The haunted hound;

by Robb White

  * Well " Jonathan said. It was so hard to explain to his

  father. "Well, look, Dad, I mean in town there wasn't very much for me to do. Nothing but the movies and school all the time. I guess I Just wasn't having much fun, that's all. But out here, well, I mean, there's Pot Likker and Judy and everything like that. I wasn't running away from you. Dad, because you weren't hardly ever there anyway."

  "Wasn't there?" his father asked, surprised.

  "Well, I mean you were working most of the time and you had to go away a lot and things like that."

  "Oh, I see," his father said. "Did it seem to you that I was away more than I was at home?" Then, before Jonathan could answer, he went on very slowly, "Did it seem to you, son, that I wasn't there?"

  Jonathan thought about that for a while. In his memory it seemed to him that, really, there were only Mamie and Mrs. Johnson in the apartment. If his father w^as home he was usually in the den, with the door closed. And he went

  on a lot of trips. At last Jonathan said, ''Well, I guess that's just about the way it seemed to me, Dad/'

  In the moonlight he saw his father's hands clenched together, the fingers straining against each other. Then, almost in a whisper, he said, ''I don't blame }'0u for running away, son/'

  Jonathan moved closer to him. ''I didn't really run away. Dad. I just came here. This is home, isn't it?"

  His father didn't seem to be listening as he sat on the steps staring down at the ground.

  Jonathan kept on. ''Dad, why don't we both come here to live?"

  It took a long time for him to answer, but at last he looked up. "I don't see how we can work it out that way, son."

  Jonathan felt exactly as though something hard, coming fast, had hit him in the face. "Is it because you'd have to think about Mother out here?" he asked.

  "Yes. That's part of it."

  'T don't understand that. I don't see how thoughts about her just stay here in this house or in the woods or the fields around here waiting for you to come here and think them. The thoughts I have about her can happen anyvhere at all. Not just out here."

  "Jonathan, it's hard for you to understand because }'Ou're still fairly young. But, belie'e me, it's better for both of us to give up the Farm. Remember, son, it won't be long before you're in college. After that }Ou'll have a job and a living to make. You don't realize it, perhaps, but you'll be a grown

  man in not too many more years. You don't want to sit out here on the Farm doing nothing, do you?''

  'Tes/' Jonathan said. ''Only there's a lot to do here."

  His father stood up. When the moonlight struck his face Jonathan saw that his eyes were sad, his lips tight together.

  'AVe don't seem to be making much progress, do we, son?'' he asked.

  *'I don't know/' Jonathan said.

  His father started to walk to\'ard the car. Jonathan followed him, his hand on Pot Likker's shoulders.

  At the car, as his father got in, Jonathan said, ''Couldn't you just come out here for a little while, Dad? Maybe just until school starts again? Then, if you get too sad, we can go back to town."

  His father started the car. "We'd better get under way," he said.

  Jonathan watched the moonlit trees. Then they hammered across the pipes of the cattle guard and turned, rolling out on the highway.

  Jonathan held Pot Likker close and listened to the whisper of the tires on the paved road. Somehow, to him, the sound was a city sound, and he knew that he was going back to all the rest of the city sound. The Farm was fading away behind like things in dreams fade when you wake up and try to remember them.

  His father drove slowly, so that the dark woods on one side barely flowed by while, on the other side, the railroad tracks were silver lines.

  Gradually everything began to get simple. Jonathan thought that it was like looking down into clear water. When the ripples on it finally died, you could see all the way down to the bottom.

  He was sure that what he had done had deeply hurt his father. And that if he didn't go back to town now it would hurt him even more.

  Jonathan knew, at last, for sure that his father loved him.

  Jonathan also knew, at last, that he loved his father.

  But there was Pot Likker. He was only a dog; he was a ''dumb brute.'' You couldn't explain things as complicated as all this to Pot Likker. All he could understand was that if Jonathan abandoned him it would mean that Jonathan didn't love him.

  What could he do? Jonathan asked himself. What could he do?

  "Dad," he said, "I'm sorry about—well, about everything."

  "It's all right, son."

  They turned in at the Worths' gate. Jonathan felt that there was only a little time left and that they were wasting it. As his father pulled up behind the pickup and turned the lights off, Jonathan said quietly, "What's going to happen, Dad?"

