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@@ -1,37 +1,4 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Duck-footed Hound, by James Arthur Kjelgaard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Duck-footed Hound - -Author: James Arthur Kjelgaard - -Release Date: December 28, 2012 [EBook #41723] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41723 *** THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND @@ -44,7 +11,7 @@ http://www.pgdpcanada.net THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY New York - _Copyright_ (C) _1960 by Eddy Kjelgaard_ + _Copyright_ © _1960 by Eddy Kjelgaard_ All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except by a reviewer, @@ -4142,361 +4109,4 @@ Harky had a feeling. End of Project Gutenberg's The Duck-footed Hound, by James Arthur Kjelgaard -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND *** - -***** This file should be named 41723.txt or 41723.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/7/2/41723/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Duck-footed Hound - -Author: James Arthur Kjelgaard - -Release Date: December 28, 2012 [EBook #41723] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND - - _By Jim Kjelgaard_ - - - [Illustration] - - ILLUSTRATED BY MARC SIMONT - - THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY New York - - _Copyright_ © _1960 by Eddy Kjelgaard_ - - All rights reserved. No part of this book may be - reproduced in any form, except by a reviewer, - without the permission of the publisher. - - Manufactured in the United States of America - by the Vail-Ballou Press, Inc., Binghamton, New York - - Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 60-9160 - - First Printing - - * * * * * - -Old Joe was the biggest, fightingest, craftiest coon in the Creeping -Hills. No one had ever been able to catch him; not even Precious Sue, a -bluetick hound peerless in tracking down coons. - -But Harky felt that this autumn the hunting would be different. Old Joe -was in for trouble. Precious Sue had a pup who looked like a -natural-born coon hunter. With his web-footed paws he was as skillful in -the water as any coon. And on land, Duckfoot had a nose that beat every -other hound hollow. - -Harky had a few troubles of his own. First there was school. Miss Cathby -was nice, but she was a teacher. She called Old Joe a _rac_coon. And she -said he could not live forever because he was mortal. - -Then there were girls. More specifically, there was Melinda--the -bossiest, uppitiest young lady for miles around. And she wanted to -_hunt_. - -Jim Kjelgaard's story of people and hounds captures all the glory and -excitement of coon hunting on a crisp autumn night. Marc Simont has -illustrated the story with wit and brilliance. - - * * * * * - - - - -CONTENTS - - - OLD JOE 1 - - HARKY 16 - - SUE 31 - - HARKY GOES FISHING 46 - - DUCKFOOT 59 - - THE SUMMER OF OLD JOE 74 - - MISS CATHBY 89 - - MELINDA 106 - - OLD JOE UP 118 - - THE FALL OF MUN 132 - - IMPASSE 146 - - HARKY'S PLOT 158 - - AUTUMN NIGHT 172 - - - - -THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -OLD JOE - - -At twenty minutes past nine on a Friday night, just after the dark of -moon, an owl in the topmost branches of the huge hollow sycamore saw Old -Joe come out of his den. - -The ancient sycamore's trunk, rooted in gravel beside a brooding slough -filled with treacherous sand bars, was five feet in diameter at the -base. With only a slight taper, it rose for twenty-five feet to the -first crotch. Peering down through leafless twigs and branches, the owl -saw the entrance to Old Joe's den as a gaping dark hole squarely in the -center of the crotch. - -The owl was not aware of the precise second when the hole became filled. -It was an unnerving thing, for the owl had long ago learned that it is -the part of wisdom to know what comes and to recognize it when it -appears, and because he was startled he fluttered his wings. - -He recovered almost instantly, but remained tense and alert. A noted -raider himself, the owl was the rankest of amateurs compared with the -old boar coon whose masked face filled the den's entrance and whose -black nose quivered as it tested the night scents. - -Old Joe, the biggest, craftiest, fightingest coon in the Creeping Hills, -had slept in the hollow sycamore since the frigid blasts of mid-December -had draped the hills with snow and locked the ponds and creeks in ice. -But it was as impossible for him to remain asleep during this January -thaw as it was for the sycamore not to stir its roots and make ready to -feed new sap to its budding leaves. - -He came all the way out and sat in the crotch. A little more than -thirty-six inches long from the end of his tapering nose to the tip of -his ringed tail, he stood thirteen inches high at the shoulder and -weighed a pound for every inch of length. His fur, shading from light -gray to deep black, was lustrous and silky. - -The owl saw beneath these external appearances and knew Old Joe for what -he was: part burglar, part devil, and part imp. - -The owl flew away. He knew his superior when he met him. - -Old Joe, who'd seen the owl in the upper branches before that -night-faring pirate knew he was coming out, did not even bother to -glance up. Owls, the terror of small birds and beasts, merited only -contempt from one who'd been born with a knowledge of the pirate's craft -and had refined that knowledge to an art. Old Joe would happily rob the -owl's nest and eat his mate's eggs when and if he could find them, and -if he had nothing more important to do. This night there was much of -importance that cried for his attention. - -Like all raiders with enemies that plot their downfall, he'd attended to -his first duty before he ever showed himself. With only his nose -protruding from the den, he'd read the stories the wind carried and -found nothing he must hide from, or match wits with, in any part of it. -The wind had intensified his excitement and increased the urge that had -awakened him and sent him forth. - -Last night the wind had purred out of the north, bringing intense cold -that made trees crack like cannon shots, but tonight the wind was -directly out of the south. The snow blanket sagged, and damp little -rivulets, from melting snow that had gathered on the upper branches, -crept down the sycamore's trunk. Winter was not broken. But it was -breaking, and there would never be a better reason for waking up and -faring forth. - -Old Joe attended to his second duty. While winter had its way in the -Creeping Hills, he had slept snug and warm in the hollow trunk of the -old sycamore. His fur was more disheveled than any proper coon should -ever permit, and meticulous as any cat, Old Joe set to grooming himself. - -The sycamore was anything but a casually chosen den. The men who lived -in the Creeping Hills, small farmers for the most part, did so because -they preferred the backwoods to anywhere else. For recreation they -turned to hunting, and Old Joe had run ahead of too many coon hounds -not to understand the whys and wherefores of such. - -With a hound on his trail, any coon that did not know exactly what he -was doing would shortly end up as a pelt tacked to the side of a barn -and roast coon in the oven. Hounds could not climb trees, but the -hunters who accompanied the hounds carried lights, guns, and axes. A -coon that sought safety in a tree that had no hollow would be "shined" -and either shot out or shaken out to be finished by the hounds. Most -trees that were hollow were not proof against axes. - -The sycamore was perfect. The slough at the bottom, with its shifting -sand bars, could be navigated in perfect safety by anything that knew -what it was doing. Old Joe did. Most hounds did not. Many that -recklessly flung themselves into the slough, when they were hot on Old -Joe's trail, had come within a breath of entering that Heaven which -awaits all good coon hounds. - -Even if a hound made its way to the base of the sycamore, and some had, -Old Joe was still safe. Hunters who would enthusiastically fell smaller -trees recoiled before this giant. The most skilled axeman would need -hours to chop it down. Climbing the massive trunk, unless one were -equipped with climbing tools, was impossible. - -If anyone tried to climb or chop, and so far no one had, Old Joe had an -escape. The west fork above the crotch probed another thirty feet into -the air before its branches became too small to support a heavy coon. -One solid limb leaned over a high and rocky ledge in which was the -entrance to an underground tunnel. This tunnel had two exits, one -leading to a tangled mass of brush and the other to a swamp. Old Joe -could, as he had proved many times, drop directly from the overhanging -limb into the tunnel's entrance. - -So far, though most coon hunters of the Creeping Hills knew that Old Joe -sometimes climbed the sycamore when he was hard-pressed, none even -suspected that he stayed there. From ground level the trunk did not look -hollow, and since no one had ever seen fit to climb the tree, none had -ever seen the den entrance in the crotch. It was commonly supposed that -once Old Joe was in the sycamore he climbed out on one of the branches -overhanging the slough and dropped in. - -Not all coon hunters believed that. Mellie Garson and a few others whose -hounds had been good enough to trail Old Joe to the sycamore swore that -once he reached the topmost branches the old coon simply sprouted wings -and flew away. - -The last hair finally, and perfectly, in place, Old Joe came out of the -tree. This he accomplished by utilizing a natural stairway that benign -providence seemed to have provided just for him. - -Long ago, a bolt of lightning had split the sycamore from crotch to -ground level. Over the years, save for a seam where the spreading bark -had finally met, the tree had healed itself. The seam was no wider or -deeper than the thickness of a man's thumb, but it was enough for Old -Joe. - -Bracing one handlike forepaw against the side, and bringing the other up -behind it, he sought and found a grip with his rear paws and descended -head first. His grip was sure, but he hadn't the slightest fear of -falling anyway. Often he had fallen or jumped from greater heights, onto -hard ground, without the least injury to himself. - -He descended safely, as he had known he would, and when he was near the -ground he halted and extended a front paw to touch the thawing snow. Old -Joe chittered his pleasure. - -Nature, in designing him, seemed to have started with a small bear in -mind. Then she decided to incorporate portions of the beaver and otter, -and at the last minute included certain characteristics of the monkey -plus a few whims of her own. With a bear's rear paws and a monkey's -hands, Old Joe was at home in the trees. But he found his life in the -water and took a fair portion of his living from it. He had had his last -swim in Willow Brook the night before it froze, and that was too long to -go without a bath. - -Old Joe buried both front paws in the soggy snow, then let go with his -rear ones and rolled over and over. He rose with dripping fur and racing -blood, not even feeling the cold. - -The proper course now would be to smooth his fur by rubbing his whole -body against the trunk of the nearest tree, but he was too wise to -return to the sycamore. Old Joe had long since learned that he left -telltale hairs wherever he rubbed, and coon hairs on a tree are an open -book to even a semi-skilled woodsman. Old Joe made a belly dive into a -puddle of slush, exulting in the spray that scattered. - -He knew also that he was leaving tracks, but he did not care. He had no -intention of returning to the sycamore tonight and perhaps not for many -nights, and coon tracks meant only that a coon had passed this way. -Besides, tracks would disappear when the snow melted. Hair clinging to -the sycamore's bark would not. - -Old Joe went happily on. - -Though he had eaten nothing in almost seven weeks, he was not especially -hungry, and hunger alone never would have driven him from the den tree. -There was something else: an irresistible urge that he could not have -denied if he would. Old Joe was on the most important and compelling of -all missions, a mission that had begun when time began and would endure -until time ended. On this warm night, he must go out simply because he -could not stay. - -With little side excursions here and there, but always heading directly -into the wind, he traveled almost due south. When a bristled dog fox -barred his path, Old Joe did not swerve at all. The fox bared its fangs, -snapped its jaws, and at the last second, yielded the right of way. - -The Creeping Hills were Joe's beat and would remain his beat. He would -go where he pleased, for he feared no other wild creature. Even his -distant cousins, the black bears that shared the Creeping Hills with -him, had never succeeded in keeping Old Joe from where he wished to -venture. The bears were bigger and stronger than he, but they could not -climb so fast nor swim so far, and they did not know all the hiding -places that Old Joe had discovered before his second birthday. - -Old Joe was a match for anything in the Creeping Hills except hunters -with guns. Hunters were to be parried with wits rather than force, since -force alone could never hope to prevail against firearms. But hunters -gave spice to what, at times, might have been a monotonous existence. -The chase was usually as welcome to Old Joe as it was to any hounds or -hunters that had ever pursued him. - -Three-quarters of a mile from the sycamore, Old Joe halted and gravely -examined a new scene. - -The slough at the base of the sycamore remained frozen. But Willow -Brook, with its due proportion of still pools and snarling riffles, had -overflowed the ice that covered it and had surged up on both banks. No -more than two yards from the tip of Old Joe's nose, three forlorn willow -trees seemed to shiver on a high knoll that was ordinarily dry, but -that was now a lonely little island besieged by the overflow from Willow -Brook. - -Quivering with delight, Old Joe rippled forward. He belly-splashed into -the water, swam across, and climbed the knoll. He rubbed himself against -each of the willows, groaning with the luxury of such a massage. Then he -jumped down the other side of the knoll, plunged into the swift water -that flowed over Willow Brook's ice, and without yielding an inch to the -current emerged on the far bank. There he halted. - -The owl that had sat in the top branches of the sycamore and watched Old -Joe come out of his den had known that he was part burglar, part devil, -and part imp. The owl had not known that, depending on circumstances, -Old Joe could be any of these three without regard to the other two. -Reaching the far bank, he was all imp. - -He knew everything about the Creeping Hills, including the location of -each farm, the character of the farmer and his family, the gardens -planted and the crops that would grow, and the number and species of -livestock. - -A sagging barbed-wire fence two yards from the edge of Willow Brook -marked the border of the Mundee farm. Its proprietor was Arthur Mundee, -but because no man in the Creeping Hills was ever called by his given -name, his neighbors knew him as Mun. He had a thirteen-year-old son -named Harold and called Harky, and a wife who had gone to her eternal -peace seven years ago. Next in importance was a hound, a bluetick named -Precious Sue. Mun Mundee was a coon hunter so ardent that hunting coons -was almost a passion, and Precious Sue one of the few hounds that had -ever tracked Old Joe to the great sycamore. This had not impressed Old -Joe unduly, or created any special fear of either Mun Mundee or Precious -Sue. - -After a moment's concentration, Old Joe ran his tongue over his lips. -Mun Mundee owned some horses, some cattle, and some pigs. He also owned -some chickens. Old Joe had not been hungry when he left the sycamore, -but neither had he expected an opportunity to confound Mun Mundee. Old -Joe licked his lips a second time. When he thought of the chickens, he -was suddenly ravenous. - -He left Willow Brook and crawled under the barbed-wire fence. He did not -slink or hesitate, for he had chosen his night well; the waning moon -left complete darkness behind it. The Mundees would be asleep in their -house and Precious Sue on the porch. Nobody hunted coons in winter. - -Walking boldly, but with not so much as a whisper of sound on the -thawing snow, Old Joe saw as soon as the farm came in sight that his -analysis was correct. The house was dark. The Mundees and Precious Sue -were asleep. Cattle and horses shuffled in their stalls and pigs grunted -sleepily in their sty. - -Old Joe went straight to the chicken house, and licked his lips a third -time as the odor of sleeping chickens delighted his nostrils. - -He did not hesitate but went straight to the small door that let the -chickens in and out. It was a sliding door that could be raised or -lowered, and it was a combination with which Old Joe had long been -familiar. He slipped a front paw beneath the door, raised it, entered -the chicken house, and let the door slide shut behind him. - -The inside of Mun Mundee's chicken house, like the other chicken houses -in the Creeping Hills, was familiar. Old Joe climbed to the roost, and a -fat white hen clucked sleepily as she sensed something alien beside her. -Almost gently Old Joe opened his mouth, closed it on the fat hen's neck, -and leaped lightly to the floor with his plunder. He let himself out -the same way he got in. - -[Illustration] - -He was halfway back to Willow Brook when, stopping to get a better grip -on the fat hen, he was careless. The hen was good for one last squawk. - -One was enough. Precious Sue, sleeping on the porch, heard and correctly -interpreted. A silent trailer, a hound that made no noise until quarry -was bayed, she came rushing through the night. - -Old Joe did not hurry, for haste was scarcely consistent with his -dignity. But he had not left his den to play with a hound, and there -was a simple way to be rid of Precious Sue. - -Coming to Willow Brook, and still clutching his hen, Old Joe leaped in -and surrendered to the water. A half mile downstream he left the brook, -stopped to feast leisurely on the fat hen, and made his way to a swamp -so dense and thick that even full sunlight never penetrated some parts -of it. - -Deep in the swamp he came to his destination, a hollow oak, a huge old -tree as massive as his sycamore. Unhesitatingly he climbed the hollow, -and the female coon that had chosen the oak as her winter den awoke to -snarl and bite him on the nose. - -Repelled, but by no means resigned, Old Joe found another den in a -nearby ledge of rocks and made plans to meet the situation. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -HARKY - - -At twenty minutes past five, just four hours before Old Joe startled the -owl that watched him come out of his den, Harky Mundee peered furtively -around the rear of the cow he was milking to see if his father was -watching. He was. Harky sighed and went back to work. - -Mun Mundee had firm opinions concerning the proper way to milk a cow or -do anything else, and when other arguments failed he enforced his ideas -with the flat of his hand. Harky sighed again. Old Brindle, far and away -the orneriest of Mun's five cows and probably anyone else's, had teats -remarkably like the fingers of a buckskin glove that has been left out -in the rain and then dried in the sun. Coaxing the last squirts of milk -from her probably was not so hard as squeezing apple juice from a rock, -but it certainly ran a close second. - -Since there was no alternative, Harky beguiled the anything-but-fleeting -moments with the comforting reflection that winter, after all, was one -of his favorite seasons. It could not compare with autumn, when corn -rustled crisply in the shock and dogs sniffed about for scent of the -coons that always raided shocked corn. Nor did it equal early spring, -when trout streams were ice-free and the earth still too wet for -plowing. - -But it was far ahead of late spring and summer, with their endless farm -tasks, each of which was worse than the other. Only by exercising the -greatest craft and diligence, and manfully preparing himself for the -chastisement he was sure to get when he finally came home, could a man -sneak away for a bit of fishing or swimming. - -Harky bent his head toward Old Brindle's flank but his thoughts whisked -him out of the stable into the hills. - -Shotgun in hand, he'd spent a fair portion of yesterday tracking a -bobcat on the snow. It was a proved fact that a man on foot cannot catch -up with a bobcat that is also on foot. But it was not to be denied that -all bobcats have a touch of moon madness. They knew when they were being -tracked, but they also knew when the tracker ceased following, and that -kindled a fire in their heads. - -As long as they were tracked they were comfortable in the knowledge that -they had only to keep running. When the tracker stopped, it threw the -bobcat's whole plan out of gear. They imagined all sorts of ambushes, -and cunning traps, and finally they worked themselves into such a frenzy -that they just had to come back along their own tracks and find out what -was happening. It followed that the hunter had nothing to do except rile -the bobcat into a lather and then sit down and wait. - -Harky had waited. But he must have done something wrong, or perhaps the -bobcat he followed had not been sufficiently moonstruck. Though it had -come back, it had not been so anxious to find Harky that it forgot -everything else. Harky had glimpsed it across a gully, two hundred -yards away and hopelessly beyond shotgun range. If only he had a rifle-- - -He hadn't any, and the last time he'd sneaked Mun's out his father had -caught him coming back with it. The hiding that followed--Mun used a -hickory gad instead of the flat of his hand--was something a man -wouldn't forget if he lived to be older than the rocks on Dewberry Knob. -Harky lost himself in a beautiful dream. - -Walking along Willow Brook, he accidentally kicked and overturned a -rock. Beneath it, shiny-bright as they had been the day the forgotten -bandit buried them, was a whole sack full of gold pieces. At once Harky -hurried into town and bought a rifle, not an old 38-55 like his father's -but a sleek new bolt action with fancy carving on breech and forearm. -When he brought it home, Mun asked, rather timidly, if he might use it. -No, Pa, Harky heard himself saying. It's not that I care to slight you -but this rifle is for a hunter like me. - -The shining dream was shattered by Mun's, "You done, Harky?" - -Harky looked hastily up to see his father beside him. "Yes, Pa," he -said. - -[Illustration] - -"Lemme see." - -Mun sat down beside Old Brindle and Harky sighed with relief. When Mun -Mundee could not get the last squirt from a cow, it followed that the -cow was indeed stripped. But Mun, conditioned by experience, never -completely approved of anything Harky did. - -"We'll close up for the night," he said. - -Harky scooted out of the barn ahead of his father and gulped lungfuls of -the softening wind. It seemed that a man could never get enough of that -kind of air. Mun closed and latched the barn door and Harky turned to -him. - -"It's a thaw wind!" he said rapturously. - -"Yep." - -"Not the big thaw, though." - -"Nope." - -"Do you reckon," Harky asked, "it will fetch the coons out?" - -Mun deliberated. A subject as serious as coons called for deliberation. - -"I don't rightly know," he said finally. "I figger some will go on the -prowl an' some won't." - -It was, Harky decided, a not unreasonable answer even though it lacked -the elements of true drama. Harky gulped another lungful of air and -almost, but not quite, loosed the reins of his own imagination. Even -seasoned hunters did not argue coon lore with Mun Mundee, but