The Duck-footed Hound

by Jim Kjelgaard

  AUTUMN NIGHT

  Old Joe scrambled up his magic sycamore and tumbled into his den. Fiveand a half minutes later Duckfoot arrived to waken the night with hisroaring. Old Joe crouched nervously in the leaf-filled den, knowing thatat last he had been careless. There were various reasons for his lapsein good judgment, of which the night itself was most important. It wasmild autumn, just such a night as sometimes lingered throughmid-December and sometimes changed in a few hours to cold winter thatbrought 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 theFebruary thaw. Uncertainty as to just how far he might venture from asafe den contributed to his carelessness, and he raided Mun Mundee'sbecause his was the only corn left standing in the shock.

  So doing he had scarcely a thought for Duckfoot. He chittered anxiouslyas 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 brokenthe last time Old Joe treed in it and Mun tried to climb. The big coondid not know that Mun had fallen and broken a leg in falling; he'd havefelt 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 equallysure that Duckfoot knew his avenue of escape.

  But even though Old Joe felt his mistake, he did not feel that it wasnecessarily a fatal one.

  He decided to remain where he was and await developments. If the huntersflushed him from his den, he'd try to escape through his tunnel. ShouldDuckfoot be waiting there, Old Joe's only choice would be to tryfighting off the hound until he was in the tunnel. Then he could runaway.

  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 thenHarky and Melinda came. Old Joe climbed the mouth of his den and poisedthere; if it was necessary to run up the sycamore and drop into histunnel, every split second would be precious.

  He saw the glow of the lantern. He heard the measured blows of an axefollowed by the sound of a smaller tree toppling. The big coon waiteduntil it was trimmed and propped against the sycamore, then he couldwait no longer.

  He left his den fast, scampered up the sycamore, and climbed out on thelimb that overhung the tunnel's entrance. Old Joe continued to movefast. Though he was ready to fight if Duckfoot were waiting for him--andthe big coon fully expected that he was--the coons that lived longestwere those that ran away when they could avoid fights. It would bedistinctly to his advantage if he reached the tunnel ahead of Duckfoot.

  Meeting no hound when he dropped into the tunnel, Old Joe sighedthankfully and scooted onwards. Again he chose the branch that led intothe swamp, for there were various courses open now. If Duckfoot waswaiting for him when he emerged into the swamp, he could always go backand through the tunnel's other branch.

  Duckfoot was not waiting. A little relieved because there was no pursuitand a little worried for the same reason, Old Joe cut a winding trailinto the swamp and circled back toward Willow Brook.

  He plunged in, and climbed out when he came to another swamp. It was theone he'd sought in February, when he voluntarily left his magic sycamoreand stopped to steal a chicken from Mun Mundee on the way. Old Joe wentunerringly to the same huge hollow oak.

  There was still no hound on his trail and now he thought there'd benone. The finger of providence had crooked at the right moment, and OldJoe would run another autumn.

  As he entered the hollow oak, he turned his sensitive nose away from thefreezing wind that swept down. His premonition had been correct; winterwould soon rule the Creeping Hills.

  High in the great oak, Old Joe's sleeping mate awakened to growl. Shesurged forward and nipped his nose. Old Joe backed hastily away andchittered 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 justbefore a hunt, still thought it unwise and unfair if they were allowedto run on a completely empty stomach. He chose a pork chop bone and somescraps 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 forcehim to be absent when his meal was ready, and the only place he mighthave scented a coon was down in the shocked corn.

  Harky took Duckfoot's supper back into the house. Mun looked upinquiringly.

  "He's off on a coon," Harky explained. "One must of come raiding in ourcorn 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 Melindahorned in on our coon hunt."

  Mun sighed unhappily. "Goshamighty. Wish I'd of turn't her back thatnight."

  "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 anyordinary coon that might be raiding the shocked corn and he'd almostsurely tree it within hearing of the house. He would not get Old Joe upso 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 foreverything? Even coon hunts?"

  "Most times," said Mun, "'cept when they're early."

  Harky laid out Mun's coon-hunting axe, filled the lantern, stuck theflashlight in his pocket, and put the .22 in easy reach. He stifled anurge to go out on the porch for another listen. This night the wholefuture of coon hunting in the Creeping Hills was at stake, but suchconfidence as Harky had possessed was fast waning. Taking a girl on acoon hunt had brought about this whole mess. Where was his assurancethat taking the same girl on a second hunt would not result in an evenmore hopeless tangle?

