, "Stand

back, and hold those hounds. I'm going to cut it

down. We need some wood for our fire anyway.

   Squatting down between my dogs, I held onto

their collars.

    Papa notched the old snag so it would fall away

from our fire. As the heavy ax chewed its way into

the tree, it began to lean and crack. Papa stopped

chopping. He said to the judge, "Come on and help

me. I think we can push it over now.

    After much grunting and pushing, snapping and

popping, it fell.

    I turned my dogs loose.

    On hitting the ground, the snag split and broke

up. Goggle-eyed, I stood rooted in my tracks and

watched three big coons roll out of the busted old

trunk.

    One started up the washout, running between us

and the fire. Old Dan caught him and the fight was

on. The second coon headed down the washout. Lit-

tle Ann caught him.

    Hearing a loud yell from Grandpa, I looked that

way. Old Dan and the coon were fighting close to his

feet. He was yelling and beating at them with his hat.

The judge and Papa ran to help.

    The third coon started climbing up the steep

bank close to me. Just before reaching the top, his

claws slipped in the icy mud. Tumbling end over

end, down he came I grabbed up a stick and threw it

at him. Growling and showing his teeth, he started for

me. I threw the fight to him then and there. Some ten

yards away I looked back. He was climbing the bank.

That time he made it and disappeared in the thick

cane.

   Hearing a squall of pain from Little Ann, I

turned. The coon was really working her over. He

had climbed up on her back and was tearing and

slashing. She couldn't shake him off. Grabbing a

club from the ground, I ran to help her.

    Before we had killed our coon, Old Dan came

tearing in. We stood and watched the fight. When the

coon was dead, Papa picked it up and we walked

back to the fire.

    "How many coons were in that old snag?" Papa

asked.

    "I saw three," I said. "The one that got away

climbed out over there." I pointed in the direction the

coon had taken.

    I never should have pointed. My dogs turned as

one, and started bawling and clawing their way up

the steep bank. I shouted and scolded, but to no avail.

They disappeared in the rattling cane.

    We stood still, listening to their voices. The

sound died away in the roaring storm. Sitting down

close to the fire, I buried my face in my arms and

cried.

    I heard the judge say to my father, "This beats

anything I have ever seen. Why, those dogs can read

that boy's mind. He just pointed at that bank and

away they went. I never saw anything like it. I can't

understand some of the things they have done tonight.

Hounds usually aren't that smart. If they were collies,

or some other breed of dog, it would be different, but

they're just redbone hounds, hunting dogs."

    Papa said, "Yes, I know what you mean. I've seen

them do things that I couldn't understand. I'd never

heard of hounds that ever had any affection for any-

one, but these dogs are different. Did you know they

won't hunt with anyone but him, not even me?"

    Hearing my grandfather call my name, I went

over and sat down by his side. Putting his arm around

me, he said, "Now, I wouldn't worry about those dogs.

They'll be all right. It's not long till daylight. Then

you can go to them."

    I said, "Yes, but what if the coon crosses the

river? My dogs will follow him. If they get wet they

could freeze to death."

    "We'll just have to wait and hope for the best,"

he said. "Now straighten up and quit that sniffling.

Act like a coon hunter. You don't see me bawling, and

this old foot is paining me something awful."

    I felt better after my talk with Grandpa.

    "Come on, let's skin these coons," Papa said.

    I got up to help him.

    After the skins  peeled from the carcasses, I

had an idea. Holding one up close to the fire until it

was warm, I took it over and wrapped it around

Grandpa's foot. Chuckling, he said, "Boy, that feels

good. Heat another skin the same way.

    I kept it up for the rest of the night.

                       Chapter 18.

JUST BEFORE DAWN, THE STORM BLEW ITSELF OUT WITH

one last angry roar. It started snowing. A frozen

silence settle over the canebrake.

    Back in the thick timber of the river bottoms, the

sharp snap snapping of frozen limbs could be heard. The

tall stalks of wild cane looked exhausted from the hell-         

ish night.  They were drooping and bending from the

weight of the frozen sleet.

    I climbed out of the deep gully and listened for

my dogs. I couldn't hear them. Just as I started back

down the bank, I heard something. I listened. Again I

heard the sound.

   Papa was watching me. "Can you hear the dogs?"

he asked.

   "No, not the dogs," I said, "but I can hear some-

thing else."

    "What does it sound like?" he asked.

