Double Challenge

by Jim Kjelgaard

  2

  THE THREAT

  Tramping along the Lorton Road toward his father's house, Ted toldhimself that he had been a complete fool. With a start in the onlybusiness that interested him, he had sacrificed everything for whatsuddenly seemed a trivial reason.

  Carl Thornton had spoken the truth. Those who lived in the Mahelathought that just living there gave them a proprietary interest in thegame and fish that shared the wilderness with them. But, except forSmoky Delbert, a notorious poacher who hunted and fished for the market,most dwellers in the Mahela confined their poaching to killing a deerwhen they felt like having venison or catching a mess of trout when theythought they needed some fish for dinner. They broke the law, but as faras Ted knew, their chances of going to Heaven when they died were fullyas good as his. They weren't sinners.

  Half inclined to turn back and tell Thornton he'd reconsidered, stillTed went on. It wouldn't be easy, but definitely it would be possible toshoot both of the great bucks before the hunters who invaded the Mahelawhen the season opened sent them into hiding. If Ted got them, or evenpromised to try to get them, he would be back in Thornton's good graces.

  "If I was smart," he told himself, "I'd tell Thornton I was huntingthose bucks and not get either."

  He played with the tempting thought, then put it behind him and walkedon. Nobody who called himself a man took another man's pay for doing ajob and then failed to do it. Ted asked himself questions and tried toprovide his own answers.

  Was he afraid of Loring Blade, the game warden? He didn't think so. TheMahela was a big country and the warden could not be everywhere at once.The chances were very good that anyone who knew what he was doing couldget both bucks safely to Crestwood, where they became Thornton'sresponsibility. Besides, Thornton had said he'd pay the fine if Ted werecaught.

  Did he shrink from breaking the law? Yes, of course. At the same time heknew positively that if he and his father were in desperate straits, ifthey had no food and no other means of getting any, he'd shoot deer orany other edible game he could find, regardless of whether it was inseason or out.

  There seemed to be something else involved and Ted could find no precisebracket in which it fitted. It concerned the grouse he'd held in hishand, the cool morning breeze, the view from Hawkbill, hisfather--everything Ted loved and held dear.

  His mind was a whirlpool in which nothing at all was clear except thathe could not shoot the two bucks for Thornton. It would be as easy toshoot Tammie--his lips formed a sick grin at that thought! Yesterday hisdreams had been bright as bubbles in the sun. Today all the bubbleswere burst. There wasn't the faintest possibility of getting a job atanother resort for the simple reason that there was no other resort.

  Of course, if he left the Mahela--But he couldn't do that either.

  Ted was a half mile from their house when he saw Al's tobacco pouchlying beside the road. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.Obviously his father had been here--probably he'd been scouting minksign along Spinning Creek and had walked back up the road--and he wasforever losing his pouch. But somehow somebody always found it andbrought it back to him.

  Ted tried to put a spring in his step and a cheerful smile on his lips.A man faced up to his own troubles and did not inflict them on otherpeople. He tried to whistle and succeeded only in hissing.

  He was a hundred yards from the house when Tammie, who'd caught hisscent, hurried to meet him. Sleek fur rippling and short ears jiggling,he advanced at the collie's lope, which seems so restrained and is soincredibly fast. Tammie came to a graceful halt in front of Ted andlooked at him with dancing eyes.

  "Hi, dog! Hi, Tammie!" Ted ruffled his head with a gentle hand as Tammiefell in beside him. Plucking the tobacco pouch from his pocket, he gaveit to the collie. "Here. Take it to Al."

  The tobacco pouch dangling by its drawstrings, Tammie streaked up theroad. Disdaining the drive leading into the house, he cut through thewoods and disappeared. Ted squared his shoulders, tried again towhistle--and succeeded. His father must be home. When Ted was workingand Al went out, Tammie always went with him.

  Ted turned up the drive and was halfway to the house when Tammie cameflying back to meet him. They went to the shed in the rear; Al would beworking. Ted peered through the open door and his father, shapinganother stretching board, glanced up to greet him.

  "Hi, Ted!"

  "Hello, dad!"

  "No work today?"

  "That's right."

  Al bent his head to hide the question in his eyes. Something hadhappened and he knew it. His voice was a little too casual as he said,"Figgered when Tammie fetched my tobacco pouch that he'd made up hismind to go 'round pickin' up after me."

  "No, I found it beside the road and sent Tammie with it. You should puta string on that pouch and tie it to your britches."

  "Guess I'd ought. Tammie and me took a whirl down the crick to look formink sign. Must of lost my pouch on the way back."