on an -evening such as this it was impossible to think in prosaic terms. - -They lingered near the barn and faced into the wind. Presently Harky -stood there in body only. His spirit took him to Heaven. - -Heaven, as translated at the moment, was the summit of a mountain ten -times as high as Dewberry Knob. From his lofty eminence, Harky looked at -a great forest that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Each tree -was hollow and each hollow contained a coon. As though every coon had -received the same signal at the same time, all came out. There were more -coons than a man could hunt if he hunted every night for the next -thousand years. - -At exactly the right moment, this entrancing scene became perfection. -Deep in the great forest, Precious Sue lifted her voice to announce that -she had a coon up. - -Harky made his way among the great trees toward the sound. He found -Precious Sue doing her best to climb a sycamore so massive that ten men, -holding each others' hands, could not come even close to encircling the -trunk. When Harky shined his light into the tree he saw, not just a -coon, but the king of coons. Sitting on a branch, staring down with eyes -big as a locomotive's headlight, was Old Joe himself. - -The fancy faded, but Harky was left with no sense of frustration because -fact replaced it. Somewhere out in the Creeping Hills--the aura that -surrounded him considerably enhanced by the fact that no human being -knew exactly where--Old Joe really was sleeping the winter away. Suppose -that he really came prowling tonight? Suppose Precious Sue really did -run him up that big sycamore in the wood lot? Suppose Harky really--? -Harky could no longer be silent. - -"Pa," he asked, "how long has Old Joe been prowling these hills?" - -A man who would speak of coons must think before he spoke. For a full -ninety seconds Mun did not answer. Then he said seriously: - -"A right smart time, Harky. There's them'll tell you that even if a coon -don't get trapped, or shot, or dog kil't, or die no death 'fore his -time, he'll live only about ten years anyhow. I reckon that may be so if -you mean just _ordinary_ coons. Old Joe, he ain't no ordinary coon. My -grandpa hunted him, an' my pa, an' me, an' you've hunted him. Old Joe, -he's jest about as much of a fixture in these hills as us Mundees." - -Harky pondered this information. When he went to school down at the -Crossroads, which he did whenever he couldn't get out of it, he had -acquired some education. But he had also acquired some disturbing -information. Miss Cathby, who taught all eight grades, was a very -earnest soul dedicated to the proposition that the children in her care -must not grow up to wallow in the same morass of mingled ignorance and -superstition that surrounded their fathers and mothers. - -Miss Cathby had pointed out, and produced scientific statistics to -prove, that the moon was nothing more than a satellite of the earth. As -such, its influence over earth dwellers was strictly limited. The moon -was responsible for tides and other things about which Miss Cathby had -been very vague because she didn't know. But she did know that the moon -could not affect birth, death, or destiny. - -Old Joe had been the subject of another of Miss Cathby's lectures. He -was just a big coon, she said, though she mispronounced it "raccoon." It -was absurd even to think that he had been living in the Creeping Hills -forever. Old Joe's predecessor had also been just a big raccoon. Since -Old Joe was mortal, and like all mortals must eventually pass to his -everlasting reward, his successor would be in all probability the next -biggest raccoon. - -Harky conceded that she had something to offer. But it also seemed that -Mun had much on his side, and on the whole, Mun's conception of the real -and earnest life was far more interesting than Miss Cathby's. She got -her information from books that were all right but sort of small. Mun -took his lore from the limitless woods. - -"How long have us Mundees been here?" Harky asked. - -"My grandpa, your great-grandpa, settled this very farm fifty-one years -past come April nineteen," Mun said proudly. - -"Where did he come from?" - -"He never did say," Mun admitted. - -"Didn't nobody ask?" - -"'Twas thought best not to ask," Mun said. "Blast it, Harky! What's -chewin' on you? Ain't it enough to know where your grandpa come from?" - -"Why--why yes." - -Confused for the moment, Harky went back to fundamentals. His -great-grandfather had settled the Mundee farm fifty-one years ago. He -was thirteen. Thirteen from fifty-one left thirty-eight years that -Mundees had lived on the farm before Harky was even born. - -Confusion gave way to mingled awe and pride. Old Joe was not the only -tradition in the Creeping Hills. The Mundees were fully as famous and -had as much right to call themselves old-timers. For that matter, so did -Precious Sue. The last of a line of hounds brought to the Creeping Hills -by Mun's grandfather, her breed was doomed unless Mun found a suitable -mate for her. But better to let the breed die than to offer Precious Sue -an unworthy mate. - -Mun said, "Reckon we'd best get in." - -"Yes, Pa." - -Side by side they started down the soggy path toward the house. Precious -Sue left her bed on the porch and came to meet them. - -She was medium-sized, and her dark undercoat was dappled with bluish -spots, or ticks. Shredded ears bore mute testimony to her many battles -with coons. Though she ate prodigious meals, every slatted rib showed, -her paunch was lean, and knobby hip bones thrust over her back. -Outwardly, Precious Sue resembled nothing so much as an emaciated -alligator. - -For all the coon hunters of the Creeping Hills cared she could have -_been_ an alligator, as long as she continued to perform with such -consummate artistry on a coon's track. Though a casual observer might -have deduced that Precious Sue had trouble just holding herself up, she -had once disappeared for forty-eight hours. Mun finally found her under -the same tree, and holding the same coon, that she must have run up two -hours after starting. She was one of the very few hounds that had ever -forced Old Joe to seek a refuge in his magic sycamore, and no hound -could do more. - -Unfortunately, she lived under a curse. The only pup of what should have -been an abundant litter, a bad enough thing if considered by itself, -Precious Sue had been born on a wild night at the wrong time of the -moon. Therefore, she had a streak of wildness that must assert itself -whenever the moon was dark. If she were run at such times, she must -surely meet disaster. But as Precious Sue met and fell in beside them, -Harky thought only of his dream. - -"Do you think Old Joe will prowl tonight?" he asked his father. - -"What you drivin' at, Harky?" - -"I was thinking Old Joe might prowl, and come here, and Sue will run him -up that sycamore in the woodlot, and--" - -"Harky!" Mun thundered. "Heed what you say!" - -"Huh?" Harky asked bewilderedly. - -Mun shook a puzzled head. "I can't figger you, Harky. I can't figger you -a'tall. This is the dark of the moon!" - -"I forgot," Harky said humbly. - -"I reckon you ain't allus at fault for what runs on in that head of -yours." - -"Hadn't you ought to tie her up?" Harky questioned. - -"Sue can't abide ties and no coon'll come here tonight," Mun said -decisively. "Least of all, Old Joe." - -"But if he does--" Harky began. - -"Harky!" Mun thundered. "He won't!" - -"Yes, Pa." - -Long after he was supposedly in bed, Harky stood before his open window -listening to the song of the south wind. Sometimes he couldn't even -figure himself. - -There'd been last fall, when they jumped the big buck out of Garson's -slashing. Mun and Mellie Garson had taken its trail, but Harky had a -feeling about that buck. He'd felt that it would head for the -rhododendron thicket on Hoot Owl Ridge, and that in getting there it -would pass Split Rock. Harky went to sit on Split Rock. Not twenty -minutes later, the buck passed beside him. It was an easy shot. - -Old Joe would not come tonight because Mun said he wouldn't. But Harky -was unable to rid himself of a feeling that he would, and he was uneasy -when he finally went to bed. - -He slept soundly, but Harky had never been able to figure his sleep -either. Often he awakened with a feeling that something was due to -happen, and it always did. When the wild geese flew north or south, or a -thunder storm was due to break, Harky knew before he heard anything. -This night he sat up in bed with a feeling that he would hear something -very soon. - -He heard it, the muffled squawk of a hen. On a backwoods farm, at night, -a squawking hen means just one thing. Harky jumped out of bed and padded -to the door of his father's bedroom. - -"Pa." - -"What ya want?" - -"I heard a hen squawk." - -"Be right with ya." - -Harky was dressed and ready, with his shotgun in his hands, when Mun -came into the kitchen. Mun lighted a lantern, took his own shotgun from -its rack, and led the way to the chicken house. He knelt beside the -little door by which the chickens left and entered and his muffled word -ripped the air. - -"Look!" - -Harky looked. Seeming to begin and end at the little door, the biggest -coon tracks in the world were plain in the soft snow. Ten thousand -butterflies churned in his stomach. It was almost as though the whole -thing were his fault. - -He said, "Old Joe." - -Mun glanced queerly at his son, but he made no reply as he held his -lantern so it lighted the tracks. Harky trotted behind his father and -noted with miserable eyes where Sue's tracks joined Old Joe's. They came -to the flood surging over Willow Brook, and just at the edge a whole -section of ice had already caved in. - -Both sets of tracks ended there. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -SUE - - -After Mun and Harky entered the house, Precious Sue crawled into her -nest on the porch. The nest was an upended wooden packing case with a -door cut in front and a strip of horse blanket hanging over the door to -keep the wind out. The nest was carpeted with other strips of discarded -horse blanket. - -On cold nights, Sue shoved the dangling strip over the door aside with -her nose, went all the way in, let the horse blanket drop, and cared -little how the wind blew. Tonight, after due observance of the canine -tradition that calls for turning around three times before lying down, -she stuck her nose under the blanket, lifted it, and went to sleep with -her body inside but her head out. Her blissful sigh just before she -dozed off was her way of offering thanks for such a comfortable home. - -It was not for Sue to understand that in more ways than one the dog's -life might well be the envy of many a human. She had never wondered why -she'd been born or if life was worth living; she'd been born to hunt -coons, and every coon hunter, whether biped or quadruped, found life -eminently worth living. - -Though she often dreamed of her yesterdays, they were always pleasant -dreams, and she never fretted about her tomorrows. - -Five seconds after she went to sleep, Sue was reliving one of her -yesterdays. - -She was hot after a coon, a big old boar that was having a merry time -raiding Mun Mundee's shocked corn until Sue rudely interrupted. The coon -was a wanderer from far across the hills, and last night, with three -hounds on his trail, he had wandered unusually fast. When he finally -came to Mun's corn, he was hungry enough to throw caution to the winds. -And he knew nothing about Precious Sue. - -He did know how to react when she burst upon him suddenly. Running as -though he had nothing on his mind except the distance he might put -between Sue and himself, the coon shifted abruptly from full flight to -full stop. It was a new maneuver to Sue. She jumped clear over the coon -and rolled three times before she was able to recover. - -By the time she was ready to resume battle, the coon was making fast -tracks toward a little pond near the cornfield. With a six-foot lead on -Sue, he jumped into the pond. When Sue promptly jumped in behind him, -the coon executed a time-hallowed maneuver, sacred to all experienced -coons that are able to entice dogs into the water. He swam to and sat on -Sue's head. - -Amateur hounds, and some that were not amateurs, nearly always drowned -when the battle took this turn, but to Sue it was kindergarten stuff. -Rather than struggle to surface for a breath of air, she yielded and let -herself sink. The coon, no doubt congratulating himself on an absurdly -easy victory, let go. Sue came up beneath him, nudged him with her nose -to lift him clear of the water, clamped her jaws on his neck, and -marked another star on her private scoreboard. - -Of such heady stuff were her dreams made, and dreams sustained her -throughout the long winter, spring, and summer, when as a rule she did -not hunt. She could have hunted. There were bears, foxes, bobcats, and a -variety of other game animals in the Creeping Hills. All were beneath -the notice of a born coon hound who knew as much about coons as any -mortal creature can and who didn't want to know anything else. - -The squawking chicken brought her instantly awake. The wind was blowing -from the house toward Willow Brook, so that she could get no scent. But -she pin-pointed the sound, and she'd heard too many chickens squawk in -the night not to know exactly what they meant. Seconds later she was on -Old Joe's trail. - -She knew the scent, for she had been actively hunting for the past five -years and had run Old Joe an average of six times a year. But she saw -him in a different light from the glow in which he was bathed by Mun and -Harky Mundee. To them he was part coon and part legend. To Sue, though -he was the biggest, craftiest, and most dangerous she had ever trailed, -he was all coon and it was a point of honor to run him up a tree. - -When she came to Willow Brook, she saw the flood surging over the ice -and recognized it for the hazard it was. But except when they climbed -trees or went to earth in dens too small for her to enter, Sue had never -hesitated to follow where any coon led. She jumped in behind Old Joe, -and fate, in the form of the south wind, decided to play a prank. - -Ice over which Old Joe had passed safely a couple of seconds before -cracked beneath Sue. The snarling current broke the one big piece into -four smaller cakes and one of them, rising on end, fell to scrape the -side of Sue's head. Had it landed squarely it would have killed her. -Glancing, it left her dazed, but not so dazed that she was bereft of all -wit. - -Sue had swum too many creeks and ponds, and fought too many coons in the -water, not to know exactly how to handle herself there. Impulse bade her -surrender to the not at all unpleasant half dream in which she found -herself. Instinct made her fight on. - -Swept against unbroken ice, she hooked both front paws over it. Then she -scraped with her hind paws and, exerting an effort born of desperation, -fought her way back to the overflow surging on top of the ice. Once -there, still dazed and exhausted by the battle to save herself, she -could do nothing except keep her head above flood water that carried her -more than two miles downstream and finally cast her up on the bank. - -For an hour and a half, too weak even to stand, Sue lay where the water -had left her. Then, warned by half-heard but fully sensed rumblings and -grindings, she alternately walked and crawled a hundred yards farther -back into the forest and collapsed at the base of a giant pine. With -morning she felt better. - -Still shaky, but able to walk, she stood and remembered. Last night Old -Joe had come raiding. She had followed him to Willow Brook and lost the -trail there, thus leaving unfinished business that by everything a coon -hound knew must be finished. Sue returned to Willow Brook and sat -perplexedly down with her tail curled about her rear legs. - -During the night, while she slept, the ice had gone out as she'd been -warned by its first rumblings. She had heard nothing else, but she saw -ice cakes that weighed from a few pounds to a few tons thrown far up on -either bank. The moving ice had jammed a half mile downstream, and in -effect had created a temporary but massive dam. Harky Mundee could toss -a stone across Willow Brook's widest pool in summer, but a beaver would -think twice before trying to swim it now. - -With some idea that she had been carried downstream, Sue put her nose to -the ground and sniffed hopefully for five hundred yards upstream. It was -no use. Everything that normally had business along Willow Brook had -fled from the breaking ice. Sue had no idea as to how she would find Old -Joe's trail or even what she should do next. - -She whined lonesomely. Old Joe had eluded her again, which was no -special disgrace because there'd always be a next time. Since she could -not hunt, it would be ideal if she could return to the Mundee farm, but -she was afraid to try swimming the flood. - -Nosing about, Sue found a two-pound brown trout that had been caught and -crushed in the grinding ice and cast up on the bank. She ate the fish, -and with food her strength returned. With strength came a return of -hound philosophy. - -Since there was little point in fighting the unbeatable, and because -flooded Willow Brook held no charms, Sue wandered back into the forest. -Ordinarily she would have stayed there, eating whatever she could find -and returning to the Mundee farm after the flood subsided. But again -fate, or nature, or whatever it may be that plays with the lives of -human beings and coon hounds, saw fit to intervene. - -Sue had been born to hunt coons and she was dedicated to her birthright, -but the All-Wise Being who put the moon in the sky did so in the -interests of all romance. Sue yearned to meet a handsome boy friend. - -To conceive a notion was to execute it, and Sue began her search. She -had often hunted this area. For miles in any direction, on the far side -of Willow Brook, was wilderness. She did not know of any farmer, or even -any trapper, who might have a dog. But she had a sublime faith that if -only she kept going, she would find her heart's desire. - -Three days later, after passing up three farms that unfortunately were -staffed with lady dogs, Sue approached a fourth. It was little better -than a wilderness clearing, with a tiny barn, a couple of sheds, and a -one-room house. But Sue was not interested in the elite side of human -living, and the great black and tan hound that came roaring toward her -was handsome enough to make any girl's heart miss a beat. - -[Illustration] - -Sue waited coyly, for though to all outward appearances the huge hound -was intent only on tearing her to pieces, she knew when she was being -courted. They met, touched noses, wagged tails, and Sue became aware of -the man who appeared on the scene. - -He was a young man built on the same general proportions as a Percheron -stallion, and he hadn't had a haircut for about six months or a shave -for at least three years. But he knew a good hound when he saw one and -he had long since mastered the art of putting hounds at ease. His voice -was laden with magic when he called, - -"Here, girl. Come on, girl. Come on over." - -Because she was hungry, and saw nothing to distrust in the shaggy young -giant, but largely because the great black and tan hound paced amiably -beside her, Sue obeyed. She buried her nose in the dish of food the -young man offered her and started gobbling it up. - -So wholeheartedly did Sue give herself to satisfying her hunger that the -rope was about her neck and she was tied before she was even aware of -what had happened. - - * * * * * - -Paying not the least attention to the big bluebottle fly that buzzed her -nose, Sue stretched full-length and dozed in the sun. Trees that had -been bare when she came to Rafe Bradley's were full-leafed. Flowers -bloomed beneath them. Birds had long since ceased chirping threats to -each other and had settled down to the serious business of building -nests and raising families. - -First impressions of Rafe Bradley's farm were more than borne out by -subsequent developments. Rafe kept a good horse, but it was for riding -rather than plowing. Besides the horse, Rafe's domestic livestock -consisted of some pigs that ran wild in the woods until Rafe wanted -pork, which he collected with his rifle. - -Rafe, his horse, and his big hound had left early this morning to take -care of some important business in the woods. Since Rafe's only -important business was hunting something or other, it followed that he -was hunting now. Sue raised her head and blinked at the green border -around the clearing. - -Mun Mundee had told Harky that Sue could not abide a rope, and she -couldn't. But the rope was there, it had not been off since the day Rafe -put it there, and Sue could choose between giving herself a permanently -sore neck by fighting the rope and submitting. She did what a sensible -hound would do. - -If Rafe had not tied her, his big hound would have been sufficient -attraction to keep her around for at least a few days. After that, she -might have fallen in with life as it was lived at Rafe's and been happy -to remain. - -Rafe had tied her, and for that he could not be forgiven. Sue lived for -the day she would be free to return to Mun Mundee. With an abiding faith -that everything would turn out for the best if only she was patient, Sue -was sure that day would come. Until it did, she might as well sleep. - -The bluebottle fly, tiring of its futile efforts to annoy her, buzzed -importantly off in search of a more responsive victim. Sue opened one -bloodshot eye then closed it again. She sighed comfortably, went back to -sleep, and was shortly enjoying a happy dream about another coon hunt. - -When the sun reached its peak she rose, lapped a drink from the dish of -water Rafe had left for her, and sought the shade of her kennel. Rafe -would return with evening. She would be fed, sleep in her kennel, and -tomorrow would be another day. - -Rafe did not come with twilight. The rope trailing beside her like a -rustling worm, Sue came out of her kennel and whined. She was not -lonesome for Rafe, but she was hungry. Sue paced anxiously for as far as -the rope would let her go. - -Whippoorwills, flitting among the trees at the borders of the clearing, -began their nightly calling. She lapped another drink and resumed her -hungry pacing. Then, just before early evening became black night, the -whippoorwills stopped calling. A moment later it became apparent that -someone was coming. - -Their arrival was heralded by an unearthly clatter and rattling that -puzzled Sue until they entered the clearing. Then she saw that they were -two men in a car, a marvelous vehicle held together with hay wire and -composed of so many different parts of so many different cars that even -an expert would have had difficulty determining the original make. The -car quivered to a halt and one of the two men bellowed at the dark -house, - -"Rafe! Hey, Rafe! Whar the blazes be ya, Rafe?" - -There was a short silence. The second man broke it with a plaintive, - -"Kin ya tie that? First night in two years coons raid our ducks, Rafe -an' that hound of his gotta be chasin'!" - -"He would," the first man growled. - -The second's roving eye lighted on the kennel and then noticed Sue. -"Thar's another hound." - -"Ya don't know," the first said, "that it'll hunt coons." - -The second declared, "If it's Rafe's, it'll hunt coons. I'm goin' to git -it." - -"Keerful," the first man warned. "That Major hound'll take the arm off -anybody 'cept Rafe what tries to touch it." - -"Le's see what this'n does." - -The second man left the hybrid car and approached Sue, who waited with -appeasing eyes and gently wagging tail. When the man laid his hand on -her head, Sue licked his fingers. - -"Tame's a kitten," the man declared jubilantly. "I'll fetch her." - -He untied the rope, and the instant she was free, Sue slipped aside and -raced toward the woods. Not in the least affected by the anguished, -"Here, doggie! Come on back, doggie!" that rose behind her, she entered -the forest at exactly the same point she'd left it to meet Rafe -Bradley's hound. - -The cries faded and only the whisper of the wind kept her company as Sue -traveled on. Suddenly there was a great need that had not existed before -to put distance between herself and Rafe Bradley's clearing. Sue -traveled until near morning, then crawled gratefully beneath the thick -branches of a wind-toppled pine. She turned around and around to smooth -a bed. - -The sun was just rising when her pup was born. - - * * * * * - -Almost five months after she left it, Precious Sue came once again into -her own land. Where she had once been gaunt, she was now little more -than a skeleton. But the pup that frisked beside her, and was marked -exactly like her, was fat and healthy enough. There just hadn't been -enough food for two. - -Precious Sue fell, and the pup came prancing to leap upon her, seize her -ear, and pull backwards while it voiced playful growls. Sue got up. Head -low, staggering, she labored over a fallen sapling that the pup leaped -easily. She reached the top of the hill she was trying to climb. - -From the summit, she saw Willow Brook sparkling like a silver ribbon in -the sunshine. Just beyond were the buildings of the Mundee farm. Sue -sighed happily, almost ecstatically, and lay down a second time. - -She did not get up. