LOOKING UP THE SKY, PAPA SAID, "THAT DOESN'T LOOK GOOD up there. I think we are in for a storm."
The sky had turned a dark gray. Fast-moving clouds were rolling through the heavens.
Grandpa said, "Looks like we're going to get some wind, too."
Scared and thinking everyone might want to stop hunting because of a few clouds, I said, "If a storm is brewing, it's a good night to hunt. All game stirs just before a storm."
Thirty minutes later, Papa said, "Listen."
We stood still. A low moaning sound could be heard in the tops of the tall sycamores.
Grandpa said, "I was afraid of that. We're going to get some wind."
We heard a rattling in the leaves and underbrush. It was beginning to sleet. The air turned cold and chilly.
From far downriver, we heard the deep baying of a hound on a trail. It was Old Dan. Seconds later, the rhythmic crying of Little Ann could be heard. Swallowing the lump that had jumped up in my throat, I whooped as loud as I could.
The ground was turning white with sleet. The storm had really set in. We hurried along.
I said to Papa, "If this keeps up that old coon won't run long. He'll head for his den."
"If it gets much worse," Grandpa said, "I know some coon hunters that won't be running very long. They'll be frozen too stiff to run."
The judge asked if there was any danger of getting lost.
"I don't know," Papa said. "It's all strange country to me."
My dogs' voices sounded far away. I knew they were much closer than they sounded as they were downwind from us. Finding three large sycamores growing close together, we stopped on the leeward side.
Papa shouted above the wind, "I don't know if we can take much more of this."
"It is bad," Grandpa replied, "and it looks like it's going to get worse."
"You can't see over fifteen feet now," the judge said. "Do you think we can find the buggy?"
"I think we can find the buggy all right," Papa said.
I could no longer hear the voices of my dogs. This had me worried. I didn't want to leave them out in the storm.
"Can anyone hear the hounds?" Grandpa asked.
"I can't," Papa said.
The judge spoke up. "Fellows, I think we'd better go in," he said. "There's no telling where they are. They may have crossed the river."
Scared and knowing I had to do something, I said, "They're closer than you think, probably treed by now. You can't hear them for this wind." I begged, "Let's go a little further."
There was no reply and no one made a move to leave the shelter of the trees.
Taking a few steps, I said, "I'll take the lead. Just follow me."
"Billy, we couldn't find them," Papa said. "You can't see or hear a thing. We had better start back for camp."
"I think so, too," the judge said.
At this remark, I cried, "I've been out in storms like this before, all by myself. I've never left my dogs in the woods, and I'm not going to now, even if I have to look for them by myself."
No one answered.
"Please go just a little further," I begged. "I just know we'll hear them."
Still no one spoke or made a move to go on.
Stepping over to my father, I buried my face in his old mackinaw coat. Sobbing, I pleaded with him not to turn back.
He patted my head. "Billy," he said, "a man could freeze to death in this storm, and besides, your dogs will give up and come in."
"That's what has me worried," I cried. "They won't come in. They won't, Papa. Little Ann might, but not Old Dan. He'd die before he'd leave a coon in a tree."
Papa was undecided. Making up his mind, he stepped away from the tree and said to the others, "I'm going on with him. You fellows coming, or going back?"
He turned and followed me. Grandpa and the judge fell in behind him.
By this time the ground was covered with a thin white layer of sleet. We kept slipping and falling. I could hear Grandpa mumbling and grumbling. The wind-driven sleet stung our skin like thousands of pricking needles. Strong gusts of wind growled and moaned through the tops of the tall timber.
Once during a momentary lull of the storm, I thought I heard the baying of a hound. I told my father I thought I had heard Old Dan.
"From which direction?" he asked.
"From that way," I said, pointing to our left.
We started on. A few minutes later Papa stopped. He shouted to my grandfather, "Did you hear anything?"
"No," Grandpa shouted back. "I can't hear anything in this storm."
"I thought I did, but I'm not sure," the judge said.
"Where was it coming from?" Papa asked.
"Over that way," the judge said, pointing to our right.