  What had seemed sheer inspiration, and a positive way to retrieveshattered legend by proving to Melinda that she was wrong and the coonhunters right, no longer seemed such a good idea. When Melinda did notcome, Harky began to hope she wouldn't. Just as there seemed reason tothink 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 hunterwas bundled beneath them; Harky thought sourly that even if Melindawore 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 hiscoat, and with the flashlight secure in a pocket he took the .22 and thecoon-hunting axe in one hand and the lantern in the other.

  "Duckfoot's gone," he said accusingly. "A coon come raiding our corn andhe 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 findhim easily, don't you think?"

  Harky expressed what he thought in a ferocious scowl, his feelings in noway improved because Melinda had suggested the very thing h
e intendedto 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 pausedjust long enough to listen, and went on. Now he was fairly certain thatDuckfoot was again on Old Joe, for an ordinary coon would have been up,within hearing, before this. Without a backward glance, Harky movedtoward the shocked corn.

  Glory trotted away and began to tongue as she found scent. She randirectly to Willow Brook, was silent as she cast for the trail, andresumed tonguing when she found it. Harky determined her direction.

  "They're on Old Joe again," Melinda pronounced. "We'll save time bygoing directly to his big sycamore."

  Disdaining to answer, for he had been on the point of dazzling Melindawith this very suggestion, Harky started to run. He no longer deludedhimself that he was the rushing wind, or even a racing deer, for thelast time he'd entertained such notions Melinda had accused him ofrunning slowly. But he knew a direct route to Old Joe's witch tree and ablackberry thicket on the way.

  He crashed through it, holding the .22 and the axe across his chest anda little in front to divert the whipping canes, and he grunted withsatisfaction when he heard Melinda gasp. Harky steered a course toWillow Brook.

  There was a log there, a fallen pine that spanned a shallow pool, and itmade an adequate bridge except during flood time. Harky held the lanternhigh, jumped on the log, and at once began a wild effort to keep hisfooting.

  The night had turned colder. Running, he hadn't noticed the lowertemperature or thought the log would be ice coated. His luck held. Harkydanced to the far bank, jumped off the log, and continued running.

  Duckfoot was tonguing at Old Joe's magic sycamore. Presently Gloryjoined him. Harky wondered. Duckfoot, who had been roaring constantlyand furiously, suddenly began to yap like a puppy, and Glory trilled hertree bark. It seemed that even hounds were bewitched when girls hornedin on coon hunts, but they had Old Joe up once again.

  Reaching the sycamore, Harky discovered the two hounds alternatelybarking up the tree and cavorting around each other, with far moreemphasis on the latter. A sudden suspicion entered Harky's mind. It wasa good thing Duckfoot had run ahead of Glory or neither would havereached Old Joe's witch tree.

  Harky felled a smaller tree. The lesser branches he sliced off at thetrunk, the larger ones he stubbed to serve as hand- and foot-holds. Withsome effort, he leaned his ladder tree against the sycamore and turnedto 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, aquaver that did not belong. Harky held the lantern high and turnedtoward her. Melinda's hat was missing, her dark hair plastered wetlyagainst her head. Her clothes were soaking wet, her lips were blue withcold and her teeth chattered. Scratches left by the blackberry canesstreaked 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 warmyou."

  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 andbuttoned his coat around the pair of them. A sudden electric shockcoursed through him and all at once he was very pleasantly warm.

  Harky put both arms around her and looked down at her upturned face. Astray star beam lighted it gently. Presently Melinda said,

  "I'm warm now, Harold."

  "Not warm enough," said Harky, who was astounded to discover that therewas something more pleasant than looking for coons' dens. "I'll warm yousome 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 abandoningwhat he was doing for a dozen Old Joes. "We have to get you warm. Willyou 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 hisfather's corn stand in the shock when it should be brought in andhusked."

  "I'll bring it in," Harky promised recklessly. "I won't do a lick ofhunting 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 footholdin the Creeping Hills was too solid ever to dislodge. But let what mayhappen. In years to come, Old Joe would still prowl on Willow Brook,hounds of Precious Sue's lineage would trail him, and Mundees wouldfollow the hounds. Nothing could stop any part of it.

  Harky had a feeling.