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -HARKY GOES FISHING - - -When Mun sent him out to hoe corn, Harky knew better than to protest or -evade. An outright refusal would instantly bring the flat of Mun's hand -against the nearest part of Harky's anatomy that happened to be in -reach. Evasion would rouse Mun's suspicions, and like as not bring a -surveillance so close that Harky would find escape impossible. - -Campaigns must be planned. When Mun said, "You go hoe the corn," Harky -answered meekly, "Yes, Pa," and he did his best to seem enthusiastic as -he shouldered the hoe and strode off toward the cornfield. - -The field was a full three hundred yards from the house, and if one were -fleet enough of foot, one might throw one's hoe down the instant one -arrived and simply start running. Harky had long ago learned the -futility of such tactics. - -Mun was winded like a bear, gifted with the speed of a greyhound, and he -knew all the hiding places Harky might be able to reach if all he had -was a three-hundred-yard start. He knew some that were even farther -away. When it came to finding his son, Harky sometimes believed, Mun had -a nose fully as keen as Precious Sue's when she was sniffing out a coon. - -Sue provided an interesting diversion of thought as Harky marched -manfully toward the cornfield. Neither she nor Old Joe had been seen -since that fateful night in February, and though of course Old Joe -seemed to be immortal, available evidence indicated that Sue had been -swept under the ice and drowned in Willow Brook. - -It could be, but Harky had a feeling about Sue. She couldn't have been -more than a couple of jumps behind when Old Joe jumped into Willow -Brook, and if one had escaped, why hadn't both? Though there was always -a possibility that the ice had held for Old Joe and broken for Sue, in -Harky's opinion, the current where the ice broke should not have been -too strong for a swimmer of Sue's talent. - -Naturally the catastrophe had not gone unchallenged. Except for -essential tasks, farm work ended the day after Sue disappeared. As Mun -explained it, a body could always get more cows or pigs, or even another -farm. But there was only one coon hound like Precious Sue. - -Mun was not unduly optimistic when he began the search, for after all -Sue had run in the dark of the moon. But the fact that Sue was doomed by -the gods did not prevent Mun's pressing the hunt with utmost vigor. Mun -and Harky traveled up Willow Brook and down, visiting every neighbor for -nine miles in one direction and eleven in the other. - -Mellie Garson hadn't seen Sue. Though Mellie had not seen her, he -recognized a genuine emergency and joined the hunt for her. So did Raw -Stanfield, Butt Johnson, Bear Pen Crawford, Pine Heglin, and Mule -Domster. After two weeks it was sadly concluded that Precious Sue had -indeed placed herself beyond hope of redemption when she took after Old -Joe in the dark of the moon. The searchers gathered in Mun Mundee's -kitchen, decided that Sue's mortal remains would come to rest an -undetermined number of miles down Willow Brook, since it was impossible -to tell where the breakup would carry her, and they drank a solemn toast -to the memory of a great coon hound. - -And Harky still had a feeling. - -He reached the cornfield, and, as though his heart were really in it, -started hoeing at the right place. The right place, naturally, was the -side nearest the house. Mun Mundee would have reason to wonder if Harky -evinced too much interest in starting near the woods. As he began the -first row, which was thirty yards long when one was not hoeing it and -thirty miles when one was, Harky mentally reviewed his caches of fishing -tackle. - -Upstream, thirty steps north, eight east, and ten south from a round -rock above the first riffle, which in turn was above the first pool -where a snapping turtle with a pockmarked shell lived, a line and three -hooks were hidden in a hollow stump. Downstream, on a straight line -between the pool where Precious Sue had jumped an almost black coon and -the white birch in which she'd bayed it, a line and two hooks were -concealed in last year's nest of a song sparrow. - -Harky worried about that cache. It had been all right two days ago -because he'd seen it, and most birds had already nested. But some would -nest a second time, and the ruins of this old nest might be summarily -appropriated for a new one. His line would disappear, too, and like as -not his hooks. Birds were not particular as long as they had something -to hold their nest together. As soon as he found another place not -likely to attract Mun's eye, perhaps he'd better move his tackle from -the nest. Good hooks and line were not so easy come by that a man could -get reckless with them. - -Leaning slightly forward, the position in which Mun thought the wielder -of a hoe would do most work, and slanting his hoe at the angle Mun -favored, Harky sighed resignedly as the blade uncovered a fat and -wriggling earthworm. He did not dare pick it up and put it in his -pocket--Harky had never seen the need of bait containers--for there were -times when Mun seemed to have as many eyes as a centipede had legs, and -an eagle's sight in all of them. If he saw Harky put anything in his -pocket--and he would see--he'd be present on the double. - -Well, there were plenty of worms to be had by probing in moist earth -near pools and sloughs. The trouble with them was that they were -accustomed to water, and they did not wriggle much when draped on a hook -and lowered into it. Garden worms, on the other hand, were so shocked by -an unfamiliar environment that they wriggled furiously and attracted -bigger fish. - -The sun grew hot on Harky's back, but his body was too young, too lithe, -and too well-conditioned, to rebel at this relatively light labor. His -soul ached. Of all the vegetables calculated to bedevil human beings, he -decided, growing corn was the worst. - -He tried to find solace by thinking of the good features of corn, and -happily alighted on the fact that it attracts coons. Also, it tasted -good when stripped milky from the stalk and either boiled or roasted. -However, the coons would come anyhow. If there was no corn, they'd still -be attracted by the apples in Mun's orchard. And if the Mundees had no -corn, neighbors who did would be glad to share with them. Meanwhile, -this patch must be hoed a few million times. - -Harky pondered a question that has bemused all great philosophers: how -can humans be so foolish? - -Working at that rhythmic speed which Mun considered ideal for hoeing -corn, missing not a single stroke, Harky went on. Discontent became -anguish, and anguish mounted to torture, but Harky knew that the wrong -move now might very well be ruinous. Like all people with great plans -and strong opposition, he must suffer before he gained his ends. But -he'd suffer only half as much if the master strategy he'd worked out did -not fail him. - -Exactly halfway across the first row, Harky turned and started back on -the second. - -It was a bold move, and Harky's heart began to flutter the instant he -made it, but the situation called for bold moves. Harky did not break -the rhythm of his hoeing or look up when he heard Mun approach, and he -managed to look convincingly astonished when Mun asked, - -"What ya up to, Harky?" - -Harky glanced up quickly. "Oh. Hello, Pa!" - -"I said," Mun repeated, "what ya up to?" - -"Why--What do ya mean, Pa?" - -"You know blasted well what I mean," Mun growled. "You didn't do but -half the first row." - -"Oh," Harky might have been a patient teacher instructing a backward -pupil. He gestured toward tall trees that, in a couple of hours, would -keep the sun from the far half of the corn patch. "The sun, Pa. It's -high and warm now, but it'll be high and hot time I get this first half -done. Then I can work in shade." - -Mun scowled, suspecting a trick and reasonably sure there was one, but -unable to fly in the face of such clear-cut logic. If he thought of it, -he conceded, he'd plan to hoe the corn that way himself. As he turned on -his heel and started walking away, he flung another warning over his -shoulder. - -"I hope ya don't aim to scoot off an' go fishin'." - -"Oh no, Pa!" - -Suddenly, because he'd have to hoe only half the corn patch, Harky's -burdens became half as heavy. It had worked, as he'd hoped it would, and -the most tangled knot in his path was now smooth string. Of course he -was not yet clear. But even Mun could not watch him constantly, and once -he was near enough the woods to duck into them, Harky would be satisfied -with a ninety-second start. - -Two hours later, having hoed his way to the edge of the woods, Harky -dropped his hoe and started running. - -When Mun Mundee would shortly be on one's trail one must ignore nothing, -and all this had been planned, too. Harky took the nearest route to -Willow Brook. - -So far so good, but strictly amateur stuff. Mun, who'd need no blueprint -to tell him where Harky had gone, would also take the shortest path to -Willow Brook. Harky put his master strategy into effect. - -Coming to a patch of mud on the downstream side of a drying slough, -Harky ran straight across it the while he headed upstream. He emerged on -a patch of new grass that held no tracks, leaped sideways to a boulder, -and hop-skipped across Willow Brook on exposed boulders. Reaching the -far side, he ran far enough into the forest to be hidden by foliage and -headed downstream. - -With the comfortable feeling of achievement that always attends a job -well done, Harky slowed to a walk. Mun, hot in pursuit and even more hot -in the head, would see the tracks leading upstream. Thereafter, for at -least a reasonable time, he would stop to think of nothing else. By the -time he did, and searched all the upstream hiding places, Harky would be -a couple of miles down. He knew of several pools that had their full -quota of fish, and that were so situated that a man could lie behind -willows, fish, and see a full quarter of a mile upstream the while he -remained unseen. - -His heart light and his soul at peace, Harky almost started to whistle. -He thought better of it. - -Mun Mundee never had mastered the printed word. But his eyes were geared -to tracks and his ears to the faintest noises. If Harky whistled, he -might find his fishing suddenly and rudely interrupted. The -softest-footed bobcat had nothing on Mun when it came to silent stalks. -More than once, when Harky thought his father was fuming at home, Mun -had risen up beside him and applied the flat of his hand where it did -the most good. - -Harky contented himself with dancing along, and he never thought of the -reckoning that must be when he returned home tonight, because in the -first place tonight was a long ways off. In the second, there were -always reckonings of one sort or another. A man just had to take care he -got his reckoning's worth. - -Harky halted and stood motionless as any boulder on Dewberry Knob. A doe -with twin fawns, and none of the three even suspecting that they were -being watched, moved delicately ahead of him. Harky frowned. - -It was a mighty puzzling thing about deer, and indeed, about all wild -creatures. Except for very young poultry, a man could tell at a glance -whether most farm animals were boys or girls, and that was that. He -could never be sure about wild ones, largely because he could never come -near enough, and there might be something in Mellie Garson's theory that -the young of all wild creatures were alike, a sort of neuter gender, -until they were six months old. Then they talked it over among -themselves and decided which were to be males and which females. Thus -they always struck a proper balance. - -It was a sensible system if Mellie were correct, though Harky was by no -means sure that he was. Neither could he be certain Mellie was wrong, -and as the doe and her babies moved out of sight, Harky wondered what -sex the two fawns would choose for themselves when they were old enough -to decide. Two does maybe, or perhaps two bucks, though it would be -better if one were a doe and the other a buck. Both were needed, and the -Creeping Hills without deer would be nearly as barren as they would -without coons. - -When the doe and her babies were far enough away so that there was no -chance of frightening them--a man never would get in rifleshot of a buck -if he scared it while it was still a fawn--Harky went on down the creek. -He stopped to watch a redheaded woodpecker rattling against a dead pine -stub. He frowned. The next job Mun had slated for him was putting new -shingles on the chicken house, and the woodpecker's rattling was -painfully similar to a pounding hammer moving at about the same speed -that Mun would expect Harky to maintain. - -Obviously finding something it did not like, the woodpecker stopped -rattling, voiced a strident cry, and flew away. It was a bad omen, and -Harky's frown deepened. He'd seen himself in the woodpecker. Just as the -bird had come to grief, so Harky was sure to meet misfortune if he tried -shingling the chicken house. - -He'd have to think his way out of that chore, too. But the shingling was -still far in the future, and the only future worth considering was -embodied in what happened between now and sundown. Troubles could be met -when they occurred. - -When Harky was opposite the pool where Precious Sue had jumped the -almost black coon, he turned at right angles. It was scarcely discreet -to go all the way and show one's self at the edge of Willow Brook, for -though Mun should have been lured upstream, he might have changed his -mind and come down. - -As soon as he could see the pool through the willows that bordered it, -Harky turned and sighted on the white birch in which Sue had finally -treed the coon. - -He was about to start toward it but remained rooted. Suddenly he heard -Precious Sue growl. Not daring to believe, but unwilling to doubt his -own ears, Harky turned back to the pool. - -He peered through the willows and saw the pup. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -DUCKFOOT - - -By some mischance, one of the willows bordering the pool grew at a -freakish angle. A two-pound sucker, probably coon-mauled or -osprey-dropped somewhere upstream, had washed down and anchored beneath -the misshapen tree. Its white belly was startlingly plain in the clear -water. - -When Harky came on the scene, the pup was trying to get that sucker. -Harky almost called, certain that he had finally found Precious Sue. -Then he knew his error. The pup was marked exactly like Sue, and at -first glance it seemed exactly the size of Sue. But though it was big -for its age, and was further magnified by the water in which it swam, -undoubtedly it was a puppy. - -Since wild horses couldn't have torn him away, Harky stayed where he was -and watched. - -The pup couldn't possibly have scented the fish, for the water would -kill scent. Therefore he must have seen it and known what he was looking -at. Now, despite a certain awkwardness that was to be expected in a pup, -he seemed as comfortably at home in the water as Old Joe was in Mun -Mundee's chicken house. - -He made a little circle, head cocked to one side so that he might peer -downward as he swam. For a moment he held still, paws moving just enough -to keep him from drifting in the gentle current. Then he dived. - -Smooth as a fishing loon, the pup went down headfirst and straight to -his objective. Reaching the anchored sucker, he swiped at it with a -front paw. The sucker did not move. The pup, who did not seem to know -that he was where no dog should be and trying what no dog should try, -made another attempt. Failing a second time, he tried a third. - -Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Harky voiced the astonishment that he had -not dared express while the pup was in hearing: - -"Jinglin' all peelhaul! Sue's pup for sure!" - -There couldn't be the slightest doubt. A hound pup was one thing. A -hound pup that looked exactly like Sue, down to the last blue tick, -might leave room for argument. But there was no disputing the lineage of -a hound pup that even growled exactly like Sue. Harky had heard her do -it a hundred times, always when she was frustrated by something or -other. - -Once more his feeling had served him well. Sue had not drowned in Willow -Brook that black night when she was so hot on Old Joe's trail. However, -neither had she followed him across. As close as she'd been, she'd have -treed him sure. Even though Old Joe would have taken care to climb a -tree with one or more escape routes, Sue would have barked as soon as -she got him up. Harky and Mun, who'd lingered near the broken ice for -the better part of an hour, would have heard her bark. - -Something had happened, and though Harky did not know what it was, he -suspected that the broken ice provided the proper clue. If it had -broken under Sue, and evidently it had, perhaps she'd been hurt. Somehow -or other she'd made it across Willow Brook and the breakup had kept her -there. Trapped, unable to come home, she'd gone wandering in search of a -mate. She'd found one. - -Which one? A hound obviously, and a big one, but Harky knew every hound -this side of Willow Brook, and neither the blood nor the characteristics -of any were evident in the pup. It must have been a coon hound, for none -except coon hounds had reason to work in the water, and the pup combined -Sue's aquatic skill with some other hound's genius. A hound that could -not only dive, but apparently was capable of remaining submerged for as -long as it chose, was a marvel fully as astounding as the two-headed -calf that had been born to Mellie Garson's mule-footed cow. - -It was what one might expect from a mule-footed cow, Mun opined, and -anyway the calf lived only a few hours. The pup was not only alive, but -Harky himself was watching it. This day, he told himself, would long be -remembered in the annals of the Creeping Hills. - -The pup, finally needing air, glided up through the water as gracefully -as a trout rising to a fly. Not knowing whether he'd spook, Harky held -very still. But he could not control his imagination, and, after the pup -dived, what held him down? Fish were able to do as they pleased because, -as everyone knew, they gulped water to make themselves heavy when they -wanted to go down and spit it out to eject ballast when they wanted to -come up. Loons, grebes, and some species of ducks had mastered the same -trick. But the only animals that knew it, probably because they spent so -much time in the water that they could see for themselves what the fish -did, were beavers and muskrats. - -Harky had a sudden feeling. Far and away the greatest coon hound ever to -run the Creeping Hills, Precious Sue would never run again. If she were -alive, she'd be with the pup. But Harky's new feeling had to do with the -thought that the pup was destined to become even greater than his -mother. - -The pup growled once more. Harky rubbed his eyes, certain that he was -hearing Sue. He looked away and back again before he convinced himself -that he was watching the pup. - -Swimming so smoothly that there was scarcely a ripple in his wake, the -pup made another circle. Harky's heart pumped furiously as he realized -what was happening. - -The pup, who probably had tried to retrieve the fish a dozen times, was -not working blindly. Having learned from past mistakes, he was planning -this new attempt in a brand new way. Rather than go straight down, he -turned, swam four feet away, then turned again and dived at a forty-five -degree angle. - -This time he aimed at the willow stalk rather than the anchored fish. He -struck with his shoulder so hard that the willow's topmost leaves -rattled, but the stalk moved aside and the fish floated free. - -Floating slowly upward, the fish was within three inches of the surface -when it was seized by a swift little current and whisked away. Breaking -water exactly where the sucker should have been, the pup was bewildered. -But he remained at a loss for only a split second. - -[Illustration] - -Splashing for the first time, he churned mightily, raised his -forequarters high, looked all around, and sighted the fish. Now it was -about a dozen feet away. The pup overtook it, grasped it in his mouth, -and circled back toward shore. - -With one mighty leap, Harky landed in knee-deep water. He hadn't dared -move while the pup was in the shallows near the bank, for there was too -much chance that it might slip around him, run into the brush, and -escape. But not even a pup as talented as this one could swim fifteen -feet and get away. - -The water rose to Harky's thighs, then to his belt. Watching him, but -not dropping the sucker, the pup made a downstream circle designed to -carry him around Harky and into the willows. His eyes were calculating, -his manner the calm and detached air of one who knows exactly what he's -doing. - -[Illustration] - -Water lapped Harky's armpits, and he knew that he was going to win but -not by a comfortable margin. With another foot or so of lead, or a -second more, the pup would get away. - -When a yard and a half separated them, Harky flung himself forward, -enfolded the pup with both arms, and clasped it to his chest. Being -caught, the pup dropped his fish. Sinuous as a snake and swift as a -hummingbird, he brought his head around, scored Harky's arm with -needle-sharp puppy teeth, and blood seeped out of the scratches. - -"Ouch!" Harky gritted. "Leetle devil!" - -Holding the pup with his right arm, he clamped his left hand around its -neck so the pup could not turn and bite again. The pup whined. When -Harky petted him gently, his whine changed to a warning growl. Harky -pondered the entire situation. - -Here was the proper place to teach manners, but the pup was not without -justice on his side. He had located the fish and worked hard to get it. -Therefore he should have it. Now in quiet water, the fish was bobbing -against Harky's chest. He let go of the pup's neck, grabbed at the fish, -and the pup bit him again before he was able to grasp it. - -"Cut it out!" Harky ejaculated. "I'm just trying to help you!" - -Now that the fish was in Harky's hand, the pup forgot all about biting. -He extended his muzzle, licked his chops, and wriggled. When Harky held -the fish near enough, the pup bit off a chunk of tail and swallowed it -whole. Three bites later, the fish was eaten. - -"You ain't just hungry," Harky commented. "You're starved." - -The pup sighed, snuggled against Harky's chest, and then turned to look -him full in the face. Harky looked back. The pup was Sue all over again -except for his eyes. Hers were gentle. His could be, but they could also -be proud and fierce. Harky thought of Mun. - -"I think you'd as soon be friends," Harky said, "but something tells me -nobody will ever take a switch to you. Whoever thinks you need a hiding -had best use a club." - -Oddly as though he wanted to shake hands, the pup raised a forepaw to -Harky's left palm. Harky's heart skipped a beat. He gulped, wondering if -he felt what he thought he did and not daring immediately to feel again. -Then he did and almost threw the pup back into the pool. - -"If I hadn't felt it!" he gasped, "I couldn't no ways believe it!" - -No lightning flashed in the blue sky and no thunder pealed. Bright day -did not turn to black night. Harky felt the paw again, then steeled -himself to look. He gulped, but because no supernatural forces descended -upon him, he first felt and then looked at the pup's other three paws. - -There was no shade of doubt. Each of the pup's toes was joined to the -next by a webbing of skin. Sue had given birth to a duck-footed hound! - -Suddenly it occurred to Harky that he was still waist-deep in Willow -Brook, and that nothing special was to be gained by staying there. -Carrying the pup, who seemed satisfied to be carried now that he was no -longer so hungry, Harky waded back to the bank. His awe mounted. Since -he was born with a duck's feet, no wonder Sue's pup could swim like a -duck. Dripping water, Harky climbed the bank. - -"What are we going to do with you, Duckfoot?" he asked. - -Duckfoot answered that question by wriggling, rolling sidewise, and -jumping to the ground. Harky sighed with relief. If the pup was allied -with witches--and how else could duck feet on a dog be explained?