The haunted hound;

by White, Robb, 1909-1990

  Pot Likker only glanced at him and wagged his tail a little.

  They told Mr. Worth what had happened and how Pot Likker had come back when Jonathan called him.

  ''Don't you think he's decided to be Jonathan's dog?" Judy asked.

  ''Looks hke it," Mr. Worth agreed. "But there's a way to tell for sure."

  He had brought some thick, juicy steaks back with him. He unwrapped them now and took one of them and gave it to Jonathan. "Let Pot Likker get a good smell of that and then throw it as far away as you can," Mr. Worth told him.

  Jonathan let Pot Likker smell the steak and even lick it. Then he threw it almost back to the woods.

  "Tell him to go eat it," Mr. Worth said.

  Jonathan patted Pot Likker and said, "Go eat. Pot."

  Pot Likker was drooling at the mouth as he raced across the sand and grabbed the steak. He held it down with his two front paws and began tearing off pieces of it.

  Mr. Worth waited until Pot Likker had swallowed one piece. "Now call him back, Jonathan."

  Jonathan felt everything getting tense around him, and he knew that, again, a lot depended on what Pot Likker was going to do when he called him. If he didn't come, maybe he wasn't really Jonathan's dog. Then, Jonathan realized, he wouldn't have to run away. But he wanted Pot Likker to come.

  "Here, Pot Likker. Here!" Jonathan called.

  Pot Likker gulped another piece of steak, and slowly looked around at Jonathan.

  ''Come here, Pot Likker/' he said sternly and beckoning with his hand.

  Pot Likker stood up. Then, with his head and tail drooping, he walked all the way back to Jonathan.

  Mr. Worth blew softly between his teeth as Jonathan patted Pot Likker and told him he was a good dog.

  ''Go get it, Pot,'* Jonathan said, giving the hound a little push.

  Pot Likker's tail almost knocked Jonathan oflF the log as he went back for the steak.

  "That's the dangedest thing I ever saw in my life/' Mr. Worth said. "Now, Judy, it would take me and you six months to train a hungry dog to leave a steak when we called him. Yes, sir, Jonathan, that's your dog all the way through. And you ought to be mighty proud, boy. Old Pot Likker's a thoroughbred dog, a pure foxhound with as fine ancestors as they make. When a dog like that gives himself to a man, that man has a right to be proud.'*

  "I am proud," Jonathan said. Then he looked secretly at Judy. She nodded.

  Jonathan knew then that he was going to have to run away.

  It began to rain before they had finished eating the two steaks that were left. Mr. Worth looked up at the sky and frowned. "Coon hunting in the rain is about as miserable a way to spend time as any I know of," he said. "But if you two want to try it, we can do it."

  Jonathan, whose mind was working out the details of what he had to do, was glad to start home now instead of tomorrow.

  ''Let's go, Uncle Dan,'' Judy said.

  Mr. Worth stood up. ''I was scared you were going to say let's keep on."

  They gathered up their gear and blankets, kept Slewfoot and Strive on leashes, and left the river, heading toward the highway. "Mabe we can hitch a ride," Mr. Worth said.

  They reached the highway at Eb Smith's filling station just as it started raining really hard.

  The bear, tied now with a length of plow chain, was keeping dr}^ in his little house, just his snout poking out. Jonathan waved to the bear as he ran past and into the shelter of the filling station.

  In a little while a truck came by and gave them a lift. Since the truck was going on to the city, Jonathan and Pot Likker didn't get out at the Farm.

  ''Come back soon," Mr. Worth said as he started running through the rain.

  Jonathan looked at Judy. ''I will," he said.

  Judy whispered, 'Til unlock the door for you."

  With Pot Likker in the front seat with him and the driver, they went on through the rain.

  Jonathan sneaked Pot Likker through the basement of the apartment and then took him up with him in the service ele'ator.

  Jonathan was glad now that he had taken time to find his key just before he met the bear.

  No one was liome, and the air smelled stale from being shut up for three days. In the kitchen Jonathan found a hunk of roast beef for Pot Likker and then made himself some peanut-butter sandwiches.