  "We'll have to work out something, son," his father said, opening the door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jonathan walked slowly toward the Worths' house. In the moonlight he looked down at Pot Likker staying very close to him. Pot Likker must have known that there was trouble. His tail was drooped and he walked slowly, often looking up at Jonathan.

  The Little Bird met them at the door. Jonathan asked, ''Can Pot Likker come in, too, Mrs. Worth?''

  She just gave Jonathan a little hug and pushed him toward the kitchen.

  Judy was sitting at the table eating scrambled eggs and bacon. Her mother was over by the stove grinding coffee in a long-handled mill which made a steady grating noise. She smiled at him and said that there would be something for him to eat in a minute.

  Jonathan sat down close to Judy and whispered, ''Did they wash your mouth out with soap?"

  Judy grinned. "Not yet. What'd your father say?"

  "Nothing yet. Only he won't come live with me at the Farm."

  Judy's mother asked, ''Where's your father, Jonathan?''

  ''Out there. He's coming, I guess."

  She put the coffee mill down and went to the door. "Bill, do you want some eggs and bacon?" she asked.

  "Please, Mary," Jonathan's father said from the other room.

  "Be ready in a minute," she said. Then she came over to the table and put her hand lightly on Jonathan's shoulder. Jonathan looked up at her. She was so clean-looking and she smelled fresh and good. Her eyes were wide apart like Judy's and her mouth looked like it was always trying to smile, just the w^ay Judy's did.

  "I didn't know you knew my father," Jonathan said.

  "We've known each other a long time, but I hadn't seen him for years."

  Then Jonathan's father and Mr. Worth came in and pulled up chairs, his father sitting down opposite him.

  Mr. Worth sat with the chair turned around, his legs straddling the back. "Judy," he said, "you and Jonathan should have been with me tonight instead of chasing around getting folks all upset. You'd have heard some real hound music." Then he looked across at Jonathan's father. "You should've been there, too, Bill. There hasn't been a hound like that running in this part of the country for years."

  "What was it like?" Judy asked, her face innocent.

  "We were up on Widow's Hill—you remember the senator. Bill?—and we weren't expecting anything out of the

  ordinary. Just a little fox running with a pack of things we call foxhounds these days.

  ''So it was quiet for a long time after the cast and we were beginning to fear that they wouldn't strike on anything. Then—oh, man, oh, man—this hound opened up down in the 'alley.'' Mr. Worth closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. ''Music," he whispered. 'Ture, bugling music. That hound spoke to the line like IVe never heard in my life. He struck it and he stayed on it, never wavering. He ran it all the way."

  Mr. Worth reached over, took one slice of Judy's bacon, put it all in his mouth, and went on. "Then a funny thing happened. Somebody cut loose with a horn. So when we got to the tree that beautiful dog wasn't there."

  He reached for another piece of
Judy's bacon, but she grabbed his wrist.

  "You should've been there, Judy," he said, pulling his hand back.

  "I was," Judy said. "So was Jonathan. And we saw you sitting by the fire."

  Mr. Worth jumped straight up out of the chair and stood looking down at them. "Pot Likker!" he said. "That was Pot Likker!"

  Judy nodded.

  Mr. Worth sat down again. "I Jcnew it. I listened to that voice and said to myself, 'That's Mister Blue.' Only I knew Mister Blue was home under the house." Then he held out his hand to Jonathan. ''Boy," he said, "youVe got the finest

  foxhound that raced here since your grandfather ran the old dogs hke Blue Moon and Blue Streak. And your dad ran Mister Blue."

  Jonathan could tell that Pot Likker knew they were talking about him. Pot Likker looked up with a modest expression on his face and whanged the floor with his tail.

  Mr. \^orth turned to Jonathan's father. ''Bill, how about doing me a big faor?''

  His father smiled. 'Til try my best, Dan/'

  "I want to hear that Pot Likker run some more foxes, Bill. I tell you, IVe just got to hear that some more. And the only way I can do it is for ou to lend me Jonathan for a little while. The Little Bird and Til take real good care of your bo-, Bill, and return him to you in good shape. Won't we, Little Bird?"