--now -was the time for him to disappear in a flash of flame and a cloud of -smoke and return to the infernal regions from which he had emerged. - -He did nothing except sit down, blink solemnly at Harky, and wag his -tail. Harky had a fleeting thought that almost frightened him all over -again. Duckfoot had certainly been touched by sinister forces that no -man ever saw. - -Man sometimes heard them when they shrieked on the midnight wind or -moaned among the forest trees, and decidedly they were better left -alone. But suppose, just suppose, that Duckfoot was more hound than -spirit? What if the good, as embodied in the hound, was powerful enough -to overcome the bad, which was surely represented in webbed feet on a -dog? If Duckfoot gave his allegiance to any man ... - -Harky trembled when he considered such possibilities. Old Joe himself, -who'd been running the Creeping Hills for all of time, could not run -away from a duck-footed hound! - -In sudden near panic Harky swooped, caught Duckfoot, clutched him -tightly, and raced up Willow Brook. He needed experienced counsel. Mun, -who knew far more than he about such matters, was the man to advise him. - -It never occurred to Harky that deserved punishment awaited his return. -And it never occurred to Mun, who knew the ways of his son, that Harky -would even think of coming home until he had enjoyed his full day. The -hiding wouldn't be any harder. - -Mun's first fleeting thought was that Harky had gone insane. Then he -noticed the pup in Harky's arms and came incredulously forward. - -"What the blazes?" - -"Look!" - -Harky put Duckfoot down. The pup gave Mun a sober and very critical -inspection, then came forward to sniff his shoes. - -"Sue's pup!" Mun ejaculated. - -Harky looked curiously at his father. He'd never thought much about Mun -except that, when it came to running away from trifling farm tasks to -engage in worthwhile pursuits, he was a mighty hard man to fool. All he -knew at the moment was that, for the first time since that dreadful -night when Sue disappeared, Mun looked happy. - -Harky fidgeted. He'd like it well enough if Mun always looked happy, but -he dared not assume the fearful responsibility of pronouncing judgment -on Duckfoot. Nor was it for him to bring a hound that was only part -hound into the household. Not even if the hound part was all Precious -Sue. Harky steeled himself, caught up Duckfoot, and extended his paw. - -"Look!" - -For a moment Mun did not speak. Then he discovered his voice. - -"Goshamighty! Whar'd ye git that pup?" - -"In the pool by the shale bank he was, trying to get a sucker from -beneath that crookety willow--" - -Mun listened attentively, and when Harky finished he cleared his throat. -But he did not speak for a full forty-five seconds. - -"I got it figgered now," he said seriously. "When Sue run off that -night, she missed Old Joe, but now I know how come she didn't drown. A -duck pulled her out of the water." - -"A duck?" Harky questioned. - -"Not jest a barnyard duck," Mun said, "an' not jest a wild duck neither. -It was some big ol' duck, mebbe bigger'n Sue herself, what's been -settin' back in the woods for no man knows how many years, jest waitin' -to put a spell on Sue." - -"What'll we do, Pa?" Harky asked worriedly. - -"Watch Duckfoot," Mun declared. "Watch him close an' shoot him the -minute we find he's puttin' spells on us. Mebbe he won't. He's anyhow -half Sue an' mebbe that'll keep the half that ain't down. Leave him go, -Harky." - -Harky put Duckfoot down. Just at that moment the single forlorn duck -that shared the chicken house with Mun's chickens, chose to stroll past. -Duckfoot leaped ecstatically at it, overtook it, bore it down in a -flurry of threshing wings, and looked very pleased with himself. - -"Sue done that," Mun declared. "She knows what she's fetched on us, an' -she's tryin' to make up. But we still got to have a care. Jest as Sue -was under a spell in the dark of the moon, Duckfoot is bewitched by -ducks." - -"What about the duck?" Harky asked practically. - -"Take it behind the barn an' pick it," Mun directed. "We'll have it for -supper. 'Twas sort of a piddlin' duck anyhows." - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SUMMER OF OLD JOE - - -Downstream from the Mundee farm, approximately three miles away as the -water flows, Willow Brook formed two channels. The main stream, a series -of conventional pools and ripples, went sedately about the business of -every creek and pursued its way to a river that in turn emptied into the -sea. The secondary channel, as though weary of doing the same thing in -the same way all the time, stole off to go exploring by itself. - -In high water this channel dutifully accepted its share of the spring -freshet. But even then it never became too big for its banks; there was -plenty of room for surplus water in a swamp through which it dawdled. - -In low water, the entrance to the channel was a bare seepage that -struggled painfully around rocks and was so unimpressive that few human -residents of the Creeping Hills ever bothered to go farther. Only Mun -and Harky Mundee and Mellie Garson knew that some of the best fishing in -Willow Brook was down this channel. - -Old Joe knew it, and on this September night he was heading toward one -of his favorite pools. - -Though the days remained pleasantly warm, the heat of summer was past -and the nights were cool without being cold. A light frost draped -shriveled grasses, and a first-quarter moon that shone palely upon them -made it appear as though someone had been very careless with a large -quantity of silver flakes. It was exactly the sort of night Old Joe -favored above all others. - -He was very well satisfied with himself and his accomplishments as he -pursued a leisurely way from a cave in a ledge of rocks where he'd lain -up all day. In the summer now ending he'd added new luster to his -already shining name and enjoyed himself thoroughly while doing it. -Living, seldom a vexing matter for a hunter of his talents, had been -ridiculously simple. - -Weatherwise, with exactly the right balance of rain and sun, and no -prolonged spells of excessive heat, conditions could not have been more -ideal. Besides plenty of wild fruit in the woods, gardens bore a bumper -crop and Old Joe helped himself whenever he felt like it, which was at -least every other night. In addition, Pine Heglin had decided that it -would be a wonderful idea if he raised some guinea fowl, and Old Joe had -indeed found it wonderful. - -In the first place, Pine Heglin had ideas, which is laudable enough if -they are good ideas. Most of Pine's were not, but he never convinced -himself of that. Pine had an idea that a mongrel was far more effective -on coons than any hound can ever be, and his current pride and joy was a -big dog of many breeds that Pine considered a canine genius. Actually, -the dog hadn't sense enough to get up if he were sitting on a sand burr. - -In the second place, most of the thirty guinea fowl that Pine acquired -ran true to type and headed for the woods the instant they were -released. Though they set up a hideous squawking whenever Old Joe -raided their roost, the noise never disconcerted him in the smallest -degree. Pine's dog, who couldn't have found a skunk in a packing box, -was even less bothersome, and Pine was too stubborn to call in some -neighbor who had a good hound. - -Old Joe, who'd run ahead of all but two of the coon hounds along Willow -Brook, and who feared none of them, happily raided every garden except -Mun Mundee's and Mellie Garson's. He kept away from them because there -was a new hound--Duckfoot at Mun's and Morning Glory at -Mellie's--roaming each farm. Old Joe wasn't especially afraid of them -either. But he had not had an opportunity to find out what they could -do, and he hadn't lived to his present size and age by taking foolish -chances. - -He hadn't the least doubt that in the course of time both Duckfoot and -Morning Glory would be on his trail. Old Joe intended to pick the time -and place. Future actions in regard to both hounds would be based upon -what he found out then. - -In spite of the rich living the farms provided whenever he saw fit to -take it, Old Joe was far too much the gourmet to spurn the delicacies of -the woods and waters. The only reason he did not raid farms every night -was that sometimes he felt like eating fresh-water mussels, sometimes he -craved fish, sometimes he preferred frogs, and sometimes he yearned for -crawfish. Tonight he was in a mood for crawfish. - -Coming in sight of Willow Brook's adventurous channel, the big coon -halted and stood perfectly still. His was the rapt air of a poetic soul -so overcome by the wonders of the night that he must savor them, and -perhaps that did account in part for Old Joe's attitude. More important, -he'd long ago learned never to cross his bridges until he'd found what -was on them, and Old Joe wanted to determine what else might be prowling -the channel before he became too interested in hunting crawfish. Finding -nothing to warrant concern, he moved nearer the water's edge. - -He knew every inch of this channel. The trickle that fed it in low water -remained a trickle for a bit more than a hundred yards. Then there were -three deep pools separated by gentle ripples. The channel snaked through -the forest, pursued a devious route, dozed through a swamp, and rejoined -Willow Brook proper three-quarters of a mile from where the pair -separated. - -The pools and ripples were the proper places to catch fish, the swamp -yielded frogs and mussels, and the pool beside which Old Joe halted was -the best in the entire channel for crawfish. Old Joe advanced to the -edge of the pool, but he did not at once start fishing. - -The ambitious first-quarter moon slanted a beam downward in such a -fashion that it glanced in a dazzling manner from something directly in -front of Old Joe's nose. Spellbound, he stared for a full two minutes. - -He yearned to reach out and grasp whatever this might be, and it was -half a mussel shell that had been shucked here by a muskrat and fallen -white side up. But though he might safely have retrieved this treasure, -Old Joe sighed, circled two yards around it, and waded into the pool. -Trappers who know all about a coon's inclination to put a paw on -anything shiny often bait their traps with nothing else. - -Once in the pool, Old Joe went about his fishing with a businesslike -precision born of vast experience. Crawfish, whose only means of offense -are the pincerlike claws attached to their front end, back away from -danger, and this bit of natural history was basic to Old Joe's hunting -lore. He slid one front paw beneath each side of a small stone and was -ready. There were crawfish under every stone in this pool. Whichever paw -Old Joe wriggled, a crawfish would be sure to back into the other. - -Before he had a chance to stir either paw, he withdrew both and sat up -sputtering. Another coon was coming. As though it were not outrageous -enough for a coon or anything else to trespass on a pool that Old Joe -had marked for his private fishing, the stranger paid not the slightest -attention to his warning growl. - -Obviously the intruder needed a lesson in manners and Old Joe would be -delighted to teach it. When the strange coon came near enough, he -discovered the reason for its lack of courtesy. It was a mere baby, a -little spring-born male, and it hadn't learned manners. But it would. -Old Joe launched his charge. - -The trespasser stopped, squalled in terror, and with Old Joe in hot -pursuit, turned to race full speed back in the direction from which he -had come. Seventy-five yards from where he started, Old Joe rounded a -tussock and stopped so suddenly that his chin almost scraped a furrow -in the sand. - -Just in front of him, her bristled fur making her appear twice her usual -size, was the same mate whose den tree he'd sought out when he left the -great sycamore in February. Old Joe was instantly transformed from an -avenger bent on punishment to a husband bent on appeasement. Experience -had taught him how to cope with every situation except that which must -arise when he chased his own son, whom he did not recognize, and came -face to face with his mate, whom he definitely did. - -Old Joe had time for one amiable chitter. Then, in the same motion, she -was upon and all over him. Her teeth slashed places that Old Joe hadn't -previously known were vulnerable while her four paws, that seemed -suddenly to have become forty, raked. For a moment he cowered. Then, -since she was obviously in no mood to listen even if he had known how to -explain that it was all a mistake, he turned in inglorious flight. - -She chased him a hundred yards and turned back. Old Joe kept running. He -reached the other channel, swam Willow Brook, climbed the opposite bank, -and finally slowed to a fast walk. He hadn't seen his mate since they'd -left her den tree to go their separate ways, and he hadn't had a single -thought for either his wife or his two sons and three daughters. - -He had one now, a very profound one. They could have the pool where -crawfish abounded and, for that matter, both channels of Willow Brook at -least for this night. Having met his match, Old Joe hadn't the least -desire to meet her again. - -He put another half mile between them before he considered himself -reasonably safe. With the feeling that he was finally secure, came a -realization that his dignity had been sadly ruffled. He was also hungry, -but broken pride could be mended and hunger satisfied with one of Pine -Heglin's few remaining guinea hens. - -No longer threatened, Old Joe became his usual arrogant self. Despite -Pine's exalted opinion of his big dog, Old Joe knew the creature for the -idiot it was. The guinea hens, though wild, were stupid enough to seek -the same roost every night, and they roosted in a grove of small pines. -Old Joe, who'd taken his last guinea hen six nights ago, went straight -to the grove. - -He had no way of knowing that sometimes the gods smile on those who -refuse to court favor. - -Five days ago, just after Old Joe's last visit, Pine Heglin's cherished -mongrel had gone strolling past a limpid pond on Pine's farm. He'd -looked into the water, seen his own reflection, decided that he was -being challenged by a big and rather ugly dog, and promptly jumped in to -give battle. The reflection disappeared as soon as he was in the water, -but reflections were too complex for one of his mental capacity. All he -knew was that he had seen another dog. He was sure that it must be -lurking in the pond, and though he never got many ideas, he stuck by -those he did get. Presently, still looking determinedly for the other -dog, he sank and did not come up. - -Though Pine could have borrowed any hound that any of his neighbors -owned, he remained loyal to his conviction that mongrels are superior. -He dickered with Sad Hawkins, an itinerant peddler who'd sell or swap -anything at any time, and in exchange for six chickens and a shoat Pine -got another mongrel. - -It was a smaller dog than his former prize, but so tightly packed and -heavily muscled that it weighed nearly as much. With a generous portion -of pit bull among his assorted ancestors, the dog feared nothing. He -differed from Pine's former mongrel insofar as he had some sense. - -Knowing as well as Old Joe where his guinea hens roosted, and aware of -the fact that they were being raided, Pine left this dog in the grove -with them. Thus came Old Joe's second shock of the night. - -The dog, who wouldn't waste time barking or growling if he could fight, -achieved complete surprise and attacked before Old Joe even knew he was -about. Since he couldn't run, he had to fight. - -[Illustration] - -The weight was nearly even, with the dog having perhaps a five-pound -advantage. In addition, before he came into the possession of Sad -Hawkins, he'd made the rounds of behind-the-barn dog-fights and he had -never lost one. He could win over most coons. - -The dog was a slugger. But Old Joe was a scientific boxer who knew -better than to stand toe-to-toe and trade punches. He yielded to the -dog's rushes even while he inflicted as much punishment of his own as -possible. However, the battle might have been in doubt had it not been -for one unforseen circumstance. - -Hard-pressed by a determined and fearless enemy, Old Joe reached deep -into his bag of tricks. He knew the terrain, and some fifteen feet away -was a steep little knoll. It was elemental battle tactics that whatever -might be in possession of any height had an advantage over whatever -might attack it. At the first breathing spell, Old Joe scurried to the -knoll, climbed it, and waited. - -He was more than mildly astonished when the dog did not rush -immediately. But the dog hadn't had a keen sense of smell to begin with. -The numerous fights in which he'd engaged wherein his hold on a -vanquished enemy was broken with a liberal application of ammonia, had -ruined the little he did have. The dog was now unable to smell a dish -of limburger cheese on the upwind side if it was more than three feet -away, and he could not renew the battle simply because he couldn't find -his enemy. - -Never one to question good fortune, Old Joe turned and ran as soon as he -could safely do so. First he put distance between himself and Pine -Heglin's remaining guinea hens, that were standing on the roost -screeching at the tops of their voices. Next he made a resolution to -leave Pine's remaining guinea hens alone, at least for as long as this -dog was guarding them. - -Hard on the heels of that came anger. One needn't apologize for running -away from one's angry mate. To be vanquished by a dog, and not even a -coon hound, was an entirely different matter. Old Joe needed revenge, -and just as this necessity mounted to its apex, he happened to be -passing the Mundee farm. - -Ordinarily he'd never have done such a thing. He knew nothing about -Duckfoot, and a cornfield, with the nearest safe tree a long run away, -was a poor place to start testing any unknown hound. Old Joe was too -angry to rationalize, and too hungry to go farther. He turned aside, -ripped a shock of corn apart, and was in the act of selecting a choice -ear when Duckfoot came running. - -In other circumstances, Old Joe would have stopped to think. Duckfoot, -who would have the physical proportions of his father, had almost -attained them. But he was still very much the puppy and he could have -been defeated in battle. - -Old Joe had had enough fighting for one night. He reached Willow Brook -three jumps ahead of Duckfoot, jumped in, ran the riffles and swam the -pools for a quarter of a mile, emerged in a little runlet, ran up it, -and climbed an oak whose upper branches were laced with wild grapevines. -The vines offered a safe aerial passage to any of three adjoining trees. -Finding him now was a test for any good hound. - -A half hour later, Old Joe was aroused by Duckfoot's thunderous tree -bark. The big coon crossed the grapevine to a black cherry, climbed down -it, jumped to the top of an immense boulder, ran a hundred yards to a -swamp, crossed it, and came to rest in a ledge of rocks. This time -Duckfoot needed only nineteen minutes. - -Old Joe sighed and went on. The night was nearly spent, he needed -safety, and the only safe place was his big sycamore. After the most -disgusting night of his life, he reached and climbed it. He hoped that -if he managed to get this far, Duckfoot would drown in the slough. But -in an hour and sixteen minutes Duckfoot was announcing to the world at -large that Old Joe had gone up in his favorite sycamore. - -Old Joe sighed again. Then he curled up, but even as he dozed off, he -was aware of one thing. - -Duckfoot was a hound to reckon with. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -MISS CATHBY - - -His books strapped together with a discarded bridle rein, and dangling -over his shoulder, Harky Mundee placed one reluctant foot after the -other as he strode down the dirt road. - -The events that culminated in this dreadful situation--returning to Miss -Cathby's school at the Crossroads--had for the past three days been -building up like a thunderstorm, and on the whole, it would have been -easier to halt the storm. Every autumn, just after the harvest, Mun -acquired firm ideas concerning the value of higher education for Harky. -But never before had Mun resorted to such foul tricks or taken such -unfair advantage. - -Coming to where Tumbling Run foamed beneath a wooden bridge and hurled -itself toward Willow Brook, Harky halted and rested both elbows on the -bridge railing. He looked glumly into the icy water, along which coons -of high and low degree prowled every night, and he wished mightily that -he were a coon. - -Though even coons had their troubles, Harky had never known of a single -one that had been forced to hoe corn, milk cows, feed pigs, pitch hay, -dig potatoes, or do any of the other unspeakable tasks that were forever -falling to the lot of human beings. But even farm chores were not -entirely unbearable. In a final agony of desperation, his cause already -lost, Harky had even pointed out to Mun that the fence needed mending -and hadn't he better cut the posts? - -"Blast it!" Mun roared. "Stop this minute tryin' to make a fool of me, -Harky! You know's well as I do that the cows ain't goin' to be out to -pasture more'n 'nother three weeks! You need some book lore!" - -Harky rubbed the heel of his right shoe against the shin of his left -leg and wished again that he were a coon, even a treed coon. Being -hound-cornered was surely preferable to becoming the hapless victim of -Miss Ophelia Cathby. - -Grasping the very end of the bridle rein, Harky whirled the books around -his head. But exactly on the point of releasing the strap and reveling -in the satisfying distance the books would fly, Harky brought them to a -stop and slung them back over his shoulder. - -He sighed. Free to walk the two miles to the Crossroads, with Mun not -even in attendance, Harky was anything except free to throw his books -away and explore Tumbling Run. When he ran away from farm tasks, which -he did at every opportunity, the worst he could expect was the flat of -Mun's hand. - -But if he did not show up at school this morning, and for as many -mornings hereafter as Mun thought necessary, he would never see his -shotgun again. Harky lived again the inhuman scene wherein he had been -subjected to torture more intense than any mortal should ever endure. -Mun took the shotgun, locked it in his tool case, pocketed the key and -addressed Harky: - -"Thar! Now jest peg on to school, an' I aim to see Miss Cathby an' find -out if ya did! Hingein' on what she tells me, ya kin have the shotgun -back!" - -Harky permitted himself a second doleful sigh. A man could take a hiding -even if it were laid on with a hickory gad. But a man might better lose -life itself rather than the only gun he had or could hope to get, at -least in the foreseeable future. Mun was a man of his word. Harky saw -himself in a fiendish trap from which there was no faint hope of escape. - -He glanced at the sun, and from the length of the shadows it was casting -deduced that it still lacked forty-five minutes of nine o'clock, the -hour at which Miss Cathby called her classes to order. If he stuck to -the road, forty-five minutes was at least thirty-eight more than he -needed to cover the less than a mile remaining between himself and the -Crossroads. But there were excellent reasons why he could not stick to -the road. - -Raw Stanfield, Butt Johnson, Bear Pen Crawford, and Mule Domster all -lived upstream from the Mundee farm. Mellie Garson and Pine Heglin lived -down. Harky had not hesitated to walk openly past Mellie's farm, for -though Mellie had been an enthusiastic sire, he had begat only -daughters. They were all pretty enough to be snatched up the moment they -came of marriageable age, and the four oldest were happily married. But -girls of all ages were forever gadding about doing silly things that -interested girls only. Though they probably would think it a modern -miracle, Mellie's eight youngest would not consider it necessary to rub -salt in Harky's already-raw wounds simply because he was going to -school. - -Pine Heglin had specialized in sons, of which he had seven. The six -eldest were carbon copies of their father. It was said along Willow -Brook that if one cared to give Pine or any of his six elder sons a good -laugh in January, one had only to tell them a good joke the preceding -April. - -The youngest Heglin, named Loring and called Dib, had been born on -Halloween and showed it. Every witch who walked must have touched Dib -Heglin, and among other questionable gifts they'd bestowed a tongue with -a hornet's sting. - -Dib was three months older than Harky. He did not go to school. He found -endless amusement in the fact that Harky did go. Harky had no wish to -meet Dib. - -A quarter of a mile on the upstream side of the Heglin farm, Harky -started into the woods and stopped worrying. Dib was a not-unskilled -woodsman. But he'd never studied in the stark school from which Harky -had graduated with honors; anyone able to hide from Mun Mundee could -elude fifty Dib Heglins. - -A sour chuckle escaped Harky. Dib, who knew how to add two and two, -would know that the Mundees' harvest was ended. Nobody would have to -tell him that this was the logical day for Mun to expose Harky to some -more of Miss Cathby's education. No doubt he'd got up a half hour early -just so he could wait for Harky and insult him when he appeared. - -Presently, as it always did, the magic of the forest overwhelmed less -desirable influences. Miss Cathby and her school, while not far enough -away to let Harky forget he'd better be there on time, needn't be faced -for the immediate present. Harky found himself wondering. - -Duckfoot had grown like a weed in the corn patch, and to the casual -observer he was not greatly different from other gangling hound puppies. -But a careful scrutiny revealed him as a dog of diverse talents. There -was the incident of the root cellar. - -Because it would not keep long in warm weather, meat was at a premium -along Willow Brook during the summer months. When somebody butchered, it -was both practical and practice to share with his neighbors. - -Mule Domster butchered a hog, and to the Mundees he brought a ham and a -loin. Mun stored both in the root cellar, that was closed by a latch. -The latch was lifted by a string dangling down the door. While Duckfoot, -who to all appearances was interested only in scratching a flea behind -his ear, sat sleepily near, Mun removed the ham. - -Shortly afterward, returning for the loin and finding an empty space -where it had been, Mun went roaring to the house for his rifle. Since no -farmer of the Creeping Hills would think of robbing his neighbor's root -cellar, obviously an unprincipled and hungry stranger had come up Willow -Brook. Finding no tracks, Mun further declared that he was a cunning -stranger. - -Harky had a feeling. It was based on the fact that Duckfoot, who -normally ate like a horse except that he did not chew his food nearly as -much, was not at all hungry when his meal was put before him. It meant -nothing, asserted Mun, for he had flushed an early flight of teal from -Willow Brook and Duckfoot was perturbed by the ducks. Harky watched the -root cellar. - -Evening shadows were merging into black night when Duckfoot padded to -the door, reared, pulled the latch string with his teeth, and entered. -Since Mun was sure to take a dim view of such goings on, Harky never -betrayed the thief. All he did was break the latch and replace it with -an exterior latch that was not string-operated. - -That happened shortly before Duckfoot disappeared for a whole week. To -be expected, said Mun, for wild ducks were passing daily now and -doubtless Duckfoot had gone in search of his father. But Harky had -another feeling. - -He'd been with Duckfoot along Willow Brook, or near one of the ponds, -when wild ducks flushed. Far from betraying his duck blood, Duckfoot had -given them not the slightest attention. Could it be, thought Harky, that -a coon, maybe Old Joe himself, had come raiding? Had Duckfoot trailed -him, treed him, and stayed at the tree until he was just too tired and -hungry to stay longer? - -Mun scoffed at such notions. He pointed out that Duckfoot was still a -puppy who, as far as anyone knew, had never been on a coon's trail. So -what could he know about running coons, especially Old Joe? Harky was -indulging in another pipe dream even to think that a puppy, any puppy, -would tree a coon and stay at the tree for a week. Precious Sue herself -wouldn't have stayed that long. - -Harky knew only that Duckfoot was lean as a blackberry cane when he -finally came home and that he kept looking off into the forest. If he -hadn't treed a coon, he certainly acted as though he had. - -In sudden panic Harky realized that he had a scant four minutes left. He -began to run, and he burst into Miss Cathby's school just as the last -bell was tolling laggards to their desks. - -The school was a one-room affair flanked by a woodshed half as big as -the school proper. Inside were the regulation potbellied stove, six rows -of five desks each, a desk for Miss Cathby, and a plain wooden bench -upon which the various classes seated themselves when called to recite. -Behind Miss Cathby's desk was the blackboard. If it was not the ultimate -in educational facilities, it was a vast improvement over the no school -at all that had been at the Crossroads until three years ago. - -When Harky ran in, his fellow pupils were seated. - -The first grade, consisting of the younger daughters of Mellie Garson -and Raw Stanfield, and the youngest sons of Butt Johnson and Mule -Domster, was the largest. Thereafter the grades decreased numerically -but with an increasing feminine contingent. Boys old enough to help out -at home could hardly be expected to waste time in school. Melinda and -Mary Garson were the fifth grade, Harky the sixth, and Mildred and -Minnie Garson the seventh and eighth. - -Miss Cathby smiled pleasantly when Harky came in. - -"Good morning, Harold," she greeted. - -"Good morning, ma'am," Harky mumbled. - -"Is your father's harvest in, Harold?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -Harky, who knew his name was Harold but wished Miss Cathby didn't know, -squirmed and longed to drop through the floor. With the only other male -who even approached his age being Mule Domster's ten-year-old son, he -was indeed surrounded. - -Miss Cathby, who knew several things not written in textbooks, -understood and let him alone. Harky fixed his eyes on the back of -twelve-year-old Melinda Garson's slender neck. He calculated the exact -spot where a spitball would have the ultimate effect, then decided that -it wasn't worth his while to throw one. - -The first grade was called for recitation. Solacing himself with the -thought that Mun's enthusiasm for booklore seldom endured more than -three weeks, Harky escaped in a dream. He had his shotgun, Duckfoot was -hot on a coon's trail, and presently they heard his tree bark. Mun and -Harky made their way to the tree. - -"Harky," said Mun, "git your light beam on that coon." - -Harky made ready to shine the treed coon. The words were repeated and he -came rudely awake to discover that Miss Cathby was speaking. - -"Harold," she said, "are you dreaming so soon?" - -"Yes, ma'am," Harky said meekly. - -"Well come down here. The sixth grade is called to recite." - -Harky rose and shuffled unhappily to the recitation bench. He slumped -down, head bent, shoulders hunched, fists in pockets. Never again, he -thought, would he have any part in caging a coon. Not even to train -Duckfoot. He knew now what cages are like. - -"Have you been keeping up with your studies?" Miss Cathby asked. - -"Yes, ma'am," said Harky. - -"Which books have you been using?" queried Miss Cathby. - -"Same ones I used last year," Harky mumbled. - -Miss Cathby frowned prettily. Harky's last year's books were for the -fifth grade; Harky had started in the fourth solely because he'd been -too old to begin in the first. Miss Cathby's frown deepened. - -She knew that, with the best of luck, Harky would be under her influence -for a maximum four weeks. But Miss Cathby's fragile body harbored a will -of granite. If she combined guile with persistence, four weeks were -enough to turn this youngster from the heathenish ways of his ancestors -and show him at least a glimmer of the one true light. - -"Very well," she said pleasantly. "We'll review your last year's -arithmetic. If a farmer harvests thirty tons of hay, sells two thirds -and feeds the remainder, how much will he feed?" - -Harky shuffled nervous feet and stared past her at the blackboard. "I -never could figger that one, Miss Cathby." - -Miss Cathby said, "It isn't difficult." - -"Parts ain't," Harky admitted. "But parts are. He'll sell twenty tons, -always reckoning he can find somebody to buy. The rest just shrivels me -up." - -Miss Cathby sighed. As soon as she proved to her own satisfaction that -these backwoods boys were not morons, they proved her wrong. Anyone able -correctly to deduce two thirds of thirty should be able to subtract -twenty from thirty. A firm adherent of the idea that sugar entices flies -where vinegar will not, Miss Cathby applied the sugar. - -"Come, Harold," she coaxed. "If you have thirty potatoes and give twenty -away, how many will you have left?" - -"Ten," Harky said promptly. "But we was talking about tons of hay, not -potatoes, and that ain't what crosses me up." - -"What is it that you do not understand?" Miss Cathby pursued. - -"What kind of critter a remainder is and how much hay does it eat?" - -The fifth, seventh, and eighth grades, as represented by the sisters -Garson, filled the room with giggles. Miss Cathby rapped for order and -evolved a cunning plan to win Harky's interest and favor by discussing -something he did know. - -"Do you have a good raccoon hound for the coming season, Harold?" - -Miss Cathby composed herself to listen while Harky launched an -enthusiastic, and minutely detailed, description of the misadventures of -Precious Sue and the wiles of Old Joe. He needed eighteen minutes to -reach the thrilling climax, the discovery of Duckfoot and, - -"His Pa's a duck," he said seriously. - -"A duck!" Miss Cathby gasped. - -"Not just a barnyard duck and not just a wild duck," Harky explained -patiently. "It was some big old duck, maybe older'n Old Joe himself, -that's been setting back in the woods just hoping Sue would come along." - -Miss Cathby's eyes glowed with a true crusader's zeal. In all the time -Harky had spent in school and all the time he would spend there, she -could not hope to impart more than the rudiments of an education. But -here was a heaven-sent opportunity to strike at the very roots of the -ignorance and superstition that barred his march toward a more -enlightened life. Miss Cathby saw past the boy to the father who would -be. Strike Harky's chains and he would voluntarily free his children. - -"That's impossible, Harold," she began. - -Warming to her subject, she sketched the Garden of Eden, traced the -history of mankind, disposed of witches and witch hunters in a few -hundred well-chosen words, explained the laws of genetics, and finished -with conclusive proof that a coon hound cannot mate with a duck. - -Harky listened, not without interest. When it came to telling stories, -he conceded, Miss Cathby was even better than Mun and almost as good as -Mellie Garson. Nor was she shooting wholly in the dark; Harky himself -did not believe that Duckfoot had been sired by a duck. But there was -something wanting. - -For a moment he could not define the lack. Then, happily, he thought of -another of Pine Heglin's ideas. If apples were stored so they could not -roll, Pine decided, there would be fewer bruised apples. Forthwith he -constructed some latticeworks of willow withes, arranged them as -shelves, and stored his apples on them. But Pine had forgotten that -some apples are big and some small. The small ones fell through the -lattices and the big ones became jammed in them. All were bruised, and -rotted quickly, with the result that Pine had no apples at all. - -Miss Cathby's lecture was like that, Harky decided. She would find an -exact niche for Old Joe, Duckfoot, Mun, everything in the world, and -she'd never stop to think that few things really belonged in exact -niches. Her ideas just didn't have room to grow in. Mun's did. - -"Can you prove to me, Harold, that there is any such creature as this -witch duck?" Miss Cathby finished. - -"No ma'am," said Harky, and he forebore to mention that neither could -she prove there wasn't. - -By some miracle, the endless day ended. The new books that Miss Cathby -gave him strapped in the bridle rein and slung over his shoulder, Harky -walked straight up the road. He had a feeling that was justified when he -saw Dib Heglin waiting. - -"Ya been to see Miss Cathby?" Dib squawked in a voice that would have -maddened a sheep. "Did Miss Cathby give ya a bathby?" - -Harky shifted the bridle rein from his right hand to his left. -Effecting a gait that was supposedly a caricature of Miss Cathby's -feminine walk, and was remarkably similar to the waddle of a fat goose, -Dib came toward him. - -"Ya been to see--?" he began. - -They were near enough. Harky's right fist flicked out. - -"Ya-ooo!" Dib shrieked. - -Harky danced happily on. No day was wholly wasted if it left Dib Heglin -nursing a bloody nose. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -MELINDA - - -Mellie Garson sat on an overturned pickle keg sourly contemplating the -inequity of fate. If he was no better than the next man, he told -himself, neither was he worse. So why should some be rewarded with a -free buggy ride while others received a kick from the mules pulling the -buggy? - -Mellie shifted his right foot, his newest reason for eating bitter -bread, and glared at the crutches without which he was helpless. It was -indeed a bitter blow, but it seemed to Mellie as he sat there that his -entire life had been one blow after another. - -Though he was the father of children, the very fact that there was no -son among them was a desperate situation. How did one hand a coon hound, -not to mention the mass of coon lore that Mellie had acquired during his -sixty-seven years on earth, down to a girl child? - -The lusty wail of a baby floated out of the house. Mellie shuddered, and -only by exercising a heroic effort could he refrain from putting his -hands over his ears. It was not that he didn't love his daughters and do -for them as a proper father should. But did his thirteenth child, now -yelling away in her crib, have to be a girl, too? - -Mellie ran down the list of his offspring: Marilyn, Maxine, Martha, -Minerva, Margaret, Mildred, Minnie, Melinda, Mary, Maud, Marcy, -Marcella, and finally, Michelle. There'd been some hope they'd run out -of Ms, but he'd hoped that clear back when Mary arrived and now hope was -dead. He couldn't have thought of Michelle. But his daughters could and -that, he supposed, was no more than he deserved for exposing them to -Miss Cathby's school. - -Mellie often wondered if he'd been born in the wrong time of the moon. -Maybe he'd even been born in a caul, but he'd never know whence came -his talent for fathering girls, because by the time he started wondering -his parents had gone to their eternal reward and it was too late to ask -them. - -He sighed. Thirteen girl children were thirteen facts of life that -nobody could change. There were rare intervals, when they didn't all -start talking at once, that it was even pleasant to have them around. -But how explain the rest of his misfortunes? - -Mellie retraced the chain of events that had culminated in this stark -tragedy. - -Morning Glory, his pup out of Raw Stanfield's Queenie by Butt Johnson's -Thunder, showed every indication of becoming a rare coon hound indeed. -Though Mellie would have been satisfied had she inherited the talent of -either parent, there were reasons to believe that she combined the best -of both. - -However, Glory must have some education and tonight, this matchless -autumn night, Raw Stanfield with Queenie and Butt Johnson with Thunder -were meeting at Mun Mundee's house. Had they planned a coon hunt, and -that only, Mellie would have contented himself with just being -heart-broken. But Mun and Harky Mundee were going along with Duckfoot -and Mellie had been invited to bring Glory. So-- - -Yesterday he'd been mule-kicked! - -Mellie groaned his misery. Glory and Duckfoot had an opportunity to -learn their trade under masters such as Queenie and Thunder. Now Glory -couldn't go, and what had Mellie ever done to merit such catastrophe? - -No doubt Duckfoot would be there, and thinking of Duckfoot, Mellie -wondered why a little of the Mundee luck couldn't rub off on Mellie -Garson. It had been a terrible blow to lose Precious Sue. But to stumble -on Sue's pup, even if he was half duck, and to find that he probably -would be as good as Sue ever was. How come the Mundees were so favored? - -Mellie glanced bitterly around as a mule-drawn wagon came from behind -the barn. Morning Glory wagged contentedly behind it and four of -Mellie's daughters comprised the crew that was bringing in another load -of corn. Mellie fixed his eyes on Melinda. - -Twelve years old, limber as a willow withe and pretty as a week-old -colt, she was driving the self-same mules that had kicked Mellie right -out of a coon hunt. Furthermore, she was driving them more skillfully -than her father ever had. Mellie permitted himself a troubled frown. - -Certain Melinda would be a boy, and a firm exponent of starting the -worthwhile things of life as early as possible, Mellie had even dickered -for a hound pup so the two babies might grow up together. Somebody had -crossed him up, or sneaked up on him, but Melinda should have been a -boy. - -She could throw a rock straighter than Harky Mundee; catch bass when -Mellie himself couldn't lure them; handle in perfect safety mules that -could kick flies off each other's ears and were anxious to kick anything -else; she could do everything most boys could and do it better. If more -was needed, Glory adored her with a passion few hounds bestow on any -human. - -Melinda backed the wagon into the barn, and as her three sisters started -to unload the corn, she unhitched the mules and drove them to their -stable. A fiendish plan formed in Mellie's brain. Girls were about as -welcome on a coon hunt as bees at a sewing circle, but why should Mellie -do all the suffering? Melinda came out of the stable and floated toward -the house. Mellie came to a decision and called, - -"Melinda." - -She danced to him on feet that never seemed to touch the ground. "Yes, -Pa?" - -"Raw Stanfield an' Butt Johnson'll be at Mun Mundee's come evenin'. -They're goin' to take Duckfoot on a coon hunt. How'd you like to go with -Glory?" - -"Pa! You mean it?" - -"Sure I mean it, honey." - -She stooped and kissed him, and suddenly Mellie felt sorry for -unfortunate fathers who do not have at least thirteen daughters. - - * * * * * - -Making himself as small as possible, Harky Mundee kept his fingers -crossed and hoped Mun had forgotten he was alive. Everything had worked -out so much better than he'd dared hope that surely there must be some -mistake. - -After eleven days at Miss Cathby's school, he was ready and unwilling to -begin the twelfth when he happened to glance toward the pasture. He -himself, after helping milk them at half past five, had turned the cows -out. But though he'd turned all six out, only five remained. Old -Brindle, Mun's ornery cow, had decided to take herself for a walk. It -was nothing that could be ignored. Old Brindle was fast as a deer and if -she decided she'd had enough of human society, she'd be as hard to -catch. - -"You'd best help me get her," Mun said. - -"Yes, Pa." - -They'd scarcely left the house, when, apparently having decided that the -free life is for those who want it, Old Brindle jumped back into the -pasture she'd just jumped out of. But instead of turning on Harky and -roaring for him to be off to school, Mun said nothing at all. - -It had been easy as that, which is why Harky worried. Though it was hard -even to imagine Mun's having thoughts to spare for Miss Cathby and her -school with a coon hunt coming up, dismal experience had taught Harky -that it was easier to forecast the next skip of a sand flea than to -anticipate Mun. - -Until he knew exactly how the wind was blowing, Harky thought, silence -was not only golden but silver, gold and diamonds. If Mun was thinking -about sending him back to school, to school he would go. If he was not, -an incautious word might start him thinking. - -Harky watched furtively as Mun put on his coon-hunting pants, boots, -and curled the brim of his coon-hunting hat. Then he went to the tool -box for his coon-hunting axe. - -"Harky!" he roared. "What's your shotgun doin' in my toolbox?" - -"Why," Harky hoped he appeared innocent, "is it in there, Pa?" - -"Git it out!" - -Harky drew his first easy breath since Old Brindle's escape. If Mun had -forgotten why he'd confiscated Harky's shotgun, he'd forgotten about -school. The ordeal was over, at least for this year, and Harky was free -to concentrate on important matters. For the immediate future, the only -matter of importance consisted of wishing it was night so they could go -coon hunting. - -Evening finally arrived, and, with Queenie and Thunder at their -respective heels, Raw Stanfield and Butt Johnson arrived with it. The -older hounds sneered in their own fashion at Duckfoot, who -enthusiastically sneered right back, and curled up on the porch. - -None of the men, as yet, knew that Mellie was sending his daughter to -substitute for him. When Queenie, Thunder, and Duckfoot set up a -desultory baying, all thought that Mellie would join them shortly. To -do so he