5
COON VALLEY
Tammie whined uneasily and Ted woke with a start. He glanced at theclock on the mantel and saw that it read twenty minutes past five. Thelast time he had looked, he remembered, the clock had said half pasttwo. Obviously he'd fallen asleep in the chair where he'd been waitingfor someone to come or something to happen. No one had come, but theywere coming now. On the Lorton Road, Ted heard the cars that Tammie haddetected twenty seconds earlier.
He got to his feet and looked out into the thin, gray mistiness of earlydawn. With its lights glowing like a ghost's eyes in the wan dimness, acar churned up the Harkness drive and a second followed it. The boyshrank away. Last night's events now seemed like some horriblenightmare, but the tread of steps outside and the knock on the doorproved that they were not.
Ted opened the door to confront Loring Blade and Corporal Paul Hausler,of the State Police. He glanced beyond them at the men gathered besidethe cars and saw that three of the nine were attired in State Policeuniforms. The six volunteer posse men were Tom and Bud Delbert, Smoky'sbrothers; Enos, Alfred and Ernest Brill, his cousins; and Pete Tooms,who would go anywhere and do anything as long as it promised excitementand no monotonous labor.
Loring Blade greeted Ted, "Good morning, Ted."
The boy muttered, "Good morning."
"You seen your dad?"
"Yes."
"I mean, since we took him away last night?"
"Yes."
"Did he come back here?"
"That's right."
"What time?"
Ted hesitated. He'd had his eyes fixed on the clock, but seconds andsplit seconds counted, too.
"I don't know the _exact_ time."
"Better tell the truth," Corporal Hausler warned bluntly. "It can gohard with you if you don't. Where's your father now?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe a couple of slaps will jar your memory!"
He took a step forward. Tammie, rippling in, placed himself in front ofTed. There was no growl in his throat or snarl on his lips, but his eyeswere grim and his manner threatening. Hausler stopped.
"I don't think you'd better let him bite me."
Loring Blade said quietly, "Cut it out, Paul. There's enough trouble inthis family without adding unnecessarily to it. Ted didn't do anything."
"He can tell us where his father is."
"I cannot!" Ted flared.
"When did he leave here?"
"Last night."
"What time?"
"I forgot to hold a stop watch on him."
"Why didn't you stop him? Don't you know that failing to do so can makeyou liable to arrest as an accessory after the fact?"
"A sheriff and a game warden couldn't stop him."
"He's right," Loring Blade agreed. "We couldn't. Why don't you startyour men into the hills?"
"If he left this house," Hausler threatened, "we'll be on his track intwo minutes."
He turned and went out, and Ted laughed. Loring Blade swung to face him.
"You feel pretty bitter, don't you?"
"How would you feel?"
"Not too happy," the warden admitted. "Why did you laugh?"
Ted grinned faintly. "Does that trooper really think he, or anyone else,can track Dad?"
"If he does have such ideas," Loring Blade conceded, "he'll soon havesome different ones. Nobody can track Al Harkness."
"Nor can they find him."
"Perhaps not immediately, but sooner or later they will."
"Yes?" Ted questioned. "Send a thousand men into the hills, send athousand into any big thicket, and they wouldn't find him unless theyhappened to stumble right across him."
"Al can't stay in the hills forever."
"Maybe not, but he can stay there a long time. He knows every chipmunkden in the Mahela."
"He won't be easy to find," the warden conceded, "but he will be found.What time did he come back last night?"
"Just about an hour after you took him away."
Loring Blade exclaimed, "Wow!"
Ted looked quizzically at him and the warden continued, "We were on DeadMan's Curve, and he was between Jack and me, when suddenly he pushed thedoor open and just seemed to float out of it. We beat the brush aroundDead Man's Curve until one o'clock this morning. About then I tumbled tothe idea that he must have come back here."
"Why didn't you come last night?"
Loring Blade shrugged. "He slipped through our fingers once. It wasn'thard to figure that he wouldn't have done that only to let himself bepicked up again. Besides, it did seem sort of useless to hunt him atnight. He headed into the woods, and because he didn't make a sound thateither Jack or I could hear, we thought he was holed up right close.Ted, do you think he shot Smoky?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"He said he didn't."
"Delbert said he did."
"Just what did he say?"
"That's all. He regained consciousness briefly. The officer with himasked who shot him and he said Al did from ambush. I doubt if he'stalked since."
"Do you believe Dad shot Smoky?"
The warden frowned. "If he did, it wasn't from ambush. There's more toit than that. We could have brought it out, but it will be harder now.When Al ran, he made things look pretty bad."
"Not to me."
"But to a lot of other people. Do you think you can get him to come backand give himself up?"
"I asked him last night to stay and face it out."