  "Find any sign?"

  "There'll be mink on the crick this year. I can take a string of peltsand leave enough so there'll also be mink next year."

  "Now that's just swell!" Ted bit his tongue. Wanting to keep histroubles to himself by appearing gay and careless, he'd leaned too farin that direction and been over-emphatic. Al raised his head andsearched his son's face with wonderfully gentle eyes.

  "Want to tell me?"

  "Tell you what?"

  "What happened to you."

  "Oh," Ted forced what he tried to make a casual laugh, "Thornton firedme."

  Al remained calm. "He what?"

  "Thornton gave me the gate, the bounce act, ye olde heave-ho. He said,in short, that I was never to darken his kitchen towels again."

  Al said, "Come off it, Ted."

  Suddenly Ted's misery and heartbreak were too great a burden to bearalone. He fought to keep his voice from quavering and his lower lip fromtrembling.

  "That's right. I've been fired."

  "Want to tell me why?" Al did not raise his voice.

  "I--I wouldn't shoot Damon and Pythias for Thornton."

  Al arched surprised brows. "Why's he want those two bucks?"

  "He's going to expand Crestwood. He said that if he had one or both ofthose heads to put on the wall, it would be written up in every paper inthe state. He said they'd help bring guests."

  "Boy, seems to me like you went off half-cocked."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Thornton's takin' a lot for granted to think that you, or anyone, couldget either one of those bucks. But if you wanted to hunt 'em, and if youdid get one, 'twould do no harm to give it to him. 'Twould save your jobfor you."

  "That would have been different," Ted said wryly, "but that wasn't whathe asked. He wants both bucks _before_ the season opens."

  "So?" Al was almost purring. "And you turned him down?"

  "That's right."

  "You don't aim to change your mind?"

  "No."

  "Not even to get your job back?"

  "Not even for that."

  "You're sure now?"

  "I'm sure."

  "That bein' the case," Al said, rising, "I think I'll go down toCrestwood and have a little talk with Mr. Thornton. You stay here withTammie."

  * * * * *

  When Al Harkness climbed into his old pickup truck and pressed thestarter, his thoughts went back thirty-six years. The Mahela had beenyoung then, and he'd been young, and that, he'd told himself a thousandtimes since, was probably the reason why he'd also been blind. It wasnot that he'd lacked eyes, very keen eyes that could detect the skulkingdeer in its copse, the grouse in its thicket and the rabbit in its set.But he hadn't seen clearly what was right before his eyes.

  At that time, the road to Lorton had been a mud track in spring andfall, a dusty trace in summer and impassable in winter. Nobody hadneeded anything better. The only car even near the Mahela belonged toJudge Brimhall, of Lorton, and excitement ran at fever pitch when therespected judge drove his
vehicle to Danzer, seven whole miles, withoutbreaking down even once!

  Lorton and the Mahela itself had been almost as far apart as Lorton andNew York were now. Even when the road was good, a traveler had needed awhole day to go the fifteen miles to town and back. Whoever hadextensive business in Lorton might better figure on two days for theround trip. The dwellers in the woods had been inclined to sneer at thetown folk as sissified and, in turn, were sneered at for being hicks.

  There'd been seven families in the wilderness; the Harknesses, theDelberts, two families of Staceys and three of Crawfords. All of themhad gardens, a milk cow, a few chickens, a couple of pigs and a team ofhorses or mules. But all this was only secondary--the Mahela itselffulfilled most of their wants. It was a great, inexhaustible larder,provided by a benign Providence who had foreseen that men would ratherhunt than work. Al remembered some of the hunts. His father, GeorgeStacey and Tom Crawford had shot thirty-three deer in one day and soldthem all in Lorton. Two days later, they shot twenty-nine more.

  There weren't that many deer when Al came of an age to hunt. His elderswere at a loss to explain the scarcity, unless some mysterious plaguehad come among the animals. Never once did they think of themselves andtheir indiscriminate, year-round slaughter as the "plague." On Al'sthirteenth birthday, he shot a buck and a doe. They were the last deertaken in the Mahela for the next thirteen years.

  It wasn't an inexhaustible larder at all, but just a place that could bedepleted by always thoughtless and often vicious greed. Then had comethe change.

  The Game Department, the Lorton paper announced, had purchased deer froma state that still had some. In the hope that they'd multiply andrebuild the vast herds that had once roamed there, twenty of them wereto be released in the Mahela. There was to be no hunting at all untilsuch time as there were sufficient deer to warrant a hunt, and gamewardens were to enforce that regulation.