would follow prescribed etiquette of the Creeping Hills, which -involved opening the door and walking in. - -When Mellie did not enter, but someone knocked, the four hunters first -looked astounded. Then they looked at each other. It was Harky who -decided that one way to find out who was knocking would be to go open -the door. His astounded bellow made Queenie cringe and sent Thunder -slinking from the porch. - -"What in tunket do you want?" - -"Hello, Harold," Melinda trilled. - -She was dressed in the boy's trousers she always wore except when she -went to school, a boy's shirt which immediately gave the lie to the -theory that girls can't wear boys' clothing and look like girls, and a -denim jacket. Her feet were encased in an old pair of shoes, and a boy's -hat was pushed back on her saucy black curls. Without a second glance -for Harky, she walked past him into the kitchen. - -"Pa's been mule-kicked and can't come," she announced. "I brought -Glory." - -"Right kind of ya," said Mun. "We'll take good care of her an' see that -she gits back." - -[Illustration] - -"Oh, I'll take her back myself," Melinda said. "Pa will expect it." - -"Nice of ya to offer," said Mun. "But Harky an' me, we sort of batch it -here. The house ain't rightly fixed fer a girl to stay in an' we may be -gone all night." - -"Don't you worry about that, Mr. Mundee," Melinda reassured him. "I'm -going hunting with you." - -Harky gagged. Melinda turned to face him. - -"You sound as though you've been eating green apples, Harold," she said -sweetly. "Have you?" - -"Why'n'choo go home?" - -"Harky!" Mun roared, but not very loudly, "mind your tongue!" - -"Thank you, Mr. Mundee," Melinda said, with the barest hint of a sob in -her young voice. "You do want me along, don't you?" - -"Well uh--" Mun stammered and appealed to Raw Stanfield. "We do want her -along, don't we?" - -"Well uh--" Raw aped Mun and looked at Butt Johnson. - -Butt stuttered, "Why--why--why--" and fixed his gaze on Harky. - -"There!" Melinda said triumphantly. "The other three want me! Now what -do you say?" - -"Hope ya fall in the mud!" - -"Harold!" Melinda wrinkled her distinctly fetching nose. "How terrible!" - -"Hope ya fall in the mud, an' I'll stomp on your head if ya do!" Harky -said. - -"Harky!" This time Mun voiced a full-throated roar. "Mind your tongue!" - -"Le's get coon huntin'," Raw Stanfield choked. "Le's do anything long's -we git out of here!" - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -OLD JOE UP - - -Raw Stanfield with the lantern, Butt Johnson with a torch for shining -treed coons and a .22 rifle for plinking them out of the trees, Mun with -his coon-hunting axe, Melinda with serene self-assurance, and Harky with -a miserable feeling that it couldn't be very long now before the whole -world went to pot, they set off through the night. - -Misery was Harky's only feeling. If he had another, he told himself -sourly, he wouldn't dare put stock in it. When girls horned in on coon -hunts anything could happen and it probably would. - -Harky comforted himself with thoughts of what can happen on coon hunts. -He had a soul-satisfying vision of a cold, wet, mud-spattered, and -hungry Melinda wandering through the night pleading for Harky to come to -her succor. Harky heard, but he let her wander until the last possible -second. Then, just as she was about to sink into mud from which she -would never rise had it not been for valiant Harky, he lifted her to her -feet, took her home, and scuffed scornful feet on Mellie Garson's -threshold. - -"There!" he heard himself saying. "Let that teach you that girls ought -never horn in on coon hunts!" - -Harky breathed a doleful sigh. Delightful as this mental image was, in -no way did it erase the fact that a girl had horned in on a coon hunt. -Harky sought solace by tearing his thoughts away from Melinda and -fastening them on something pleasant. He considered the four hounds. - -Queenie was a slow and methodical worker who'd never been known to lose -a trail she started. Of course they did not get every coon Queenie -started; some went to earth in rock-bound burrows and some escaped by -devious means. Queenie, who tongued on a trail, was one of the few -hounds who'd followed Old Joe to his magic sycamore. - -Glory, as yet untried, might and might not adopt her mother's hunting -style. Duckfoot--neither Harky nor anyone else had any reason to believe -that he'd already tracked Old Joe to his sycamore--was another unknown -quantity insofar as his own special way of hunting was concerned. But -Harky had no doubt that, after adequate training, Duckfoot would shine, -and Glory would do well enough. - -Thunder, next to Precious Sue the best coon hound ever to run the -Creeping Hills, couldn't be doubted. Big, long-legged, and powerful, -Thunder was another hound who'd distinguished himself by tracking Old -Joe to the big sycamore. A silent trailer but a tree barker who did -credit to his name, Thunder was so fast that he often caught coons on -the ground. With six years of hunting experience behind him, he was -probably the best of the four hounds on this current hunt. - -They were, Harky thought, a pack fit to run in any company. With Thunder -to run ahead and jump the coon, Queenie to work out the trail at her own -pace and at regular intervals to announce the direction Thunder had -gone, and quality pups like Duckfoot and Glory, any coon they struck -tonight, with the probable exception of Old Joe, would find his -stretched pelt on the barn door tomorrow. Maybe even Old Joe would have -a hard time with this pack. - -Thinking of coons, Harky was pleasantly diverted for a few minutes more. - -Creatures of the season, coons availed themselves of the most of the -best of whatever was handy. When they emerged from their dens at -winter's end, they liked to fill empty stomachs with buds and tender -grass and flower shoots. As the season advanced, coons conformed. They -never spurned vegetation if it was to their liking, but as soon as the -spring freshet subsided, they did a great deal of fishing and frog, -crawfish, and mussel hunting. When gardens started to bear, the coons -varied their diet with green vegetables. As they ripened, both wild and -domestic fruits received the attention of properly brought up coons. -They were always ready to raid poultry. - -At this time of year, with frogs already gone into hibernation, fish -inclined to linger in deep pools where even Old Joe couldn't catch them, -the crawfish and mussel crop well picked over, and vegetation withered, -coons concentrated on fields of shocked corn, such fruit as might cling -to branches, and beech and oak groves, where they foraged for fallen -beechnuts and acorns. - -It was to a beech grove that Raw Stanfield led them. - -The black thunderheads that had been surging through Harky's brain -changed suddenly to a sky of dazzling blue. Rubber boots were not -unknown among coon hunters of the Creeping Hills, but except by a few -eccentrics, they were unused. A man trying to make time to a -tree-barking hound did not care to be slowed by boots. - -Harky licked his lips. God tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, but ice -water felt like ice water even to a coon hunter and the grove toward -which Raw headed was on the far side of Willow Brook. The water was -autumn-low with plenty of exposed stones, but jumping them by daylight -and jumping them under lantern light were different matters. Harky -wasn't sure that even he could cross at night without getting wet. - -It looked as though ladies' night at coon hunts would terminate abruptly -and soon. Harky hoped so, and it would be a nice touch indeed if -Melinda scraped her shins when she fell in. - -Willow Brook glinted in the light as Raw Stanfield held his lantern high -to see whether they were approaching a pool or riffle. It was a riffle -that purled lazily, and coldly, around exposed stones. Harky grinned in -the darkness. It _looked_ easy, but there was a trick to it. - -Once you started jumping there was no turning back and the stones were -unevenly spaced. You had to adjust your jumps accordingly, so that it -took a really experienced stone jumper to cross in reasonably dry -condition. - -Contemplating the joys of watching Melinda come reasonably near -drowning, Harky made a shocking discovery. - -Thunder, Queenie, and Glory still trailed at the heels of the hunters, -but Duckfoot was no longer present. Harky gulped, then used the thumb of -his left hand to trace a circle on the palm of his right. Less than half -a shake ago, Duckfoot had pushed his cold nose into that dangling palm -and the circle Harky made there would certainly close him in and bring -him back from wherever he had gone. At any rate, it should. - -It didn't. Chills never born of the frosty night chased each other up -and down Harky's spine. Mun claimed Duckfoot was half duck, Miss Cathby -said that couldn't be, and Harky wavered between the two. He looked -again, but only three hounds waded into the riffle to join the hunters -gathering on the other side. Harky jumped. - -If he had his mind on his work, he'd have crossed in perfect safety. But -just as he made ready to strike a humpbacked boulder with the sole of -his left foot, he miscalculated and struck with the heel. That broke his -stride to such an extent that the next jump was six inches short, and -instead of landing on a flat-topped rock where he could have balanced, -he came down in ten inches of ice water. - -Only vast experience as a rock jumper prevented an allover bath; Harky -threw himself forward to support his upper body on the flat rock. Then, -since it was impossible to get his feet any wetter than they were, he -waded the remaining distance. - -"Really, Harold," said Melinda, who was dry as a shingle under the July -sun, "you did that rather clumsily." - -Harky made a mental note. It was easy to work the pith out of an -elderberry stick. Small stones were plentiful. One of the latter, -placed in the mouth and blown through the former, was never forgotten by -anyone with whom it collided. The next time Harky attended Miss Cathby's -school, Melinda was in for an unforgettable experience. - -For the moment, since he could do nothing else about her, he could -imagine she wasn't along. Harky turned his back on Melinda and addressed -Mun: - -"Duckfoot's gone." - -"Danged if he ain't," said Mun, who noticed for the first time that they -had only three of the four hounds with which they'd started. "When'd you -note it?" - -"Other side of the brook," Harky said in a hushed voice. "One minute his -nose was in my hand, the next it wasn't. Do you figure he took wings and -flew off?" - -"It could," Mun began, but his about-to-be-expressed opinion that such a -premise was wholly reasonable was interrupted by Melinda's, "Nonsense!" - -Harky blazed, forgetting his sensible plan to ignore her. "Watta you -know about it?" - -"Now don't lose your temper, Harold," Melinda chided. "It's silly to -suppose Duckfoot's half duck." - -Harky drew his arm back. "Silly, huh? I've a good mind to--" - -"Harky!" Mun roared. "Men don't hit wimmen!" - -"Why don't they?" Harky growled. - -"You're being childish, Harold," Melinda said sweetly. "Duckfoot's -simply gone off somewhere. Perhaps he got tired and went home." - -Harky tried to speak and succeeded only in choking. If it was insult to -assert that Duckfoot could not be half duck, it was heresy even to imply -that he left a hunt and went home because he was tired. Harky recovered -his breath. - -"Duckfoot didn't go home!" he screamed. - -"Really, Harold," Melinda said, "it isn't necessary to make so much -noise." - -Harky was saved by the bell-like tones of a suddenly-tonguing hound. - -"Queenie's got one," Raw Stanfield said. - -"That's Glory tonguing," Melinda corrected. "She's pitched just a shade -higher than Queenie." - -"Now, Miss," Raw stuffed his tobacco into a corner of his mouth, "I know -my own hound." - -"There she is," Melinda said. - -A second hound, almost exactly like the first but with subtle -differences that were apparent when both tongued at the same time, began -to sing. Raw Stanfield promptly swallowed his chew. Butt Johnson and Mun -were momentarily too shocked to move. - -Harky gasped. There was witchery present that had nothing to do with -Duckfoot. Raw didn't know his own hound when he heard it, but Melinda -did. Then Harky put the entire affair in its proper perspective. What -else could you expect when you brought a girl on a coon hunt? Raw was -just so shook up that he might be pardoned for failing to recognize -Queenie even if he saw her. - -"Le's git huntin'," Raw muttered. - -[Illustration] - -Guiding himself by the blended voices of Queenie and Glory rising into -the night air, and seeming to hover at treetop level for a moment before -they faded, Harky began to run. The cold air whipped his face. The night -whispered of all the marvels that have been since the beginning of time -and will be until the end. For a moment, he even forgot Melinda. - -This, he thought, was what coon hunting really meant. Listening to the -hounds and trying to keep pace; knowing that somewhere far ahead, swift -and silent-running Thunder was also on the coon's trail; drawing mental -pictures of the coon and his scurry to be away; Thunder bursting upon -and surprising the coon, who'd be listening to the tonguing hounds; the -chorus as all hounds gathered at the tree. Harky laughed out loud. - -Now he knew what a running deer knew, he told himself, and almost -instantly the swiftest deer seemed unbearably slow. He was the wind -itself, and he exulted in the notion that the other plodding humans, -who would surely be running, would just as surely be far behind. They -hadn't had his experience in running away from Mun. - -[Illustration] - -Glory and Queenie, who seemed to run at the same pace even as they -tongued in almost the same pitch, drew farther ahead but remained well -within hearing. Harky frowned thoughtfully as he sped through the night. -The way that coon was running, and the way the dogs became quiet at -intervals, as though they'd been thrown off the scent, he had a feeling -that they were on Old Joe himself. - -When he climbed a knoll and was able to hear nothing, he no longer -doubted. Queenie and Glory were casting for the trail, and Old Joe was -the only coon that could keep Queenie puzzled this long. Harky halted. - -"Old Joe sure enough," he said out loud. - -"Don't you think," Melinda asked calmly, "that we should go directly to -his big sycamore?" - -Harky jumped like a shot-stung fox. He blinked, not daring to believe -she'd kept pace with him but unable to discredit his own eyes. Suddenly -he felt far more the plodding turtle than the speeding deer, but he -extricated himself as neatly as Old Joe foiled a second-rate hound. - -"If I hadn't slowed down on accounta you," he said belligerently, "I'd -of been at Old Joe's tree by now." - -Melinda said meekly, "I know you were running slowly, Harold, but you -needn't have. I could have gone much faster." - -Harky gulped and felt his way. Melinda, he decided, must have brought -her rabbit's foot with her and probably she'd rolled in a whole field of -four-leaf clovers. Beyond any doubt, she'd also observed the phases of -the moon and conducted herself accordingly. - -"What do you know about Old Joe's sycamore?" he asked. - -"What everyone knows," she said casually. "Old Joe runs to it every time -he's hard pressed by hounds." - -"He's probably lost a thousand hounds and two thousand hunters at that -tree," Harky said. - -"Pooh!" Melinda scoffed. "There haven't been a thousand hounds and two -thousand hunters in the Creeping Hills during the past hundred years!" - -"Old Joe's been prowling that long," Harky declared. - -"Rubbish!" said Melinda. "He's just a big raccoon who's smart enough to -climb a tree that can't be felled or climbed. Even my own father -believes he's been here forever, but you should know better. You've been -taught by Miss Cathby." - -Harky sneered, "Miss Cathby don't know nothin' about nothin'." - -"Harold!" Melinda was properly shocked. "Don't you dare talk that way -about Miss Cathby!" - -"Ha!" Harky crowed. "I'll--" - -The battle that might have resulted from this impact of Miss Cathby's -education with the lore and legend of the Creeping Hills was forestalled -when two hounds began to bay at Old Joe's sycamore. They were Thunder -and Duckfoot. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE FALL OF MUN - - -Old Joe left his daytime den, a burrow beneath a humpbacked boulder, -half an hour after nightfall. He paused for a moment in the exit he'd -chosen--one of three leading from the den--to twitch his whiskers and -wriggle his nose. As usual, he wanted to determine what was in the wind -before going down it. There was nothing, or at least nothing that called -for more than ordinary caution. Old Joe chittered contentedly to -himself. - -Except for the one bad night, when everything went wrong and he'd -finally been chased up his big sycamore by Duckfoot, he had enjoyed a -successful season indeed. Corn had been plentiful, crawfish and mussels -abundant, poultry careless, and enemies few. Some of those that had -threatened would have been considerably better off if they hadn't. - -Notable among them was Pine Heglin's fighting dog. Smarting from that -unexpected encounter, when he'd returned to steal one of Pine's guinea -hens and been so desperately pressed, Old Joe had chosen his time and -gone back to Pine's house one night. The dog rushed. Old Joe scooted -away. After a pathetically short chase, the dog bayed him. - -The dog, however, lacked a full appreciation of the properties of bees, -and Old Joe had let himself be cornered on one of Pine's beehives. The -dog closed, the hive tipped over, and while Old Joe scurried happily -onward, the dog received a short but intensive education in the folly of -tipping beehives. Bees did not bother Old Joe. Even in summer his fur -was long enough to protect him, and whenever he felt like it, which was -whenever he wanted some honey, he raided beehives. - -Now, with a blanket of fat beneath his glossy fur, he was all ready for -the wintry blasts that would send him to bed in his big sycamore. -Between now and that uncertain period when bitter winds blew, there was -considerable living to be done. - -On this particular night the first order of living involved something to -eat, and Old Joe was in a mood for beechnuts. They were so tiny that -Melinda Garson might have held fifty in the palm of her hand and still -lacked a handful. But they were delicious, and along with acorns they -spread a bountiful autumn table because they existed by the billion. -When frost opened the pods and wind rattled the branches of beech trees, -the sound of beechnuts pattering into dry leaves was not unlike the -sound of a violent rain. - -Having chosen his menu for the night, Old Joe had only to decide which -of many beech groves offered the easiest pickings with the greatest -advantage to himself. He finally selected the one bordering Willow Brook -and just opposite Mun Mundee's farm. - -There were various reasons for his choice. First, the grove was in a -sheltered area, which meant that its pods ripened later than those that -were exposed to first frosts and heavy winds. Therefore it would not be -so thoroughly picked over, and would still be dropping nuts in -abundance. Second, this grove always produced a lush crop. - -But Old Joe's most compelling reason for his choice was that the grove -was infested with squirrels, who had been frantically gathering the -beechnuts ever since they began to drop, and storing them in hollow -logs, stumps, crevices, and any other place available. It was no part of -Old Joe's plan to scrape in the leaves and gather his dinner nut by nut -when a little investigation was certain to uncover a cache that might -contain from half a pint to a couple of quarts of beechnuts, already -gathered by some industrious squirrel. - -His campaign mapped, Old Joe proceeded to execute it. - -The autumn night posed its usual charms, but hunger took precedence over -esthetic inclinations. Old Joe did not linger to watch starlight -glinting on a pond, investigate fox fire in a swamp, or even to retrieve -a nine-inch trout, wounded in combat with some bigger fish, that was -feebly wriggling in the shallows. The trout was a delicacy, but so were -beechnuts. Let lesser coons settle for less than they wanted. - -Coming to a long pool, Old Joe plunged in and swam its length. -Thereafter he kept to Willow Brook. He'd seen no evidence of hunters and -had no reason to suppose that any were abroad tonight. Though keeping to -the water was an amateur's trick--one any good coon hound could decipher -without difficulty--leaving this break in his scent was one of Old Joe's -numerous forms of insurance. If a hound should get on him, Old Joe would -at least have time to plan some really intricate strategy. - -Dripping wet, but not even slightly chilled, and with every sense and -nerve brought wonderfully alive by his journey through ice water, Old -Joe climbed the bank into the beech grove. He paused to reconnoiter. - -The grove, composed entirely of massive beech trees, bordered Willow -Brook for about a quarter of a mile and gave way to spindly aspens on -either side. The best beechnut hunting lay in the most sheltered area -near Willow Brook, but there were other considerations. - -There had still been no evidence of hunters. Old Joe, however, could not -afford to ignore the possibility that some might venture forth. He knew -perfectly well that the instant he left Willow Brook he had started -laying a hot trail that any mediocre hound could follow. While mediocre -hounds were no cause for concern, they were as scarce in the Creeping -Hills as apples on a beech tree. - -Old Joe must plan accordingly, and his immediate plans centered about a -lazy slough that lay a short distance back in the beeches and had its -source in a lazy runlet that trickled down an upheaval of massive rocks. -He made his way toward that slough. - -The grove already had an ample quota of beechnut harvesters of high and -low degree. Old Joe circled a snuffling black bear that squatted on its -rump, raked dead leaves with both front paws and gusty abandon, and bent -its head to lick up beechnuts along with shredded leaves, dirt, and -anything else that happened to be in the way. Farther on was a buck with -massive antlers, then a whole herd of deer. A family of skunks had come -to share the bounty, and a little coon that hadn't yet learned the -proper technique of harvesting beechnuts made up in enthusiasm what he -lacked in skill. - -Old Joe bothered none. The bear and the deer were too big, the skunks -too pungent, and he couldn't be bothered with callow little coons. -Anyhow, there was plenty for all. Old Joe came to the slough and sat up -to turn his pointed nose to each of the four winds. Detecting nothing -that might interrupt his dinner, he fell to hunting. - -Towering high over the slough, touching branches across it as though -they were shaking hands, the beech twigs rattled dryly as the wind shook -them and beechnuts pattered in the leaves or made tiny splashes in the -slough. Old Joe, with no disdain for the many nuts he might have -gathered but a hearty contempt for the work involved in gathering them, -went directly to a moss-grown stump. - -He sniffed it. Then he nibbled it. Finally, half sitting and half -crouching, he felt all around it with both front paws. The moss was soft -and the stump rotting, but nowhere was there a crack or crevice in which -a provident squirrel, anticipating the winter to come, might have -concealed any beechnuts. - -In no way disheartened, Old Joe went from the stump to a gray-backed -boulder and explored that. Again he failed. On his third try, fortune -smiled. - -At the very edge of the slough, possibly because its deep roots were -imbedded in constantly-wet earth, a great beech