"Why wouldn't he?"
"Dad's part of the Mahela," Ted said quietly, "and the Mahela's code isthe one he knows best. He would not go to jail for a crime he didn'tcommit, any more than a wild deer would voluntarily enter a cage."
"Doggone, that sure complicates things. Do you have any bright ideas?"
"What did you find in Coon Valley?"
"Just what I told you, Smoky's back trail and your dad's tobacco pouch."
"Nothing else?"
"Smoky's rifle. We brought it in with us."
"No sign of anything else?"
Loring Blade answered wearily, "You know what it's like there. Unlessit's a trail like Smoky's, and Smoky was bleeding hard, there's littlein the way of sign that a human eye can detect."
"Just the same, I think I'll go up there."
"What do you expect to find?"
"I don't know. Anything would be a help."
"Guess it would at that. Good luck."
"Are--are you going to join the hunt for Dad?"
Loring Blade grinned wryly. "I'm not that optimistic. I agree with youthat, if Al wants to lose himself in the Mahela, he won't be found. Butsooner or later he'll show up. He can't spend the winter there."
"I wouldn't bet on that."
"Bet the way you please. Now I'm not saying that you will, but if youshould run across Al up there in the hills, see if you can persuade himto give himself up. He still has a good case, in spite of Smoky'stestimony. Too many people know Al too well to believe he'd shootanybody from ambush; he has a lot of friends. The only ones who'd jointhe posse were Delberts and Pete Tooms, and I sure hope none of themstumble across Al. If they come in fighting, he's apt to fight rightback, and one stove-in Delbert around here is enough. Good luck again,Ted."
Ted lost his belligerence; the warden was his father's friend. "Stay andhave breakfast with me."
"Thanks, but we breakfasted in Lorton before we came here. I'll beseeing you around."
"Do that."
The warden left and Ted was alone except for Tammie. He dropped a handto the collie's silken head and tried to think a way out of thebewildering maze in which he was trapped. He was sure of two things; Alhad not shot Smoky Delbert and his father would stay in the hills until,as Loring Blade had said, winter forced him out. But it would have to bebitter, harsh winter. Al could make his way in anything else.
Ted whispered, "What are we going to do, Tammie?"
Tammie licked his fingers and Ted furrowed his brow. The situation, asit existe
d, was almost pitifully vague. A man had been shot in CoonValley, and the only signs left were the hurt man's trail and anaccusing finger to point at who had hurt him. There had to be more thanthat, but what? Loring Blade had found nothing and Loring was an expertwoodsman. However, even though everything seemed hopeless, somebody hadbetter do something to help Al and, except for Loring Blade, Ted was theonly one who wanted to help him. Even though it was a slim one, findingsomething that the game warden had not found seemed the only chance.Ted decided to take it.
"But we'll eat first," he promised Tammie.
Ted prepared a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs and fed Tammie. Thenhe fixed a lunch and, with Tammie beside him, got into Al's old pickup.He gulped. The seat had always seemed small enough when he and hisfather occupied it together. With Al gone, and despite the fact thatTammie sat beside him, the seat was huge. Ted gritted his teeth andstarted down the drive.
He turned left on the Lorton Road, slowed for the dangerous, hairpinturn that was Dead Man's Curve, speeded up to climb a gentle rise,descended back into the valley and turned again on the Fordham Road. Awell graded and not at all a dangerous highway, somehow the Fordham Roadhad never seemed a place for cars. It was as though it had always beenhere, a part of the Mahela, and had never been torn out of the beechforest with gargantuan bulldozers or ripped with blasting powder. Forthe most part, it was used by the trucks of a small logging outfitwhich, under State supervision, was cutting surplus timber and byhunters who wanted to drive their cars as close as possible to remotehunting country.
Ted slowed up for five deer that drifted across the road in front of himand stopped for a fawn that stood with braced legs and wide eyes andregarded the truck in amazement. Only when Ted tooted the horn did thefawn come alive, scramble up an embankment and disappear. The boy smiledwearily. Had Al been with him, both would have enjoyed the startled fawnand they would have talked about it.
An hour after leaving his house, Ted came to the mouth of Coon Valley.Long and shallow, the upper parts of both slopes were covered withbeech forest. But if any trees had ever found a rooting in the floor ofthe valley or for about seventy yards up either side, they had died orbeen cut so long ago that even the stumps had disappeared. The usuallittle stream trickled down the valley.
Ted pulled over to the side and stopped. He got out and put the truck'skeys in his pocket. Tammie jumped to the ground beside him. The bigcollie bristled and walked warily around a dark stain in the road. Tedfought a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was no doubt thatsome hurt thing had lain here, but unless someone had told him so, henever would have known that it was a man. Ted licked his lips, andTammie stayed close beside him as they started up the valley.