  Mrs. Worth just smiled.

  Judy sat motionless, her fork halfway to her mouth. Jonathan kept looking at the egg on it. That was all he dared look at as he \aited.

  ''That's no favor, Dan," his father said, still smiling. "If you want to put up with Jonathan for a little while, you know I'd like for him to stav \-ith you."

  "Oh, we get along with old Jonathan," Mr. Worth said, whacking Jonathan on the back. "He's an old-time coon fighter and bear hunter. How about it, Jonathan? You going to stay out here with us so I can hear old Pot Likker telling all these feist dogs how to run a fox?"

  All Jonathan could do was nod.

  Then he looked across at his father and, with his eyes, thanked him.

  ''That's fine!" Mr. Worth said, jumping up from his chair again. ''J^^Y^ ^^^ down to the stable and get another horse blanket for Jonathan.''

  "Dan," Mrs. Worth said.

  ''Aw, now. Little Bird," Mr. Worth said, "old Jonathan here is a hard man. He's an old riverbank sleeper and a woods walker. He's got no use for a bed."

  Judy's mother said, "Well, I'm just thankful that my daughter is a ladylike creature who won't associate with the likes of you, Dan Worth. And she's going to bed, in a bed, for a change. Come on, Judy. Make a nice curtsy to your hosts and let's go."

  Judy got up. "You're not going to hunt tonight, are you. Uncle Dan?"

  "Sssh, girl," he said.

  "You better not, if I can't go," she said. "Good night, Jonathan. See you in the morning. Good night, Pot Likker."

  After Judy and her mother had gone Jonathan walked out to the car with his father.

  "Do you mind. Dad?"

  "No, son. Of course not. It solves our problems, doesn't it?"

  1 guess so.

  "For a little while, anyway. Do you want me to bring you out some clothes and stuff in the morning?"

  "Will you have time?"

  'Til take time/' Slowly his father turned to face him. ''Good night, Jonathan. Take care of yourself."

  "I will, Dad. Good night"

  His father hesitated for a moment, then got into the car.

  Jonathan put his hands on the top of the car door. ''Dad," he said, not knowing what he was going to say next.

  'Tep?"

  ''Well," Jonathan said. "Well, Dad . . ." Then he couldn't think of any words to use for what he wanted to say.

  His father put one hand down on his for a second. "You're okay, son," he said.

  "So are you, Dad," Jonathan said.

  Judy came over in the morning from her house and they all went to church. Then, while Jonathan was eating lunch, Judy came back again, this time on horseback. She sat there, talking to Jonathan through the kitchen window.

  Mr. Worth, sitting across from Jonathan, said to Judy, "Let's do a httle training on Pot Likker this afternoon." Then he looked at Jonathan. "You can ride a horse, can't you?

  "I could once."

  "That's something you never forget. Judy, how about you getting the deer scent?"

  "All right." She pulled her horse around and trotted toward the stables.

  Jonathan began to feel a little nervous. "What are we going to do?'' Jonathan asked.

  "We'll really test Pot Likker this time. We'll all start off together with Judy dragging a gunny sack with a strong deer scent in it along the ground. I'll have little Aunt Jemima running behind us. We'll keep crossing, backtracking, and all the other tricks foxes know. Then we'll see what Pot Likker does about it."

  "W^ho is Aunt Jemima?" Jonathan asked.

  "She's a fox. I caught her when she was just a cub. Poor Aunt Jemima has been chased by more dogs than any fox in the world. But she's never been caught."

  Jonathan finished eating in a hurry.

  "You lock up Pot Likker in your bedroom," Mr. Worth told him. "Be sure he can't get out."

  "Dan," Mrs. Worth said.

  "Oh, yes. All right. We'll lock him up in the feed room in the barn."

  With Pot Likker jumping around to welcome Jonathan, he and Mr. Worth walked down to the stables. Judy was saddling a piebald horse.

  Jonathan took Pot Likker into the feed room. "I've got to lock you up in here for a while," he told him. "But I'm not leaving you. Pot. We're just going to train you." Then he leaned close and whispered, "There's going to be deer smell and fox smell, Pot. Don't pay any attention to the deer smell, hear? Just follow the fox."