had been partially -toppled by a high wind that screamed through the grove. One massive root -lay on top of the ground and snaked along it for three feet before -probing downward again. - -Beneath this root Old Joe found the hidden treasure trove of what must -have been the most industrious squirrel in the Creeping Hills. At least -a gallon of beechnuts were packed in so tightly that it was necessary to -pry the first ones loose. Old Joe settled himself to partaking of the -squirrel's hoard. - -Opportunity, which knocked often but rarely in such lavish measure, had -better be welcomed instantly and swiftly or there was some danger that -the squirrel might yet partake of some of the nuts. But though Old Joe -was industrious, it just wasn't his night. - -He'd eaten about a fifth of the squirrel's cache when the bear he'd -previously circled raced to the slough, splashed across it, and with a -great rattling of stones and rustling of leaves ran up the hill and -disappeared in the night. - -Old Joe came instantly to attention. The bear, a big one, was -frightened. Big bears did not easily take fright, therefore something -was now in the beech grove that had not been present when Old Joe -arrived. - -A moment later, Duckfoot rushed him. Keener scented than any of the -other three hounds, Duckfoot had been the first to discover that a coon -was indeed in the beech grove and he acted accordingly. - -Old Joe rolled down the bank into the slough and started swimming. On -such dismal occasions his mind was automatically made up, so that there -was no need to linger and determine a proper course of action. He swam -fast, but at the same time he exercised discretion. A terrified young -coon would have splashed and rippled the water, and thus marked his path -of flight for any hound that was not blind. With everything except his -eyes and the very tip of his nose submerged, Old Joe swam silently. - -It had been a case of mutual recognition and Old Joe never deluded -himself. With Duckfoot again on his trail, the only safe tree was his -big sycamore. Emerging at the head of the slough, Old Joe ran up the -trickle that fed it, scrambled down the far side of the upended rocks, -raced through a swamp, and took the shortest possible route back to -Willow Brook. He'd just reached and jumped into the brook when any -lingering plans he might have had for foiling Duckfoot were put firmly -behind him. - -Back where the hunters were gathered, Glory and Queenie began to sing. -Though he'd never been run by Glory, Queenie was the slower and noisier -half of a formidable team, and Thunder would be along presently. There -was no time to waste. Swimming the pools and running the riffles, and -knowing that neither these nor any other tactics would baffle Thunder -and Duckfoot for very long, Old Joe sacrificed strategy for haste. -Panting like a winded dog, he sprang into the slough at the base of his -sycamore, swam it, and climbed. - -He tumbled into his den, sighed gratefully, and waited for whatever came -next. - -It was Duckfoot and Thunder. Running neck and neck, the inexperienced -puppy and the tested veteran reached the sycamore at exactly the same -second and wakened the night with their voices. - -Old Joe stirred uneasily. Though this was not the first time he had -been trailed to his magic sycamore, never before had he been so hotly -pursued. He was on the point of leaving his den, climbing farther up the -sycamore and escaping through his tunnel, but Old Joe restrained -himself. He'd always been safe here and he was too smart to panic. -Besides, if the worst came to the worst, he could still use the tunnel. - -Thunder and Duckfoot, blessed with voices that would have awakened Rip -Van Winkle, were presently joined by Queenie and Glory. Old Joe -scratched his left ear with his right hind paw, a sure sign of -nervousness. On various occasions one hound had trailed him to the -sycamore, a few times there'd been two, but never before had there been -four hounds at the sycamore's base. - -Again Old Joe was tempted to resort to his tunnel. Again he refrained -and waited for the hunters. - -Harky and Melinda came. Old Joe wriggled his black nose. Harky, usually -the first to arrive at any tree when a coon was up, he knew well. His -acquaintance with Melinda was only casual. He heard the pair talking. - -"When he wants to get out," Harky avowed seriously, "some say he climbs -out on a limb and drops back into the slough. On t'other hand, some say -he grows wings and takes off like a bird." - -"How silly!" Melinda exclaimed. - -"Yeah?" Harky asked truculently. "Watta you know about it?" - -Melinda declared scornfully, "Enough not to believe such nonsense! He -has a den somewhere in that sycamore and he's in it right now! The only -reason nobody ever found it is because everyone's been too lazy to -climb!" - -"And how you gonna climb?" Harky demanded. - -"Just cut one of these smaller trees, brace it against the crotch of the -sycamore, and shinny up it," Melinda asserted. - -Harky said nothing because this purely revolutionary scheme left him -speechless. - -Old Joe's uneasiness mounted. Though he understood no part of the -conversation, he had no doubt that a new force had invaded coon hunts. -The men who'd always come to his magic sycamore had been happy just to -get there, proud of hounds able to track Old Joe so far, and amenable to -the idea that neither hounds nor humans could further cope with a coon -that was part witch. - -Old Joe didn't know what she was, but Melinda was definitely not a man. -The rest of the hunters arrived, but before they could begin their -ritual that had to do with the invincibility of Old Joe, Melinda threw -her bombshell. - -"I was telling Harold," she said brightly, "that Old Joe has a den -somewhere in this big sycamore. Why don't we fell a smaller tree, brace -it against the sycamore, and shinny up to find out?" - -"By gum!" Mun said. - -As soon as the three men recovered from this flagrant violation of -everything right and proper, Old Joe heard the sound of an axe. A tree -was toppled, trimmed, and leaned against the sycamore. - -"Let me go up, Pa," Harky said. - -Mun asserted, "If anybody's goin' to have fust look at Old Joe's den, -it'll be me." - -Mun and Old Joe started to climb. - -"Thar he scampers!" yelled Raw Stanfield. - -Old Joe continued to scamper, paying no attention whatever to the fact -that, while excitement reigned, Mun fell out of the sycamore. Old Joe -climbed out on the limb and tumbled into his tunnel. - -Duckfoot, who'd noted the obvious escape route but was just a split -second too late, tumbled in behind him. Both the tunnel and Old Joe, -however, were low-built. Duckfoot, considerably farther from the ground, -had to crawl where Old Joe ran. - -The big coon ran out of the tunnel and into the swamp with a safe enough -lead. But the next morning's sun was two hours high before he managed to -shake Duckfoot from his trail. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -IMPASSE - - -Harky Mundee shoved his fork deeply into the hay. He twisted the tines -to gather the biggest possible load; as long as a man had to pitch fool -hay he might as well do so in as few forkfuls as possible and get the -misery over with. Then he tumbled his load down the shute into the cow -stable and leaned on his fork to indulge in some sadly-needed -self-criticism. - -Mun sat in the house with a broken leg and that was a bad thing, though -on the whole it was easier to endure than Mun's ruptured temper. -However, Mun's temper was an abstract affair that might erupt at any -moment, while a broken leg was distinctly concrete. Harky told himself -that anything so indisputably tangible should never beset Mun. - -Still, hadn't it been wrought by providence? If Mun had not tried to -climb Old Joe's sycamore, he wouldn't have fallen. If he had not fallen, -he wouldn't have a broken leg. He should not have such a thing, but he -had it, and by all the rules of logic Harky should have achieved the -ultimate ideal. - -With his leg splinted and bound, Mun's current living space was -restricted to the chair upon which he sat all day long and the cot upon -which he lay all night long. Harky had been prudent enough to remove -from the sweep of his father's arms all sticks of fire wood, dishes, -hatchets, knives, and anything else Mun might throw. Let Mun roar as he -might (and did, whenever Harky was in the house), roaring broke no -bones. For the first time since he could remember, Harky had no need to -outwit his father in order to do as he pleased. - -Of course there were some tasks one did not avoid. Livestock was -incapable of caring for itself, and Harky was too close to the earth to -let any living creature suffer for lack of attention. It was far better -to butcher it, an idea Harky had played with, but no matter how long the -winter might be, two people couldn't eat six cows, four pigs, and -sixty-nine chickens. There'd always be the horses left anyway. - -Grimacing as he did so, Harky pitched another forkful of hay down the -chute. Livestock should really be taught to eat coon meat so a man, with -complete freedom of conscience, might spend all his time hunting coons. -Maybe, if cows ate something besides hay, they wouldn't be such fools. - -Harky thought suddenly of the last time he'd attended Miss Cathby's -school, and shuddered. - -One of Miss Cathby's unswerving goals embraced assailing the minds of -her students with literature other than that which their fathers might -exchange behind the barn, and to that end there was a daily reading. -Most of it was not unendurable; all Harky had to do was think about -coons and look as though he were paying attention. On this particular -day, however, he had been unable to think about coons and was forced to -listen while Miss Cathby read a poem all about new-mown hay on a bright -June day. - -Harky shuddered again and pitched furiously until he had all the cows -could eat. He jammed his fork into the hay and scrambled down the ladder -to the barn floor. - -Formal education could mean the ruin of a man if he didn't watch out. -Miss Cathby had enthused about the poem and its author, but in the first -place, hay was not harvested in June. It wasn't even ripe until July, -and whoever wrote so touchingly of new-mown hay had never stood under a -furnace-hot sun and pitched any. - -Duckfoot, who had been waiting in the chaff on the barn floor, sidled up -to Harky. Harky let his dangling hand caress the big dog's ears, and he -tried to do some thinking about Duckfoot. But thoughts of hay just -naturally started him to thinking about corn, and the Mundee corn was -still in the field where it had been shocked. - -Therein lay a major point of friction between Mun, who demanded that it -be brought in, and Harky, who wouldn't bring it. He'd long had his own -sensible ideas concerning the proper way to run a farm, and bringing in -shocked corn did not come under the category of sense. - -There were arguments pro and con, and pro was summed up by the fact -that if it was not properly harvested, there'd be neither corn for -winter feeding of pigs and chickens nor husks for bedding. This -argument, Harky admitted, was not without a certain validity. But -opposed to it was such an overwhelming weight of evidence that any value -it might possess was puny indeed. - -Though unattended corn could not suffer as neglected animals would, -Harky would endure untold agony if he first had to haul it to the barn -and then husk it. If pigs and chickens had nothing to eat they could -always be eaten, thus solving the twin problems of caring for them and -satisfying one's own appetite. Corn in the shock lured coons, but not -even Old Joe could break into a corn crib. - -The corn would stay in the shock. - -It was, or should have been, a cause for leaping in the air, clicking -one's heels together, and whooping with joy. Unafflicted by any such -desire, Harky stirred nervously and wondered at himself. There was no -special age at which a man started slipping, and if he found no delight -in ignoring tasks Mun ordered him to do, he was already far gone. - -Suddenly it occurred to Harky that there had been no particular pleasure -since that night, a week ago, when they had Old Joe up and Mun fell out -of the sycamore. Harky hadn't even wanted to go coon hunting, and then -he knew. - -Knowing, he trembled. Coon hunters of the Creeping Hills had flourished -since the first hunter brought the first hound because they did things -properly, and the proper doing was inseparably bound to a proper respect -for the art they pursued. There just hadn't been any trouble. - -Until the first time a girl horned in. - -Raw Stanfield and Butt Johnson had helped carry Mun home. Then, -understanding the fearful consequences of Melinda's heresy, they'd -summoned Queenie and Thunder to heel and hadn't been seen since. - -Shaken from the tips of his toes to the ends of his shaggy hair, Harky -needed another fifteen minutes before he could muster strength to start -milking. Melinda had put a hex on all of them that night she stood -beneath Old Joe's sycamore, with Old Joe up, and declared so loftily -that the sycamore was not a magic tree but merely one that hunters were -too lazy to chop or climb, and that Old Joe was nothing more than a big, -wise, and rather interesting coon. - -That accounted for the broken leg of Mun, the aloofness of Raw Stanfield -and Butt Johnson, and the unhappiness of Harky. He sat down to milk, but -he was still so jarred by the dreadful tidings he'd just imparted to -himself that when Old Brindle kicked the pail over Harky didn't even -threaten her with a club. Affairs were already in a state so hopeless -that nothing Old Brindle did could complicate them further. Not even if -she kicked Harky's brains out. - -He finished the milking and the other chores and latched the barn door. -Duckfoot trailed behind him as he walked toward the house, but Harky did -not have even his usual friendly pat for the hound's head when they came -to the porch. Duckfoot, who'd shed most of his puppyish ways, crawled -disconsolately into his sleeping box. - -Gloom remained Harky's companion. Fifty-one years ago, or approximately -at the beginning of time, his great-grandfather had settled this very -farm. There'd been Mundees on it since, and hounds of the lineage of -Precious Sue, and all of them had hunted Old Joe. Now the spell was -broken because a mere girl, who had been taught by Miss Cathby, who -didn't know anything about anything, had considered it right to trifle -with spells. - -Harky recalled the night Melinda had brought Glory to the coon hunt. He -had, he remembered, hoped Melinda would fall in the mud and had promised -to stamp on her head if she did. He could not help thinking that that -had been a flash of purest insight, and that all would now be favorable -if Melinda had fallen in the mud and had her head stamped on. - -Harky turned the door knob and made his decision as he did so. The new -and radical, as represented by Melinda and Miss Cathby, must go. The old -and steadfast, as embodied in the immortality of Old Joe and the -probability that Duckfoot's father was really a duck, must be restored -to the pedestal from which it had toppled. But Harky needed Mun's -advice, and he was so intent on the problem at hand that he only half -heard his father's greeting. - -"So ya finally come back, eh? Of all the blasted, lazy, pokey, -turtle-brained warts on the face of creation, I jest dunno of a one wust -than you!" - -Harky said, "Yes, Pa." - -Startled, but too much under the influence of his own momentum to stop -suddenly, Mun demanded, "Didja git the corn in?" - -"No, Pa." - -The fires in Mun's brain died. Harky, who should have been sassing him -back, was meekly turning the other cheek. Despite Mun's frequently and -violently expressed opinions concerning the all-around worthlessness of -his offspring, Harky was his son and the sole hope of the coon-hunting -branch of the clan Mundee. - -"Ya sick, Harky?" Mun asked suspiciously. - -"No, Pa." - -"Then what is chawin' on ya?" - -"Tell me again when my great-grandpappy come here," Harky requested. - -Mun said, "Nigh onto fifty-two years past." - -"That's a heap o' time, ain't it?" Harky asked. - -"A smart heap o' time," Mun declared proudly. "Not many famblys knows as -much about themselfs as us Mundees." - -"You sure," Harky went on, "that Sue come to no good end on account she -run in the dark o' the moon?" - -Mun shrugged. "What else?" - -"And Duckfoot's pappy was a duck?" - -Mun looked puzzled. "Think I'd lie, Harky?" - -"No, Pa," Harky said hastily. "Just tell me again that all us Mundees -been on the trail of Old Joe." - -"How kin ya ponder?" Mun asked. "My grandpappy told my pappy, who told -me, who told you, that Old Joe's been hunted by every Mundee." - -"What do you think of Old Joe's big sycamore?" Harky questioned. - -"It's a witch tree," Mun said seriously. "I ain't rightly been able to -figger if'n Old Joe takes wings an' flies off it or if'n he does jump in -the slough. But I'm sure that if'n Old Joe gits in his witch tree naught -can harm him." - -"Ha!" Harky exclaimed. "Now we know!" - -"Know what?" Again Mun was puzzled. - -"All," Harky declared. "Mellie Garson gets mule-kicked; Melinda brings -Glory to horn in on our hunt; we get Old Joe up in his sycamore; Melinda -says it ain't no witch tree and Old Joe's naught but a big coon; you -believe her and try to climb; you bust your leg; Raw and Butt don't want -no more part of us--and," Harky wailed, "I can't even take pleasure on -account you can't make me fetch the corn in!" - -"By gum!" Mun said, "you got it!" - -"Sure I got it," Harky asserted. "Why'd you let Melinda horn in on our -coon hunt, Pa?" - -"I don't rightly know," Mun admitted. "I wa'n't of no mind to have her, -an' I know Raw'n Butt wa'n't. But she was of a mind to go, an' gol ding -it, when a woman's of a mind to do somethin', they do it!" - -"I would of stomped on her head if she'd fell in the mud," Harky assured -his father. - -"I know," Mun meditated, "an' it wa'n't a poor notion. But, gol ding it, -men just don't mistreat wimmen." - -"I still don't know why," said Harky. - -"Nor I," Mun admitted. "They jest don't an' that's all. Your ma, she -didn't weigh mor'n half what I do, but she's the only mortal critter -ever made me take to the woods." - -"Are women ornery all the time?" Harky questioned. - -"'Bout half," Mun said. "Rest o' the time, well, they're wimmen." - -"What else do you know about 'em, Pa?" - -"Durn little," Mun confessed. "What ya drivin' at anyhow, Harky?" - -"Melinda put a spell on us," Harky said. "But it ain't all her doing. -Miss Cathby showed her how." - -"I never thought of that," said Mun. "Never ag'in do I make ya go to -school, Harky." - -"Good," Harky said. "But I got to get that spell off." - -"How do ya aim to go about it?" Mun questioned. - -"I'll ask Melinda to fetch Glory on another coon hunt," Harky declared. -"We'll run Old Joe up his sycamore again. Then I'll climb the tree and -make her climb with me. She'll eat mud when she finds out there ain't no -den." - -"Harky!" Mun said joyously. "Your great-grandpappy would be right proud -of the way you talk!" - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -HARKY'S PLOT - - -Mellie Garson, still immobilized by the mule kick, was aware of the -stain that afflicted his immortal soul. But he was not completely -repentant. Nothing could be worse than another day on the pickle keg. - -Listlessly Mellie caught up a handful of pebbles and shied them one by -one at a knothole in the woodshed wall. He shook his head and uttered a -despairing moan. Tossing pebbles at the knothole was the only game he'd -invented to beguile the passing hours, and at first it had been -interesting because he made a bull's-eye only about one time in twenty. -Now it seemed that every pebble he tossed sailed through the knothole as -naturally as a trout swims up riffles. - -Mellie contemplated scooping up more pebbles for more sharpshooting, but -where was the fun when he just couldn't miss? Glumly he reviewed the sin -for which he must one day answer. - -He should not, he told himself, ever have sent Melinda to take Glory on -the coon hunt. But how was he to know they'd get Old Joe up in his magic -sycamore? Could he possibly have had forewarning of the fact that -Melinda would not only question the witchery of Old Joe and his magic -tree, but infect the minds of her male companions with her own -skepticism? Could anyone guess that the hallowed traditions of the -Creeping Hills coon hunters would topple simply because a girl took part -in a coon hunt? - -Mellie shook his head sadly. Melinda, not exactly a woman, was not -exactly a girl either. She was, Mellie told himself, old enough to cast -the monkey wrench that usually lands in the gears whenever women intrude -on affairs that by every law of God and nature belong exclusively to -men. - -The wreckage had been fearful indeed; Mun Mundee laid up with a broken -leg; Raw Stanfield and Butt Johnson afraid to show their faces on the -lower reaches of Willow Brook; Harky Mundee mad as a trapped mink; and -Melinda explaining blithely that hunting raccoons was indeed good sport. - -Mellie buried his face in his hands and shook with anguish. He was not, -he told himself honestly, as ashamed as he should be because he had -thrown such a destructive bomb among the Creeping Hills coon hunters. -But that a Garson, even a female Garson, should refer to the art of coon -hunting as mere "good sport" shook the very foundations of everything in -which Mellie had faith. - -Glory, who had been dozing in the sun, rose and prowled restlessly over -to snuffle at the woodpile. Mellie regarded her with an experienced eye. - -Melinda might lack a true appreciation of coon hunting, but she'd -certainly given him a thorough rundown on Glory. A slow starter and slow -hunter, Melinda had said, and she tongued on the trail. But she was -steady as a church and true as a homing pigeon. She was every bit as -good as Queenie, and with a little experience she'd be better. A year -from now, any coon Glory got on would be treed or run to earth. - -Mellie had a sudden, uncomfortable feeling that he himself could not -have found out so much about Glory in just one hunt. Or if he had, he'd -be inclined to doubt until Glory proved herself. But he'd accepted -Melinda's evaluation without the slightest question, and now as he -looked at Glory he knew a rising uneasiness. - -A good thing was never to be taken for granted, and there was much that -could happen to any hunting hound; Mellie had only to remember Precious -Sue. Though he fervently hoped she wouldn't, Glory might go the same -way, and where would he find another coon hound of equal quality? There -was only one source. - -However, there was a great deal involved. It was blasphemy even to think -in terms of ordinary coon dogs when Glory was simultaneously in mind. -There were only two hounds on Willow Brook worthy of her, Thunder and -Duckfoot. Things being as they were, even if all else were equal, it was -unlikely that Butt Johnson would bring either his hound or himself -within nine miles of the Garsons, or anything that belonged to the -Garsons. - -About to catch up another handful of pebbles, Mellie grimaced and -refrained. He did not know how many pebbles he'd flicked from the -upended pickle keg through the knothole and into the woodshed, but -offhand he guessed there were at least four bushels, and he didn't even -want to think about another one. Nor had he much of anything else to -occupy his thoughts. His daughters, with a minimum of fuss and a maximum -of efficiency, had all the farm tasks well in hand. - -Mellie resumed his study of Glory, who had lain down in the sun but was -not sleeping, and wondered if he should keep her tied up. She might go -wandering, and there was no assurance that she'd be as lucky as Precious -Sue. As everyone knew, the woods were just filled