    "Like someone whooping," I said.

    Papa and the judge hurried up the bank. We

heard the sound again. It was coming from a different

direction.

    "The first time I heard it," I said, "it was over

that way."

    "It's the men from camp," the judge said.

"They're searching for us."

    We started whooping. The searchers answered.

Their voices came from all directions. The first one to

reach us was Mr. Kyle. He looked haggard and tired.

He asked if everything was all right.

    "Yes, we're all right," Papa said, "but the old man

has a bad ankle. It looks like we'll have to carry him

out."

    "Your team broke loose and came back to camp

about midnight," Mr. Kyle said. "This really spooked

us. We were sure something bad had happened.

Twenty-five of us have been searching since then."

    Several men climbed down the bank and went

over to Grandpa. They looked at his ankle. One said,

"I don't think it's broken, but it sure is a bad sprain."

    "You're in luck," another one said. "We have one

of the best doctors in the state of Texas in our camp.

Dr. Charley Lathman. He'll have you fixed up in no

time."

    "Yes," another said, "and if I know Charley, he's

probably got a small hospital with him."

    Back in the crowd, I heard another man say,

"You mean that Lathman fellow, who owns those

black and tan hounds, is a doctor?"

    "Sure is," another said. "One of the best."

    Mr. Kyle asked where my dogs were. I told him

that they were treed somewhere.

    "What do you mean, treed somewhere?" he

asked.

    Papa explained what had happened.

    With a wide-eyed look on his face, he said, "Do

you mean to tell me those hounds stayed with the

tree in that blizzard?"

    I nodded.

    Looking at me, he said, "Son, I hope they have

that coon treed, because you need that one to win the

cup. Those two walker hounds caught three before

the storm came up. When it got bad, all the hunters

came in."

    The judge spoke up. "I'll always believe that

those hounds knew that boy needed another coon to

win," he said. "If you fellows had seen some of the

things those dogs have done, you'd believe it, too."

    One hunter walked over to the broken snag.

"Three out of one tree," he said. "No wonder, look

here! That old snag was half-full of leaves and grass.

Why, it was a regular old den tree."

    Several of the men walked  over. I heard one say,

"I've seen this happen before. Remember that big

hunt in the Red River bottoms, when the two little

beagle hounds treed four coons in an old hollow snag?

They won the championship, too."

    "I wasn't there but I remember reading about it,"

one said.

    "Say, I don't see Benson," Mr. Kyle said.

    The men started looking at each other.

    "He was searching farther downriver than the rest

of us," one fellow said. "Maybe he didn't hear us

shouting."

    Some of the men climbed out of the gully. They

started whooping. From a distance we heard an an-

swering shout.

    "He hears us," someone said, "He's coming."

    Everyone looked relieved.

    Mr. Benson struck the washout a little way

above us. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been run-

ning. He started talking as soon as he was within hear-

ing distance.

    "It scared me when I first saw them," he said. "I

didn't know what they were. They looked like white

ghosts. I'd never seen anything like it."

    A hunter grabbed Mr. Benson by the shoulder,

shaking him. "Get ahold of yourself, man," he said.

"What are you talking about?"

    Mr. Benson took a deep breath to control him-

self, and started again in a much calmer voice. "Those

two hounds," he said. "I found them. They're frozen

solid. They're nothing but white ice from the tips of

their noses to the ends of their tails."

    Hearing Mr. Benson's words, I screamed and ran

to my father. Everything started whirling around and

around. I felt light as a feather. My knees buckled. I

knew no more.

    Regaining consciousness, I opened my eyes and

could dimly see the blurry images of the men around

me. A hand was shaking me. I could hear my father's

voice but I couldn't understand his words. Little by

little the blackness faded away. My throat was dry

and I was terribly thirsty. I asked for some water.

    Mr. Benson came over. He said, "Son, I'm sorry,

truly sorry. I didn't mean it that way. Your dogs are

alive. I guess I was excited. I'm very sorry.

    I heard a deep voice say, "That's a hell of a thing

to do. Come running in here saying the dogs are fro-

zen solid."

    Mr. Benson said, "I didn't mean it to sound that

way. I said I'm sorry. What more do you want me to

do?"

    The deep voice growled again. "I still think it

was a hell of a thing for a man to do."

    Mr. Kyle took over. "Now let's not have any more

of this," he said. "We have work to do. We've been

standing here acting like a bunch of school kids. All

this time that old man has been lying there suffering.