  It hadn't been easy. Bitterly jealous of what they considered theirvested rights, the natives of the Mahela had resisted the game wardens.There had been quarrels and even a couple of shootings. But the wardenshad won out and the deer had come back.

  There were as many as there'd ever been and perhaps more. Protected bystrict and sane laws, they flourished. Seven families had all butexterminated the Mahela deer. Now four thousand properly regulatedhunters a year couldn't do it, and this Al Harkness had seen.

  He thought of the families--still the Harknesses, the Delberts, theCrawfords and the Staceys, who lived in the Mahela. With the exceptionof Al and Ted, who observed the game laws to the letter, most of themtook more than their share of the Mahela's wildlife. Smoky Delbert wasan especially vicious poacher who belonged, and one day would land, injail. But, with game wardens on constant patrol, even Smoky could nolonger indulge in wholesale slaughter.

  There was, Al had always conceded, some excuse for the Crawfords and theStaceys. Al was the only Mahelaite who'd held on to the entire familyacreage. Glad to raise money any way he could, the Staceys and Crawfordshad sold theirs, all but a homesite and garden patch, and the proceedswere long since exhausted. Most of the men worked at day labor and theiremployment was never certain. Always struggling, there were times whenthey would have no meat at all if they did not shoot an occasional deer.That condition would not endure. Since all the younger people left theMahela, preferably for some brightly lighted city, as soon as theypossibly could, the Staceys and Crawfords who remained were not going tolast forever.

  But if there was some excuse for them, there was none whatever for CarlThornton. Comparatively wealthy, certainly he was in no danger of goinghungry. Educated, he must understand what conservation meant. Supposedlyintelligent, he must know that nobody at all could take what he wantedsimply because he felt like taking it, or for his own advantage, andstill hope to leave enough for others and for future generations. Albraked to a halt in Crestwood's drive and entered the lodge.

  Jules Crowley, Thornton's pale-faced clerk, stepped in front of him."You can't come in here!"

  Al said, "Oh yes I can."

  He moved around Jules, jerked the office door open and closed it behindhim. Thornton was sitting at his desk, going over some papers. He lookedup. Al hesitated. Now that he was here, just what was he supposed to do?It would be silly to threaten Carl Thornton, and how could he report himto the game warden when he had broken no law? Al felt a little foolishand Thornton's voice was as cold as his eyes when he spoke.

  "What do you want?"

  "You fired Ted?"

  "That's right."

  "What for?"

  "Inefficiency."

  "Ted told me different. He told me you fired him because he wouldn'tshoot those two big bucks for you."

  "He's a liar."

  Al stepped to the desk, twined his right hand in Thornton's lapel,lifted him to his feet and used his left hand to slap both Thornton'scheeks. Then he let the resort owner slump back into the chair andturned on his heel.

  "For callin' Ted a liar," he said.

  He stalked out, knowing as he did so that he had made a deadly enemy butnot caring. Thornton owned Crestwood. But he was still a little man andsooner or later little men stumbled over big problems. As Al climbedback into the pickup, he almost forgot Thornton. He had something moreimportant to occupy his thoughts.

  He had hoped mightily that, after he finished High School, Ted would goon to college. It didn't matter what he studied there as long as it wassomething; a Harkness would go out of the Mahela to become a man ofparts. But Ted had not only wanted to stay in the Mahela, but also tostart a resort there, and for almost the first time in his life Al faceda problem to which he saw no solution.

  An expert woodsman, he earned a comfortable income. Since his own wantswere simple, there would certainly be enough left over to pay Ted'scollege expenses. But Al couldn't even imagine the vast sum of moneyneeded to start a resort. He had told the truth when he said Crestwoodcost Thornton more than he'd earned in his whole life.

  Al fell back on an idea that he himself had been mulling over. Huntersand fishermen were a varied breed, with varying tastes. Some preferredthe comforts of Crestwood, but every season numbers of them hauledtrailers into the Mahela or set up tents there and they did so becausethey liked that way of hunting or fishing. Not all of them wanted thesame things and not all cared to be crowded.

  Driving back into his own yard, Al got out of the pickup and faced hisson serenely. But seeing Ted's uncertain hand fall to Tammie's head, hegrinned inwardly. The boy turned to Tammie whenever he was worried or ata loss.

  "Did you see Thornton?" Ted's voice was too casual.

  "I saw him."

  "Did--?"

  "No," Al told him gently. "I didn't. He's still alive and, as far as I'mconcerned, he can stay that way. Ted, let's go up to Beech Bottom."