with all sorts of -witches, and many of them were all bad. - -Glumly Mellie pondered the probability that she'd break loose and go -wandering even if he tied her (would anything ever go right for him?) -when Glory sat up, tilted her head, and voiced a warning wail. A moment -later, Harky Mundee appeared. - -Mellie sat still, doing his best to conceal his amazement, for he'd have -been no more completely astounded if Old Joe himself had appeared with -the ghost of Precious Sue in hot pursuit. Obviously Harky was not -seeking a fight, for he carried no fighting tools. But he certainly was -not coming in peace; after Mellie's foul trick, the Mundees would never -make peace with the Garsons. On the point of demanding that Harky state -his business and be on his way, Harky forestalled him with: - -"I come to ask can Melinda fetch Glory on another coon hunt tonight?" - -For a moment Mellie felt as though he'd again been mule-kicked, this -time squarely between the eyes. He blinked and recovered. - -"I thought," he heard himself saying, "that you come to ask kin Melinda -fetch Glory on another coon hunt tonight?" - -"I did," Harky asserted. - -A sudden suspicion pricked Mellie's mind. Boys were boys and girls were -girls, and all things considered it was a very pleasing arrangement, and -there was no harm whatever in a bit of smooching. But how come Harky -Mundee, otherwise so very sensible, thought he could successfully blend -that with a coon hunt? Or did he? - -"You got notions 'bout that girl child of mine?" he demanded. - -"You bet!" Harky assured him. - -"Well, I don't know as I have any real objections. Melinda's a mite -young, but you're a mite young yourself to be huntin' a wife." - -"Wife!" Harky gasped. "You think I been moonstruck?" - -"You talk like you been," Mellie growled. "A man has to be 'fore he'll -let himself in for all what can happen when he _asks_ a woman to go coon -huntin'. Who ya aim to take along outside o' Melinda an' Glory?" - -"Me an' Duckfoot," Harky stated. - -"But you ain't got no ideas 'bout Melinda?" Mellie pursued. - -"You're darn' whistlin' right I got ideas!" Harky said. "I've had 'em -ever since the night everything got smashed to bits!" - -"I know," Mellie said gloomily. - -"I can't even take no pleasure on account Pa can't make me fetch the -corn in and husk it," Harky continued. - -"I know," said Mellie, and he shrugged helplessly. "Many's the time I -been tempted to leave mine out, but with fourteen wimmen folk, a body's -got less chanst than you stand with your Pa." - -"Could be you're right," Harky said reflectively. "I guess there's times -when a man like you just can't help himself, and that's why you sent -Melinda on the coon hunt." - -"I could of helped myself," Mellie corrected. "I could of told Melinda -to stay home an' she'd of stayed. But I didn't an' she didn't." - -"Why'd you send her?" Harky asked. - -"Pure hellishness," said Mellie. "I was mule-kicked an' couldn't go coon -huntin' so I figgered I'd ruin it for everybody else." - -"You sure enough did," Harky told him. "Pa's got a busted leg, Raw and -Butt are staying near enough the woods so they can duck into 'em, and us -coon hunters are just going to sink right where we are without we do -something." - -"What ya aim to do, Harky?" - -"I got to take Melinda out and I'll bring her back. We have to run Old -Joe up his big sycamore and I got to show Melinda that there ain't any -den there for him to hide in." - -"It's a right big order," Mellie said. - -"But the only chance any of us got," Harky pointed out. "That Miss -Cathby, she come into the hills and tried to teach that Old Joe ain't -nothing but a big old coon. The rest, she says, is a lot of -foolishness, too. If we don't put a finish to that sort of thing once -and for all, even us men will be sitting around gathering our lore out -of books 'stead of coon hunts." - -Mellie shuddered at a prospect so horrible. There was a brief silence, -and Harky asked, "Can Melinda fetch Glory tonight?" - -Mellie said seriously, "Maybe you ain't been moonstruck in one way, but -you sure have been in another. You ever try tellin' a woman what to do?" - -"No," Harky conceded, "but I'd like to." - -"Me too," Mellie said sadly, "but I know better. Melinda kin go if she -wants to, an' I kind of think she will on account she likes coon -huntin'. But--" - -"But what?" Harky asked. - -"But nothin'," Mellie said. - -About to fill Harky's understanding ear with his recent mental turmoil, -and how that was responsible for his decision to keep Glory tied, Mellie -wisely said nothing. Somehow or other he'd got just what he wanted -anyhow, and Glory would be running with Duckfoot. Only fools meddled -with affairs that were already perfect. - -"Good enough," said Harky. "I'll wait 'til Melinda comes." - -In due course, another day at Miss Cathby's school behind them, Melinda -and Mary danced into the yard. Mary, who not only thought Harky a -roughneck but said so loudly, frequently, and publicly, stuck her tongue -out at him and ran into the house. Melinda, met and accompanied by an -ecstatic Glory, came to where her father and Harky waited. - -"You must have your corn in, Harold," she said sweetly. - -"How come you ask that?" Harky demanded. - -"If you didn't, you'd never be wasting daylight hours just talking." - -"Corn ain't in and it ain't gonna be," Harky stated. "It ain't none of -your mix if 'tis or not. What I come to ask is, will you bring Glory and -come hunting tonight?" - -"Can I, Pa?" Melinda breathed. - -"If you've a mind to," Mellie said. - -"Oh, Pa!" - -She kissed him, assured Harky that she would be there with Glory at -nightfall, and ran into the house. Mellie turned glowing eyes on Harky. - -"You do git yourself a wife come two-three years, don't cuss your girl -children. Didja see her kiss me?" - -"Fagh!" said Harky. - - * * * * * - -Duckfoot, sitting on the Mundee porch, was hopefully sniffing the pork -chops Harky was frying inside. Knowing that in the fullness of time he -would be gnawing the bones, Duckfoot licked his pendulous jowls in happy -anticipation and blew through his nose. - -If he thought of himself at all, which he seldom did, it was never to -wonder what he was or why he had been created. He was a hound, he had -been created to hunt coons, and that's all Duckfoot had to know. - -He could not possibly understand that he was a canine genius, and he -wouldn't have cared if he had. The blood of Precious Sue mingled with -that of Rafe Bradley's huge hound in Duckfoot, and he had inherited the -best of both plus something more. He was born with a sense of smell and -an ability to stick to a trail that is rare in even the best of -experienced hounds. - -The extra something consisted of a talent to out-think and outguess the -quarry he was running. He'd been a mere pup the night Old Joe came -raiding, but he'd experienced little difficulty in tracking Old Joe to -his magic sycamore and he'd learned since. - -The second time they ran Old Joe, Duckfoot had paced the renowned -Thunder and arrived at the sycamore with his far more experienced -hunting companion. He'd known perfectly well that Old Joe was in the -den, for he could smell him there. - -With a coon up, and for as long as the coon remained up, Duckfoot was -satisfied to run true to form and bay the tree. Sooner or later his -master would hear him tonguing and arrive to take charge. But Duckfoot -had no intention of letting any coon, treed or not, get the upper hand -and he called on his inborn hunting sense to make sure they never did. - -Even Thunder considered his whole duty discharged if he either caught -his coon on the ground or treed him and bayed the tree. Duckfoot went -beyond that to a complete grasp of any given situation. He had known -even as he supported Thunder's voice with his own that Old Joe might try -to escape and that the one logical escape route was farther up the -sycamore and into the tunnel. - -The instant Old Joe left his den, Duckfoot raced for the ledge. Only the -cramped tunnel prevented his overtaking Old Joe, and there'd been a -long, hard chase after the big coon emerged into the swamp. Old Joe had -finally escaped by entering a beaver pond, diving, evicting the rightful -tenants from their domed house, and waiting it out. - -It was a maneuver that Duckfoot had yet to learn; all he was sure of was -that beaver appeared but the coon disappeared. Duckfoot, however, had -learned exactly what to do should Old Joe again enter his den in the -sycamore and be forced out of it. Rather than go to the tunnel's -entrance, he'd go to its mouth and wait for his quarry to come out. - -Thus Old Joe entered a wrong phase of his own special moon. If he treed -in the sycamore and stayed there, his den would surely be discovered. If -he left, Duckfoot would catch him at the swamp. - -Two seconds before his supper was ready, Duckfoot winded Old Joe. - -The old raider was down in the corn, making ready to rip a shock apart -and help himself to the ears, when Duckfoot rushed. With a coon -scented, he forgot even the prospect of pork chop bones. - -The trail led to Willow Brook. Ranging upstream, Duckfoot found where -the big coon had emerged on the far bank and tried to lose his scent in -a slough. Duckfoot solved that one. Running like a greyhound when he was -on scent and working methodically when he was not, he went on. - -Presently, far behind, he heard Glory begin to tongue. Duckfoot set -himself to working out another twist in Old Joe's trail. - -Beyond any doubt, it would lead to the magic sycamore. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -AUTUMN NIGHT - - -Old Joe scrambled up his magic sycamore and tumbled into his den. Five -and a half minutes later Duckfoot arrived to waken the night with his -roaring. Old Joe crouched nervously in the leaf-filled den, knowing that -at last he had been careless. There were various reasons for his lapse -in good judgment, of which the night itself was most important. It was -mild autumn, just such a night as sometimes lingered through -mid-December and sometimes changed in a few hours to cold winter that -brought snow and left Willow Brook ice-locked for another season. - -When he started out Old Joe had an uneasy feeling that this was to be, -and that tonight would be his last to prowl the Creeping Hills until the -February thaw. Uncertainty as to just how far he might venture from a -safe den contributed to his carelessness, and he raided Mun Mundee's -because his was the only corn left standing in the shock. - -So doing he had scarcely a thought for Duckfoot. He chittered anxiously -as he lay in the den and listened to the big hound roar. - -The magic sycamore was a witch tree no longer; its spell had been broken -the last time Old Joe treed in it and Mun tried to climb. The big coon -did not know that Mun had fallen and broken a leg in falling; he'd have -felt more cheerful if he had been aware of an occurrence so delightful. -He was certain that he could now be chased out of this den and equally -sure that Duckfoot knew his avenue of escape. - -But even though Old Joe felt his mistake, he did not feel that it was -necessarily a fatal one. - -He decided to remain where he was and await developments. If the hunters -flushed him from his den, he'd try to escape through his tunnel. Should -Duckfoot be waiting there, Old Joe's only choice would be to try -fighting off the hound until he was in the tunnel. Then he could run -away. - -Anything else that might arise, he'd deal with when the time came. - -Glory arrived to add her shrill voice to Duckfoot's bass roars, and then -Harky and Melinda came. Old Joe climbed the mouth of his den and poised -there; if it was necessary to run up the sycamore and drop into his -tunnel, every split second would be precious. - -He saw the glow of the lantern. He heard the measured blows of an axe -followed by the sound of a smaller tree toppling. The big coon waited -until it was trimmed and propped against the sycamore, then he could -wait no longer. - -He left his den fast, scampered up the sycamore, and climbed out on the -limb that overhung the tunnel's entrance. Old Joe continued to move -fast. Though he was ready to fight if Duckfoot were waiting for him--and -the big coon fully expected that he was--the coons that lived longest -were those that ran away when they could avoid fights. It would be -distinctly to his advantage if he reached the tunnel ahead of Duckfoot. - -Meeting no hound when he dropped into the tunnel, Old Joe sighed -thankfully and scooted onwards. Again he chose the branch that led into -the swamp, for there were various courses open now. If Duckfoot was -waiting for him when he emerged into the swamp, he could always go back -and through the tunnel's other branch. - -Duckfoot was not waiting. A little relieved because there was no pursuit -and a little worried for the same reason, Old Joe cut a winding trail -into the swamp and circled back toward Willow Brook. - -He plunged in, and climbed out when he came to another swamp. It was the -one he'd sought in February, when he voluntarily left his magic sycamore -and stopped to steal a chicken from Mun Mundee on the way. Old Joe went -unerringly to the same huge hollow oak. - -There was still no hound on his trail and now he thought there'd be -none. The finger of providence had crooked at the right moment, and Old -Joe would run another autumn. - -As he entered the hollow oak, he turned his sensitive nose away from the -freezing wind that swept down. His premonition had been correct; winter -would soon rule the Creeping Hills. - -High in the great oak, Old Joe's sleeping mate awakened to growl. She -surged forward and nipped his nose. Old Joe backed hastily away and -chittered pleadingly. The next time he advanced, she let him come. - -This winter they'd share the same den tree. - - * * * * * - -Harky Mundee, who knew that a hound should not be heavily fed just -before a hunt, still thought it unwise and unfair if they were allowed -to run on a completely empty stomach. He chose a pork chop bone and some -scraps of meat for Duckfoot's supper and took them out on the porch. -Nobody had to tell him what had happened. - -Duckfoot, who was always fed as soon as Mun and Harky finished eating, -appreciated his suppers. Nothing except the scent of a coon could force -him to be absent when his meal was ready, and the only place he might -have scented a coon was down in the shocked corn. - -Harky took Duckfoot's supper back into the house. Mun looked up -inquiringly. - -"He's off on a coon," Harky explained. "One must of come raiding in our -corn and he winded it." - -"He must of," Mun agreed. "Could it be by any chanst Old Joe, Harky?" -Mun pleaded. - -Harky said sadly, "I can't tell, Pa." - -"Ain't you got a feelin'?" Mun persisted. - -"I ain't had any kind of feeling I can count on since the night Melinda -horned in on our coon hunt." - -Mun sighed unhappily. "Goshamighty. Wish I'd of turn't her back that -night." - -"Wish you had," Harky agreed. "We wouldn't be in this fix now." - -"If it's jest a common coon, Duckfoot'll soon have it up," Mun said. -"You can git him an' still have the night to prowl for Old Joe." - -Harky said, "I'll go out for a listen." - -Harky went out on the porch and strained to hear in the deepening night. -His hopes rose. Duckfoot, a silent trailer, would come silently on any -ordinary coon that might be raiding the shocked corn and he'd almost -surely tree it within hearing of the house. He would not get Old Joe up -so easily. Harky rejoined Mun. - -"I can't hear anything." - -Mun said, "It could be Old Joe, then." - -"It could be," Harky agreed. "Gol ding it! Are women late for -everything? Even coon hunts?" - -"Most times," said Mun, "'cept when they're early." - -Harky laid out Mun's coon-hunting axe, filled the lantern, stuck the -flashlight in his pocket, and put the .22 in easy reach. He stifled an -urge to go out on the porch for another listen. This night the whole -future of coon hunting in the Creeping Hills was at stake, but such -confidence as Harky had possessed was fast waning. Taking a girl on a -coon hunt had brought about this whole mess. Where was his assurance -that taking the same girl on a second hunt would not result in an even -more hopeless tangle? - -What had seemed sheer inspiration, and a positive way to retrieve -shattered legend by proving to Melinda that she was wrong and the coon -hunters right, no longer seemed such a good idea. When Melinda did not -come, Harky began to hope she wouldn't. Just as there seemed reason to -think this hope might be realized, Melinda arrived. - -She was dressed in the same costume she'd worn for the previous hunt, -except that she wore two shirts instead of just one. Both together, -however, did nothing to conceal the fact that no masculine coon hunter -was bundled beneath them; Harky thought sourly that even if Melinda -wore her father's bearskin coat she'd still look like a girl. - -"Where you been?" he demanded. - -"Why I came at nightfall, Harold," she answered. "I'm not late." - -"Y'are too!" - -Said Melinda, "You're so unreasonable, Harold. Isn't he, Mr. Mundee?" - -"I figger--Yeah," said Mun. - -Harky favored his traitorous father with a bitter glance. He put on his -coat, and with the flashlight secure in a pocket he took the .22 and the -coon-hunting axe in one hand and the lantern in the other. - -"Duckfoot's gone," he said accusingly. "A coon come raiding our corn and -he run off on it." - -"It isn't my fault," Melinda pointed out. "Let's go find him." - -"Where's Glory?" - -"Outside, of course. Harold, if we take Glory down to your shocked corn, -she'll pick up the same scent Duckfoot's already on. That way we'll find -him easily, don't you think?" - -Harky expressed what he thought in a ferocious scowl, his feelings in no -way improved because Melinda had suggested the very thing he intended -to do anyhow. - -"C'mon," he said. - -"Let me carry something." - -"I got it, soon's I light the lantern." - -Glory rose to meet them when they went out on the porch. Harky paused -just long enough to listen, and went on. Now he was fairly certain that -Duckfoot was again on Old Joe, for an ordinary coon would have been up, -within hearing, before this. Without a backward glance, Harky moved -toward the shocked corn. - -Glory trotted away and began to tongue as she found scent. She ran -directly to Willow Brook, was silent as she cast for the trail, and -resumed tonguing when she found it. Harky determined her direction. - -"They're on Old Joe again," Melinda pronounced. "We'll save time by -going directly to his big sycamore." - -Disdaining to answer, for he had been on the point of dazzling Melinda -with this very suggestion, Harky started to run. He no longer deluded -himself that he was the rushing wind, or even a racing deer, for the -last time he'd entertained such notions Melinda had accused him of -running slowly. But he knew a direct route to Old Joe's witch tree and a -blackberry thicket on the way. - -He crashed through it, holding the .22 and the axe across his chest and -a little in front to divert the whipping canes, and he grunted with -satisfaction when he heard Melinda gasp. Harky steered a course to -Willow Brook. - -There was a log there, a fallen pine that spanned a shallow pool, and it -made an adequate bridge except during flood time. Harky held the lantern -high, jumped on the log, and at once began a wild effort to keep his -footing. - -The night had turned colder. Running, he hadn't noticed the lower -temperature or thought the log would be ice coated. His luck held. Harky -danced to the far bank, jumped off the log, and continued running. - -Duckfoot was tonguing at Old Joe's magic sycamore. Presently Glory -joined him. Harky wondered. Duckfoot, who had been roaring constantly -and furiously, suddenly began to yap like a puppy, and Glory trilled her -tree bark. It seemed that even hounds were bewitched when girls horned -in on coon hunts, but they had Old Joe up once again. - -Reaching the sycamore, Harky discovered the two hounds alternately -barking up the tree and cavorting around each other, with far more -emphasis on the latter. A sudden suspicion entered Harky's mind. It was -a good thing Duckfoot had run ahead of Glory or neither would have -reached Old Joe's witch tree. - -Harky felled a smaller tree. The lesser branches he sliced off at the -trunk, the larger ones he stubbed to serve as hand- and foot-holds. With -some effort, he leaned his ladder tree against the sycamore and turned -to Melinda. The time for explaining was here. - -"Can you shinny up behind me?" he demanded. - -"Y--, yes, Harold." - -There was something in her voice that had not been there before, a -quaver that did not belong. Harky held the lantern high and turned -toward her. Melinda's hat was missing, her dark hair plastered wetly -against her head. Her clothes were soaking wet, her lips were blue with -cold and her teeth chattered. Scratches left by the blackberry canes -streaked her young cheeks. - -"What in tunket happened to you?" Harky demanded. - -"I fell in when we crossed the log," Melinda apologized. "I'm sorry." - -"You can't climb when you're shiverin' that way," Harky said crossly. -"You might fall and I don't want to carry you out of here. I'll warm -you." - -He unbuttoned her wet jacket, slipped it off her trembling shoulders, -and at the same time opened his own coat. He drew her very near and -buttoned his coat around the pair of them. A sudden electric shock -coursed through him and all at once he was very pleasantly warm. - -Harky put both arms around her and looked down at her upturned face. A -stray star beam lighted it gently. Presently Melinda said, - -"I'm warm now, Harold." - -"Not warm enough," said Harky, who was astounded to discover that there -was something more pleasant than looking for coons' dens. "I'll warm you -some more. And call me Harky, huh?" - -"Aren't we going to climb to Old Joe's den?" she asked shyly. - -"Best not tonight," said Harky, who wouldn't have considered abandoning -what he was doing for a dozen Old Joes. "We have to get you warm. Will -you come coon hunting with me again, Melinda?" - -"I'm afraid not, Harky," she said in a troubled voice. - -"Why?" - -"I simply cannot go anywhere too often with any boy who lets his -father's corn stand in the shock when it should be brought in and -husked." - -"I'll bring it in," Harky promised recklessly. "I won't do a lick of -hunting until it's all in and husked! How about a kiss, Melinda?" - -"Oh, Harky!" - -"Please!" - -"M-mmm!" - -It occurred to Harky, but only very vaguely, that Miss Cathby's foothold -in the Creeping Hills was too solid ever to dislodge. But let what may -happen. In years to come, Old Joe would still prowl on Willow Brook, -hounds of Precious Sue's lineage would trail him, and Mundees would -follow the hounds. Nothing could stop any part of it. - -Harky had a feeling. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Duck-footed Hound, by James Arthur Kjelgaard - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND *** - -***** This file should be named 41723-8.txt or 41723-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/7/2/41723/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Duck-footed Hound - -Author: James Arthur Kjelgaard - -Release Date: December 28, 2012 [EBook #41723] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41723 ***</div> <h1>THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND</h1> @@ -4347,384 +4308,6 @@ follow the hounds. Nothing could stop any part of it.</p> <p>Harky had a feeling.</p> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Duck-footed Hound, by James Arthur Kjelgaard - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCK-FOOTED HOUND *** - -***** This file should be named 41723-h.htm or 41723-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/7/2/41723/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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