A couple of you men cut two poles and make a

stretcher to carry him."

    While the men were getting the poles, Papa

heated the coonskins again and rewrapped Grandpa's

foot.

    With belts and long leather laces from their

boots, the hunters made a stretcher. Very gently they

put Grandpa on it.

    Again Mr. Kyle took command. "Part of us will

start for camp with him," he said. "The others will go

after the dogs."

    "Here, take this gin," Papa said. "I'll go with

him."

    Looking at me, Mr. Kyle said, "Come on, son. I

want to see your hounds."

    Mr. Benson led the way. "As soon as we get out

of this cane," he said, "we may be able to hear them.

They have the coon treed in a big black gum tree.      

You're going  to see a sight. Now I mean a sight.

They've walked a ring around that tree clear down

through the ice and snow. You can see the bare

ground."

    "Wonder why they did that?" someone asked.

    "I don't know," Mr. Benson replied, "unless they

ran in that circle to keep from freezing to death, or to

keep the coon in the tree."

    I figured I knew why my dogs were covered with   

ice. The coon had probably crossed the river, maybe

several times. Old Dan and Little Ann would have       

followed him. They had come out of the river with

their coats dripping wet, and the freezing blast of the          

blizzard had done the rest.

    Nearing the tree, we stopped and stared.

    "Did you ever see anything like that?" Mr. Ben-

son asked. "When I first saw them, I thought they

were white wolves."

    My dogs hadn't seen us when we came up. They

were trotting round and round.  Just as Mr. Benson

had said, we could see the path they had worn down

through the ice and snow till the bare black earth was

visible. Like ghostly white shadows, around and

around they trotted.

    In a low voice, someone said, "They know that if

they stop they'll freeze to death."

    "It's unbelievable," said Mr. Kyle. "Come on. We

must do something quick."

    With a choking sob, I ran for my dogs.

    On hearing our approach, they sat down and

started bawling treed. I noticed their voices didn't

have that solid ring. Their ice-covered tails made a

rattling sound as they switched this way and that on

the icy ground.

    A large fire was built. Standing my dogs close to

the warm heat, the gentle hands of the hunters went

to work. With handkerchiefs and scarves heated

steaming hot, little by little the ice was thawed from

their bodies.

    "If they had ever lain down," someone said, "they

would've frozen to death."

    "They knew it," another said. "That's why they

kept running in that circle."

    "What I can't understand is why they stayed

with the tree," Mr. Benson said. "I've seen hounds

stay with a tree for a while, but not in a northern

blizzard."

    "Men," said Mr. Kyle, "people have been trying

to understand dogs ever since the beginning of time.

One never knows what they'll do. You can read every

day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child,

or lay down his life for his master. Some people call

this loyalty. I don't. I may be wrong, but I call it

love-the deepest kind of love."

    After these words were spoken, a thoughtful

silence settled over the men. The mood was broken

by the deep growling voice I had heard back in the

washout.

    "It's a shame that people all over the world can't

have that kind of love in their hearts," he said. "There

would be no wars, slaughter, or murder; no greed or

selfishness. It would be the kind of world that God

wants us to have; a wonderful world."              

    After all the ice was thawed from my dogs and

their coats were dried out, I could see they were all

right. I was happy again and felt good all over. 

    One of the hunters said, "Do you think those

hounds are thawed out enough to fight a coon?"

    "Sure, just run him out of that tree," I said.

    At the crack of the gun, the coon ran far out on a

big limb and stopped. Again the hunter sprinkled him

with bird shot. This time he jumped. Hitting the

ground, he crouched down.

    Old Dan made a lunge. Just as he reached him,

the coon sprang straight up and came down on his

head. Holding on with his claws, the coon sank his

teeth in a long tender ear. Old Dan was furious. He

started turning in a circle, bawling with pain.

    Little Ann was trying hard to get ahold of the

coon but she couldn't because of his fast circling.  Old

Dan's feet flew out from under him and he fell. This

gave Little Ann a chance. Darting in, her claws closed

on the back of the coon's neck. I knew the fight was

over.

    Arriving back at camp, I saw that all the tents

had been taken down but ours. A hunter said, "Every-

one was in a hurry to get out before another blizzard

sets in."

    Papa told me to take my dogs into the tent as

Grandpa wanted to see them.