  "Swell!"

  Ted and Tammie got into the pickup and Al drove. He did not speakbecause he was thinking too busily to talk. A father, if he was worthyof being a father, showed his children the right path. But it was alwaysbetter if he could guide them into doing their own thinking, instead ofleading them along the path--and sometimes that called for subtlemeasures.

  Two miles up the road, Al came to a clearing. A little less than anacre, it was a jungle of yellow-topped golden rod. Here and there amilkweed raised its spear-shaft stem and showed its silk-filled pods toall who passed. In the center was an old building with all the windowsbroken and part of the roof fallen in. Sun, wind, rain and snow hadexercised their own artistry on the unpainted boards and tinted them adelicate shade which no brush could possibly achieve. There was a littlepatch of summer apples and two small bucks, stretching their necks toget the wormy fruit, moved reluctantly away when the truck stopped.

  Al got out of the truck and Ted and Tammie alighted beside him. Allooked at the tumble-down building.

  "My gosh! It ain't possible!"

  "What isn't?"

  Al grinned ruefully, "Seems like yesterday I worked here."

  "You worked at the old H
awley logging camp?"

  "Yep. Chore boy. Got up at four every mornin' to feed and curry thehorses so they'd be ready to go into the woods. You wouldn't thinkfifteen men, or fourteen men and a boy, ate and slept in that old house,would you?"

  "It's big enough."

  "By gosh! Seems like a person gets born, takes six breaths and gets old.That old house is still good, though. Those boards are really seasonedand I bet they last another hundred years."

  Ted asked without much interest, "What happened?"

  "Old Man Hawley sold everything 'cept that little patch when the statetook over and made the Mahela into state forest. Jud, his son, was goin'to make a huntin' camp of it. But he never did and he never will. Betyou could buy the works for a hundred and fifty dollars."

  Ted almost yelled, "Dad!"

  "What's the matter? Bee sting you?"

  "No, but something else did! Dad, I'm going to buy it!"

  "That?" Al looked puzzled.

  "Don't you see?" Ted's eyes were shining and Al knew his heart wassinging. "With more and more people coming into the Mahela every year,they must have more places to stay. I'm going to tear this house downand build a camp right here! Bet it'll rent five months out of theyear!"

  "Well, I'll be jugged!" Al hoped Ted couldn't interpret his smile. "That_is_ an idea!"

  "We'll buy them all!" Ted bubbled, "with the money you were going to useto send me to college! There're plenty of these small plots in theMahela and nobody else wants them! They can be had cheaply! Dad, it canbe done that way!"

  "By gosh, Ted, it might! But it'll take a while."

  "I know but--What's Tammie barking at?"

  "One way to find out is to go see."

  Off in the goldenrod, Tammie barked again. They made their way to himand found him peering into a shallow little stream, Tumbling Run, thatwound out of the beeches, crossed the clearing and hurried back into thebeeches, on its way to meet Spinning Creek. In the middle of the run, asmall gray raccoon with a trap on its left front paw did not even glanceup. It had fought the trap fiercely and now was too spent and too wearyto fight anything.

  Al's words were almost an explosion. "Smoky Delbert!"

  He jumped down into the creek, encircled the little raccoon's neck withan expert hand and used his free hand to depress the trap spring. Free,but not quite believing it, the little animal went exactly as far as thetrap chain had previously let him go and then ventured two inchesfarther. Sure at last that the miracle had happened, he scuttled intothe goldenrod. Al jerked the trap loose from its anchor.

  "Let's go, Ted."

  "Where?"

  "You want to buy this place. We'll go into Lorton and see Jud Hawley.But on the way, we'll have a little palaver with Smoky."

  A half hour later, Al drove his pickup into the Delbert yard, to findanother truck there ahead of him. It belonged to Loring Blade, thewarden, who was talking with Smoky. He turned to nod at Al and Ted.

  "Hi!"

  Al said, "I won't be but a minute, Lorin'." He held the steel trap outto Smoky Delbert. "This yours?"

  Smoky looked at him through insolent, half-closed eyes. "Nope."

  "You lie in your teeth! I've told you before not to set traps beforefurs are prime. I'm tellin' you again and this is the last time."

  "What goes on?" Blade demanded.

  "Nothin' you can help, Lorin'. Smoky, if I find you poachin' in theMahela once more, I'm goin' to beat you within an inch of your life!"

  "You got any ideas along that line," Smoky remained insolent, "comeshootin'."

  Al said, "I can do that, too!"