  As he changed into dry clothes, he could see that Pot Likker didn't like being in the apartment. He wandered into all the rooms, looked out the windows, and scratched at the front door to get out.

  Jonathan packed a suitcase with what he would need, then added food from the kitchen. When he was ready to go, he went into his father's study.

  With Pot Likker sitting on his haunches watching, Jonathan slowly wrote the letter.

  Dear Dad:

  I have to go away now because a dog has decided he wants to be my dog and nobody else's. If I don't go away so I can take care of him, he'll die.

  Where I am going is a nice place and I will get plenty to eat and plenty of sleep and rest. I will take good care of myself.

  Because I am going away does not mean that I do not love you or anything like that, Dad.

  Do not worry about me. I can take care of myself fine and my dog will not let anything hurt me.

  Good-by, Dad,

  Your son Jonathan.

  Jonathan felt choked as he folded the piece of paper and put it into an envelope. On the envelope he wrote FOR MY FATHER in big letters and propped it up against the two pens.

  As he looked at it, he remembered how he had propped the report card in the same place, with the red F's so bright. It seemed now such a long, long time ago. So much had happened to him.

  Jonathan knew then that he was scared. As he thought about it, the world beyond the apartment door seemed so dark and rainy and big.

  But when he looked down at Pot Likker he knew that he had to go.

  Jonathan picked up the suitcase. ''Come on. Pot,'' he said, whispering, ''we're going now/'

  Down on the street it was dark with the cars swishing by in the rain and the people swishing, too, leaning forward and hunched up.

  Jonathan made Pot Likker walk right at his heels all the way to the bus station. At the ticket window he asked for a ticket to Millersville for himself and Pot Likker.

  "No dogs allowed on the busses," the man said.

  "He has to go with me," Jonathan explained to him.

  "Not on the bus he doesn't."

  Jonathan took his money back and turned away.

  In the freight yard he found out that Mr. Duncan's train had already left.

  *'A11 right, Pot Likker," Jonathan said, patting the hound's wet head, 'Sve'll walk."

  Out on the highway it was better. It was dark with rain and there weren't many cars. Pot Likker could run around on the right of way or follow along with Jonathan without danger.

  Rain trickled down the collar of Jonathan's raincoat and the suitcase got heavier and heavier.

  At first time went slowly. He would look at his watch and it would be half-past something. Then, a long time later, he'd look again and it would be thirty-five minutes past.

  But as he walked on and on time began to go faster. Then it was midnight.

  .90

  CHAPTER . SIXTEEN

  ^0"

  T:

  he house was just a gray splotch showing among the dark, wet pine trees. As Jonathan and Pot Likker walked up the driveway, the gravel made a soft, crunchy noise under Jonathan's shoes and a wet rattling as Pot Likker's toes scattered it.

  "We're home, Pot Likker/' Jonathan said, reaching the porch steps.

  Pot Likker seemed happy as he dashed up the steps.

  Under the shelter of the roof Jonathan got the flashlight out of the suitcase and cautiously shone it on the front door. He turned the knob and pushed, and the high, wide door slowly swung open.

  On the floor in the middle of the hall there was a little collection of things. Pot Likker sniffed at them and began to paw something wrapped in paper.<
br />
  ''Hey," Jonathan said, ''leave that alone. Pot.''

  Judy had left two white candles, a box of matches, some sliced bacon, a little wicker basket half full of eggs, and a loaf of bread.

  There wsls also a note from her.

  Dear Jonathan:

  I couldn't find any sheets or anything so you can sleep on the horse blanket. The lights won't turn on. Do not feed Pot Likker any bread. It is not good for dogs' skins. I will come back in the morning. The water runs all right.

  Yours truly, Judith Worth Shelley.

  Farther down the hall there was a striped horse blanket spread out on the floor.

  Jonathan changed into dry clothes and wiped Pot Likker with an old shirt.

  When Jonathan first lay down on the blanket, he didn't think he could sleep for the strong smell of horses. Pot Likker must have objected to it, too, for he walked around it three or four times before he would lie down on it.

  In thirty seconds they were both asleep.