    I saw tears in my grandfather's eyes as he talked

to them. His ankle was wrapped in bandages. His foot

and toes were swollen to twice their normal size.     

They had turned a greenish-yellow color. Placing my

hand on his foot, I could feel the feverish heat

    Dr. Lathman came over. "Are you ready to go

now?" he asked.

    Snorting and growling, Grandpa said, "I told

you I wasn't going anywhere till I see the gold cup

handed to this boy."

    Turning to face the crowd, Dr. Lathman said,

"Men, let's get this over. I want to get this man to

town. That's one of the meanest sprains I've ever seen

and it should be in a cast, but I don't have any plas-

ter of Paris with me."

    The hunter who had come by our tent collecting

the jackpot money came up to me. Handing me the

box, he said, "Here you are, son. There's over three

hundred dollars in this box. It's all yours."

    Turning to the crowd, he said, "Fellows, I can al-

ways say this. On this hunt I've seen two of the finest

little coon hounds I ever hope to see."

   There was a roar of approval from the crowd.        

    Looking down, I saw the box was almost full of

money. I was shaking all over. I tried to say "Thanks,"

but it was only a whisper. Turning, I handed the box

to my father. As his rough old hands closed around it,

I saw a strange look come over his face. He turned

and looked at my dogs.

    Some of the men started shouting, "Here it is!"

    The crowd parted and the judge walked through.

I saw the gleaming metal of the gold cup in his hand.

After a short speech, he handed it to me, saying,

"Son, this makes me very proud. It's a great honor to

present you with this championship cup."

    The crowd exploded. The hunters' shouts were

deafening.

    I don't know from where the two silly old tears

came. They just squeezed their way out. I felt them

as the rolled down my cheeks. One dropped on the

smooth surface of the cup and splattered. I wiped it

away with my sleeve.

    Turning  to my dogs, I knelt down and showed

the cup to them. Little Ann licked it. Old Dan sniffed

one time, and then turned his head away.

    The judge said, "Son, there's a place on the cup

to engrave the names of your dogs. I can take it into

Oklahoma City and have it done, or you can have it

done yourself. The engraving charge has already been

paid by the association."

    Looking at the cup, it seemed that far down in

the gleaming shadows I could see two wide blue eyes

glued to a windowpane. I knew that my little sister

was watching the road and waiting for our return.

Looking back at the judge, I said, "If you don't mind,

I'll take it with me. My grandfather can send it in for

me."

    Laughing, he said, "That's all right." Handing me

a slip of paper, he said, "This is the address where

you should send it."

    Grandpa said, "Now that's settled, I'm ready

to go to town." Turning to Papa, he said, "You'll have

to bring the buggy, and I wish you'd look after my

stock. I know Grandma will want to go in with us and

there be no one there to feed them. Tell Bill Low-

ery to come up and take care of the store. You'll find

the keys in the usual place."

    "We'll take care of everything," Papa said, "Don't

worry about a thing. I don't intend to stop until we 

get back because it looks like we're in for some more

bad weather."

    I went over and kissed Grandpa good-bye. He

pinched my cheek, and whispered, "We'll teach these

city slickers that they can't come up here and beat

our dogs."

    I smiled.

    Grandpa was carried out and made comfortable

in the back seat of Dr. Lathman's car. I stood and

watched as it wheezed and bounced its way out of

sight.

    "While I'm harnessing the team,"  Papa said, "you

take the tent down and pack our gear."

    On the back seat of the buggy, I made a bed out

of our bed clothes. Down on the floor boards, I fixed a

nice place for my dogs.

   All through the night, the creaking wheels of our

buggy moved on. Several times I woke up. My father

had wrapped a tarp around himself. Reaching down,

I could feel my dogs. They were warm and comfort-

able.

    Early the next morning, we stopped for break-

fast. While Papa tended to the team, I turned my

dogs loose and let them stretch.

    "We made good time last night," Papa said.  "If

everything goes right, we'll he home long before

dark."

    Reaching Grandpa's store in the middle of the af-

ternoon, Papa said, "I'll put the team in the barn and

feed the stock while you unload the buggy."

    Coming back from the barn, he said, "In the

morning, I'll go over and tell Bill Lowery to come up

and open the store."

    Looking around, he said, "It snowed more here

than it did where we were hunting."

    Feeling big and important, I said, "I don't like

the looks of this weather. We'd better be scooting for

home."