"That's the way it sounded to me," Papa said.
At that moment, all of us heard the deep voice of Old Dan.
"It sounds as if they're close," Grandpa said.
"Let's split up," said the judge. "Maybe one of us can find them."
"No," Papa said, "it'd be easy to get lost in this storm."
"I think they're more to the right of us," I said.
"I do, too," Papa said.
We trudged on. Old Dan bawled again. The sound of his voice seemed to be all around us.
"The way that wind is whipping the sound through this timber," the judge said, "we'd be lucky if we ever found them."
Papa shouted over the roar of the wind, "We can't take much more of this. We'll freeze to death."
The men were giving up. I felt the knot again as it crawled up in my throat. Salt water froze on my eyelashes. Kneeling down, I put my ear close to the icy ground in hopes I could hear my dogs, but I couldn't hear anything above the roar of the blizzard.
Standing up, I peered this way and that. All I could see was a white wall of whirling sleet. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer and hoped for a miracle.
We heard a sharp crack and a loud crashing noise. A large limb, torn from a tree by the strong wind, fell to the ground. The sharp crack of the limb gave me the idea. Shouting to my father, I said, "Shoot the gun. If my dogs are close enough to hear it, maybe Little Ann will come to us."
Papa didn't hesitate. Pointing the gun high over his head, he pulled the trigger. The sharp crack rang out into the teeth of the storm.
We waited.
Just when I had given up all hope and had sunk to the lowest depth of despair, out of the white wall of driving sleet, my little dog came to me. I knelt down and gathered her in my arms.
Taking one of the lead ropes from my pocket, I tied it to her collar. I said, "Find him, little girl. Please find Old Dan."
Right then I didn't care about coons, gold cups, or anything. All I wanted was my dogs.
I don't know how she did it. Straight into the face of the storm she led us. Time after time she would stop and turn her head this way and that. I knew she couldn't scent or see anything. Instinct alone was guiding her. Over a winding and twisting trail, we followed.
Coming out of the bottoms, she led us into a thick canebrake. The tall stalks sheltered us from the storm. The roaring of the wind didn't seem as loud. Like ghostly figures, large trees loomed out of the almost solid mass. Falling and stumbling, we kept pushing on.
Grandpa shouted, "Hold up a minute. I'm just about all in."
We stopped.
"Do you think that hound knows what she's doing?" the judge asked. "Maybe we're just running around in circles."
Looking at me, Papa said, "I hope she does. Some of these canebrakes cover miles. If we get lost in here, we'll be in bad shape."
Grandpa said, "I think we've gone too far. The last time I heard Old Dan, he sounded quite close."
"That was because the wind carried the sound," I said.
The judge spoke up, "Fellows, no dog is worth the lives of three men. Now let's do the smart thing and get out of here while we can. Our clothes are wet. If we keep on wandering around in this jungle, we'll freeze to death. It doesn't look like this blizzard is ever going to let up."
I could hear the roar of the blizzard back in the thick timber of the bottoms. Two large limbs being rubbed together by the strong wind made a grinding creaking sound. The tall slender cane around us rattled and swayed.
I could feel the silence closing in. I knew the judge's cold logic had had its effect on my father and grandfather. The men had given up. There was no hope left for me.
Kneeling down, I put my arms around Little Ann. I felt the warm heat from her moist tongue caressing my ear. Closing my eyes, I said, "Please, Dan, bawl one more time, just one more time."
I waited for my plea to be answered.
With its loud roaring, the north wind seemed to be laughing at us. All around, tall stalks of cane were weaving and dancing to the rattling rhythm of their knife-edged blades.
My father tried to talk above the wind, but his words were lost in the storm. Just before another blast, clear as a foghorn on a stormy sea, Old Dan's voice rang loud and clear. It seemed louder than the roar of the wind or the skeleton-like rustling of the tall swaying cane.
I jumped to my feet. My heart did a complete flip-flop. The knot in my throat felt as big as an apple. I tried to whoop, but it was no use. Little Ann bawled and tugged on the rope.