Smoky Delbert's journey had indeed been a terrible one. Had he not beenhardened by a lifetime of outdoor living, probably he never could havemade it. In a way, Ted supposed, it was Smoky's atonement for his manyvicious practices. Yet, the boy found it in his heart to admit that,whoever had shot the poacher and forced him to crawl, wounded andbleeding, to the Fordham Road, was even more vicious.
Ted stirred uneasily, then calmed himself. Al had said it was no part ofhis doing. Therefore it was not. Who had done this dreadful thing?
A spring trickling across the valley had left a soft spot. Here Tedstopped instantly. Very plain in the soft earth were the tracks of asingle, unshod horse that had walked down Coon Valley and back up it, orup it and back down. Ted could not be sure, but his heart leaped. LoringBlade and Jack Callahan had said nothing about any horses. Who had takena horse up the valley, and why? His interest quickening, Ted looked formore horse tracks.
He found them farther on, where the trail became a stretch of sand fromthe little stream's overflow, but he still could not determine whetherthe horse had gone up or down the valley first. He knew definitely onlythat it had traveled both ways, and if he could find out why, he mightalso find a clue as to who had shot Smoky Delbert. Ted kept downcasteyes on the trail.
Save for that unmistakable sign left by Smoky Delbert and an occasionalpath or little trail which anything at all might have used, for a longways he found only scattered indications that Coon Valley was traveledat all. The lush grass, beginning to wither because of lack of rain,formed its own hard cushion. An Indian or bushman tracker might havebeen able to read the story of what had come this way. Ted could findlittle.
Trotting a little ways ahead, Tammie stopped suddenly, pricked up hisears and looked interestedly at a small clearing that reached perhapsthree hundred yards into the beech woods. Following his gaze, Ted sawtwo brown horses and a black one. Their heads were up and ears prickedforward as they studied the two on the trail. Ted sighed in resignation.
The Crawfords and the Staceys, who lived in the Mahela, each keptseveral horses. Why they did, why they kept any at all, only they couldexplain, for neither had enough land to warrant keeping even one horse.Still they had them. The horses were usually left to forage forthemselves from the time the first spring grass appeared until huntingseason opened. Then sometimes they were pressed into service, to pack orpull the tents and gear of hunters who had a yen for some remote spot,or to pack out deer or bears that had been brought down a long ways fromany road.
At any rate, the horse tracks were explained. While it wasn't usual forone horse to break from its companions and go wandering, now and againone would do it. The black horse broke from the two browns, trotted downto Ted, arched its neck and extended a friendly muzzle. Ted petted him.
"Lonesome for a human being, fella?"
Ted went on and the black horse followed him a little ways before itturned back to join the other two.
A half mile from the Fordham Road, Ted came to the three sycamores nearGlory Rock.
The sides of Coon Valley pitched sharply upwards here, and the beechforest came closer to the valley's floor. The three sycamores, a gianttree and two near-giants, rustled their leaves in the little breeze andremained aloof from everything else, as though they were the royalty inthis place. Even Glory Rock, an elephant-backed, elephant-sized boulderwhose ancient face wore a stubble of lichens, seemed demure in theirpresence. To the left, a raggle-taggle thicket of beech brush crawled towithin twenty feet of the valley's floor.
Ted looked down at the place where Smoky Delbert had fallen, and therecould be no mistaking it. The boy stood still, searching everything nearthe spot, and as he did hope faded.
The bullet, Loring Blade had said, had gone clear through Smoky. That,within itself, was unusual. With no exceptions of which Ted knew,everybody who came into the Mahela used soft-point hunting bullets thatmushroomed on impact. But now and again, though very rarely, a faultybullet didn't expand when it struck. Probably that was another factorthat had saved Smoky's life. A mushrooming bullet did awful damage. Inspite of the fact that some of it might escape the hunter, probably atleast eighty per cent of anything hit with one died sooner or later.Smoky, Ted's experience told him, never would have moved from beside thesycamores if this bullet had mushroomed.
Ted furrowed his brows. The bullet might prove a lot, but finding it wasas hopeless as locating a pebble in the ocean. There was nothing exceptthe sycamores and grass right here, and none of the sycamore trunks werebullet marked. Going through Smoky without expanding, the bullet hadsnicked into the ground the same way. Locating it might mean siftingtons, and perhaps dozens of tons, of earth. Even then, unless one werelucky, the bullet might elude him.
Tammie, who was sitting beside Ted and staring into the beech brush,whined suddenly. In turn he lifted both white front paws and put themdown again. He drank deeply of some scent that only he could detect. Tedlooked keenly at him.
"What have you got, Tammie?"