  When Jonathan was sure Pot Likker couldn't get out,

  he ^^'ent back to Judy, who had finished saddhng the horse.

  Jonathan stood well clear of the horses. ''Is that one named Spark Plug?'' he asked.

  Judy nodded, her head under the flap of the saddle \hile she hauled up tight on the girth. ''We'll have to tighten this again after we get started. Old Spark Plug always takes a deep breath and holds it when you haul on the girth."

  "Mr. Worth said he bucks," Jonathan observed.

  "Oh, he'll frog hop a little bit. Just kick him in the slats and he'll quit. Let's measure the stirrups. Get on."

  Jonathan gulped, wondering if he remembered anything about riding a horse. But when Judy handed him the reins, they sort of naturally fitted into his left hand, reins and mane. His right hand caught the pommel and, with his left foot in one stirrup, he swung himself up, keeping his body forward and low over the horse.

  "Feels kind of natural," he said, settling down.

  Mr. Worth came from the kennels leading a fox on a long, light chain leash. "You got the sack, Judy?"

  She pointed to a gunny sack on the fence.

  "Let's go south. We'll cross the Big Pond creek a couple of times, then you go through the hammock and cross us on the other side, Judy."

  They swung up on their horses. In the stable Pot Likker was really letting Jonathan know that he didn't like being shut up.

  Just as they started to leave, Jonathan's father drove up.

  He sat in the car for a moment, looking up at Jonathan on the horse. He looked a little pleased, Jonathan thought.

  "Hi, Bill," Mr. Worth said. "Skin out of that citified coat and come dragging with us. I got a horse you can ride."

  "I wish I could, Dan. But Tve got a stack of work to do today. Just brought Jonathan some gear."

  Jonathan started to get off but his father said, "Don't bother, son. Til leave it at the house. And haven't you got a toothbrush? I couldn't find it."

  "It might be in the kitchen," Jonathan said.

  His father looked at him again for a long time. Then he said, "Son, danged if you don't look as natural as hog tracks up on that horse."

  Jonathan felt hot around the ears, but pleased, too.

  Then his father started the car. "I'll see you a
gain soon," he said, waving.

  As the car moved away slowly, Mr. Worth said, "I bet if we could get him up on a horse and out in the woods for a little while we could cure him of whatever ails him." Then he grinned at Jonathan. "You know, Jonathan, your dad is really just an old country boy. I don't care how much concrete he gets around him, or how high up above the ground he lives, he's still just a country boy with hay in his hair."

  "Maybe so," Jonathan admitted. "I hope so."

  They rode away then, Mr. Worth holding the fox across the saddle and Judy keeping her sack of deer scent up off the ground.

  As soon as they got clear of the stable yard Jonathan's horse started to prance around. Judy looked back and said, ''Keep his head up or he'll sure hunch his back/'

  But Jonathan was too gentle on the bit. Spark Plug got his head down.

  It felt as though the earth was exploding under Jonathan. E'erthing went straight up, fast.

  Then he was sitting up there in the sky, the horse a good foot below him.

  Jonathan started to grab for anything he could find, then he stopped himself. He didn't want Judy to see him pull leather. So he just held the reins and hoped mighty hard that, when he came down, the horse would be under him somewhere.

  He landed in the saddle with a jolt, but Spark Plug wasn't going down; he was coming up again.

  Judy shouted, ''Ride him, cowboy! Ride him!"

  Mr. Worth turned around. ''Kick a hole in him, Jonathan."

  ''Get his head up!" Judy yelled.

  Spark Plug went up again, meeting Jonathan coming down. This time Jonathan clamped his knees hard and grabbed some mane.

  The horse came down, twisting and rolling under him, but Jonathan stayed on somehow, his knees grinding on the stirrup leathers. And when Spark Plug hit the ground, Jonathan ga'e him a straight, hard pull, forcing his head up from down between his front legs.

  Spark Plug stood perfectly still, just looking calmly around.

  ''Good/' Mr. Worth said. "Spark Plug has always got to know who's the boss. Once he finds out it's going to be you and not him, he's just as polite a horse as you'd want. From now on, Jonathan, you can ride him standing on your head and he won't do a thing."