There was no mistaking the direction. We knew that Little Ann had been right all along. Straight as an arrow, she had led us to him.
Old Dan was treed down in a deep gully. I slid off the bank and ran to him. His back was covered with a layer of frozen sleet. His frost-covered whiskers stood out straight as porcupine quills.
I worked the wedges of ice from between his toes, and scraped the sleet from his body with my hands. Little Ann came over and tried to wash his face. He didn't like it. Jerking loose from me, he ran over to the tree, reared up on it, and started bawling.
Hearing shouting from the bank above me, I looked up. I could dimly see Papa and the judge through the driving sleet. At first I thought they were shouting to me, but on peering closer I could see that they had their backs to me. Catching hold of some long stalks of cane that were hanging down from the steep bank, I pulled myself up.
Papa shouted in my ear, "Something has happened to your grandfather."
Turning to the judge, he said, "He was behind you. When was the last time you saw him?"
"I don't know for sure," the judge said. "I guess it was back there when we heard the hound bawl."
"Didn't you hear anything?" Papa asked.
"Hear anything?" the judge exclaimed. "How could I hear anything in all that noise? I thought he was behind me all the time, and didn't miss him until we got here."
I couldn't hold back the tears. My grandfather was lost and wandering in that white jungle of cane. Screaming for him, I started back.
Papa caught me. He shouted, "Don't do that."
I tried to tear away from him but his grip on my arm was firm.
"Shoot the gun," the judge said.
Papa shot time after time. It was useless. We got no answer.
Little Ann came up out of the washout. She stood and stared at me. Turning, she disappeared quickly in the thick cane. Minutes later we heard her. It was a long, mournful cry.
The only times I had ever heard my little dog bawl like that were when she was baying at a bright Ozark moon, or when someone played a French harp or a fiddle close to her ear. She didn't stop until we reached her.
Grandpa lay as he had fallen, face down in the icy sleet. His right foot was wedged in the fork of a broken box elder limb. When the ankle had twisted, the searing pain must have made him unconscious.
Papa worked Grandpa's foot free and turned him over. I sat down and placed his head in my lap. While Papa and the judge massaged his arms and legs, I wiped the frozen sleet from his eyes and face.
Burying my face in the iron-gray hair, I cried and begged God not to let my grandfather die.
"I think he's gone," the judge said.
"I don't think so," Papa said. "He took a bad fall when that limb tripped him, but he hasn't been lying here long enough to be frozen. I think he's just unconscious."
Papa lifted him to a sitting position and told the judge to start slapping his face. Grandpa moaned and moved his head.
"He's coming around," Papa said.
I asked Papa if we could get him back to the gully where Old Dan was. I had noticed there was very little wind there and we could build a fire.
"That's the very place," he said. "We'll build a good fire and one of us can go for help."
Papa and the judge made a seat by catching each other's wrists. They eased Grandpa between them.
By the time we reached the washout, Grandpa was fully conscious again, and was mumbling and grumbling. He couldn't see why they had to carry him like a baby.
After easing him over the bank and down into the gully, we built a large fire. Papa took his knife and cut the boot from Grandpa's swollen foot. Grandpa grunted and groaned from the pain. I felt sorry for him but there was nothing I could do but look on.
Papa examined the foot. Shaking his head, he said, "Boy, that's a bad one. It's either broken or badly sprained. I'll go for some help."
Grandpa said, "Now wait just a minute. I'm not going to let you go out in that blizzard by yourself. What if something happens to you? No one would know."
"What time is it?" he asked.
The judge looked at his watch. "It's almost five o'clock," he said.
"It's not long till daylight," Grandpa said. "Then if you want to go, you can see where you're going. Now help me get propped up against this bank. I'll be all right. It doesn't hurt any more. It's numb now."
"He's right," the judge said.
"Think you can stand it?" Papa asked.
Grandpa roared like a bear. "Sure I can stand it. It's nothing but a sprained ankle. I'm not going to die. Build that fire up a little more."
While Papa and the judge made Grandpa comfortable, I carried wood for the fire.