Tammie ran a little ways toward the beech brush and turned to look backover his shoulder. Ted frowned. Loring Blade had reported correctly andin full everything that could be found in the valley, but Loring hadn'thad a dog with him. Obviously, Tammie's nose had discovered somethingthat any human being might well miss.
The dog started up-slope toward the brush and Ted followed. He duckedinto the thicket, so dense that, once within it, visibility was limitedto twenty feet or less and there were places where he had to crawl. Inthe center of the thicket, Tammie halted to look down and Ted came upbeside him.
In the center of the beech brush was a well-marked trail used by deerthat knew perfectly well the advantages of staying in a thicket. Tammiewas looking down at a splash of drying blood, obviously a deer had beenbadly wounded here and had fallen. Ted heaped lavish praise on his dog.
"Good boy! Good boy, Tammie!"
He set his jaw and his eyes glinted. Unless a hunter were within twentyfeet of the trail, in which case it was highly improbable that any deerwould have come down it, nobody within the beech brush could havewounded the deer. But how about the opposite slope?
Ted retraced his steps and climbed to the top of Glory Rock. From thatvantage point, where he could look across at it instead of trying tolook through it, the beech thicket became more open. He couldn't seeeverything, but he could see very plainly the place where the deer hadfallen. Moving to one side, Ted had the same view. The deer could havebeen shot from any of a dozen places on this slope.... What had takenplace assumed definite shape in Ted's mind.
Smoky Delbert, always the poacher, had known of the beech thicket andthe trail through it. He had waited for a deer and shot one when itappeared. Somebody else, somebody who knew and took violent exception toSmoky and his antics--and there were at least thirty men who did--hadeither happened along or had witnessed the whole thing. Probably therehad been an argument, followed by the shooting.
No nearer a solution than he had been before, Ted nibbled his lip infrustration. He knew now why Smoky had been shot, but he still hadn'tthe faintest idea as to who had shot him. All he had were widelyscattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, with too many pieces missing.However, first things came first and he'd better get the hurt deer, forit was both practical and merciful to do so. Badly wounded, it couldn'tpossibly travel far. If he found it still alive, the least he could dowas put it out of its misery. If it was dead, he should save what couldbe salvaged of the venison. Al would have done the same had he beenhere.
Ted said, "Come on, Tammie."
They returned to the place where the deer had fallen and took up thetrail. It was easy to follow, for the animal had been badly hurt.Straight down the trail it had run, and sixty yards farther on Ted foundwhere it had fallen again and thrashed about. The beech brush blendedback into beech forest and the trail Ted followed swerved to withintwenty feet of the valley floor. He found a great puddle of blood wherethe deer had fallen a third time.
He marveled. The deer had been down three times in a little more thanthree hundred yards and it never should have been able to get up and goon. But it had gone on and it had also nearly stopped bleeding. Fromthis point there was only a spot here and there to mark the leaves. Tedshook his head. If he wasn't seeing this himself, he wouldn't havebelieved it. He remembered that a deer is an incredibly tough thing. Itcan still run after receiving wounds that would stop a man in histracks.
Overrunning the trail, the boy had to stop and circle until he pickedit up again. It was necessary to do this so many times that, bymidafternoon, he was scarcely a mile from the three sycamores. A halfhour later he lost the trail completely; the deer had stopped bleeding.Ted made a wide circle in an effort to find the trail again, and when hefailed, he made a wider circle. He stopped to think.
He'd have sworn, knowing how hard the deer was hit, that it would neverrun five hundred yards. Obviously he had guessed wrong, and what now?Anything he did would be little better than a shot in the dark, but ifhe could help it, he would not leave an injured beast to a lingering,terrible death. Wounded wild things were apt to seek a haven inthickets. Perhaps, if he cast back and forth through brush tangles,Tammie would scent the deer again.
Ted made his way to a grove of scrub hemlock, cut from there to a laurelthicket and pushed and crawled his way through half a dozen snarls ofbeech brush. He knew that he was not going to find the wounded deer andhe sorrowed for the suffering animal. About to drop his hand to Tammie'shead, he found that the collie was no longer beside him.
He was about twenty feet back, dancing excitedly in the trail. His earswere alert, his eyes happy, and there was a doggy smile on his jaws. Hehad a scent, but it was not the scent of a wounded deer. Ted took hishandkerchief from his pocket and gave it to the dog.
"Take it to Al," he ordered quietly. "Take it to Al, Tammie."
Carrying the handkerchief, Tammie streaked into the forest anddisappeared. Ted walked down Coon Valley and waited at the truck. Anhour and a quarter later, no longer carrying the handkerchief, Tammiejoined him. Ted petted him and looked somberly at the forest. He didn'tknow where Al was hiding and he didn't want to know.
But Tammie knew.
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