"There's no use standing around gawking at me," Grandpa said. "I'm all right. Get the coon out of that tree. That's what we came for, isn't it?"
Up until then, the coon-hunting had practically been forgotten.
The tree was about thirty feet from our fire. We walked over and took a good look at it for the first time. My dogs, seeing we were finally going to pay some attention to them, started bawling and running around the tree.
Papa said, "It's not much of a tree, just an old box elder snag. There's not a limb on it."
"I can't see any coon," said the judge. "It must be hollow."
Papa beat on its side with the ax. It gave forth a loud booming sound. He said, "It's hollow all right."
He stepped back a few steps, scraped his feet on the slick ground for a good footing, and said, "Stand back, and hold those hounds. I'm going to cut it down. We need some wood for our fire anyway."
Squatting down between my dogs, I held onto their collars.
Papa notched the old snag so it would fall away from our fire. As the heavy ax chewed its way into the tree, it began to lean and crack. Papa stopped chopping. He said to the judge, "Come on and help me. I think we can push it over now."
After much grunting and pushing, snapping and popping, it fell.
I turned my dogs loose.
On hitting the ground, the snag split and broke up. Goggle-eyed, I stood rooted in my tracks and watched three big coons roll out of the busted old trunk.
One started up the washout, running between us and the fire. Old Dan caught him and the fight was on. The second coon headed down the washout. Little Ann caught him.
Hearing a loud yell from Grandpa, I looked that way. Old Dan and the coon were fighting close to his feet. He was yelling and beating at them with his hat. The judge and Papa ran to help.
The third coon started climbing up the steep bank close to me. Just before reaching the top, his claws slipped in the icy mud. Tumbling end over end, down he came. I grabbed up a stick and threw it at him. Growling and showing his teeth, he started for me. I threw the fight to him then and there. Some ten yards away I looked back. He was climbing the bank. That time he made it and disappeared in the thick cane.
Hearing a squall of pain from Little Ann, I turned. The coon was really working her over. He had climbed up on her back and was tearing and slashing. She couldn't shake him off. Grabbing a club from the ground, I ran to help her.
Before we had killed our coon, Old Dan came tearing in. We stood and watched the fight. When the coon was dead, Papa picked it up and we walked back to the fire.
"How many coons were in that old snag?" Papa asked.
"I saw three," I said. "The one that got away climbed out over there." I pointed in the direction the coon had taken.
I never should have pointed. My dogs turned as one, and started bawling and clawing their way up the steep bank. I shouted and scolded, but to no avail. They disappeared in the rattling cane.
We stood still, listening to their voices. The sound died away in the roaring storm. Sitting down close to the fire, I buried my face in my arms and cried.
I heard the judge say to my father, "This beats anything I have ever seen. Why, those dogs can read that boy's mind. He just pointed at that bank and away they went. I never saw anything like it. I can't understand some of the things they have done tonight. Hounds usually aren't that smart. If they were collies, or some other breed of dog, it would be different, but they're just redbone hounds, hunting dogs."
Papa said, "Yes, I know what you mean. I've seen them do things that I couldn't understand. I'd never heard of hounds that ever had any affection for anyone, but these dogs are different. Did you know they won't hunt with anyone but him, not even me?"
Hearing my grandfather call my name, I went over and sat down by his side. Putting his arm around me, he said, "Now, I wouldn't worry about those dogs. They'll be all right. It's not long till daylight. Then you can go to them."
I said, "Yes, but what if the coon crosses the river? My dogs will follow him. If they get wet they could freeze to death."
"We'll just have to wait and hope for the best," he said. "Now straighten up and quit that sniffling. Act like a coon hunter. You don't see me bawling, and this old foot is paining me something awful."
I felt better after my talk with Grandpa.
"Come on, let's skin these coons," Papa said.
I got up to help him.
After the skins were peeled from the carcasses, I had an idea. Holding one up close to the fire until it was warm, I took it over and wrapped it around Grandpa's foot. Chuckling, he said, "Boy, that feels good. Heat another skin the same way."
I kept it up for the rest of the night.