  When Jonathan woke up, he didn't know where he was. When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was too high to be the one in his room at the apartment. And when he turned his head, he saw two brown legs laced with old briar scratches.

  Jonathan sat upright on the horse blanket and looked around. Judy was standing there, her pants legs rolled up. Pot Likker was in the open front door looking out at the sunshine.

  Jonathan found that he was stiff when he tried to get up. ''That's the hardest horse blanket I ever slept on."

  Judy nodded. ''We'll have to find some kind of mattress

  or something. Come on, we'll cook some breakfast."

  In the kitchen they started a fire in the range and Judy broke some eggs into the frying pan.

  'What about the smoke, Judy?'' he asked.

  "I was worried about that, too. But I don't think anybody can see it. There're all those high pines between here and Uncle Dan's house and he's the only one we've got to be careful with."

  They made plans as they ate breakfast. Judy had brought her cow horn and they agreed that the first thing they should do was train Pot Likker some.

  That day for Jonathan was all sunshine, summer heat, the woods and fields. They took Pot Likker way away from the houses and let him run anywhere he wanted to while Jonathan learned how to blow the horn.

  Judy lay in the grass, her arms under her head, and laughed at him as he puffed his cheeks out until he could barely see, then blew as hard as he could. Only a feeble, wavery squeak came out. But when she blew the horn, a wonderful noise rolled across the hot, quiet land. However, Pot Likker would not even stop running around to listen when Judy blew. He would prick up his ears a little at the first note, but that was all.

  Jonathan was dizzy from trying so hard to blow the horn, so he lay down on the grass, too, and panted awhile, his lips sore from pressing against the mouthpiece. 'What difference does it make whether I can blow it or not?" he asked. 'Tot Likker comes when I call him anyway."

  "Makes a lot/' Judy said. ''On a real fox hunt the hounds might strike on two or three foxes. Well, you can't listen to them all, so you decide which is the best one to chase and you try to get all the hounds on that one. Maybe your hound is a mile or so away. He can't hear your voice no matter how loud you holler." Judy laughed. ''On almost every hunt there's always somebody who has to spend all night and maybe the next day looking for his dog. Now try some more, but don't try so hard."

  Jonathan lay in the grass and again tried to blow the horn. For a long time nothing but tired squeaks came out of it, but then, all of a sudden, a fine, round note poured up. It was so good and solid that it surprised him.

  Pot Likker was all the way across the field nosing around the edge of the woods. When he heard the horn he stopped and listened, his head up and his ears half unfolded.

  "Blow again! He's waiting," Judy said.

  Jonathan sat up and blew the horn again, this time making an even longer and sweeter note.

  Pot Likker wasn't quite sure. He came toward Jonathan a little way, then stopped.

  Jonathan blew a short commanding blast.

  Pot Likker came galloping, his droopy ears flopping and his tail wagging.

  It was wonderful.

  After a while they got up and wandered some more, the dusty grasshoppers whirring away in front of them. Pot Likker came when Jonathan blew the horn and when he

  came, the way he loved Jonathan made both him and Judy feel sort of serious. Pot Likker made it clear that as long as Jonathan seemed to want Judy to hang around it was all right, but to Pot Likker there really wasn't anyone else in the world except Jonathan.

  Judy and Jonathan climbed up in a chinaberry tree and watched Pot Likker investigating the nearby woods. Judy leaned back against the trunk of the tree and balanced her feet on a limb. ''He's a wonderful dog, isn't he, Jonathan?" she asked.

  Thinking about how wonderful Pot Likker was made him happy all the way through. He nodded at Judy and traced the way the silver bands ran around the cow horn.

  ''I bet that ever since he ran away he's been running foxes all by himself," Judy declared.

  "You think so?"

  ''I know so."

  'AVhat's a real fox hunt like, Judy? I wish I remembered more about them. I used to go, but I always got sleepy before anything happened."

  Judy's face lit up. ''They're wonderful! You get up on a

  hill and listen. You " Suddenly she stopped and sat up

  straighter. 'This is Saturday, isn't it?"

  Jonathan thought back, then nodded. ''I guess so."

  "Yes, it is. Jonathan "

  She was looking at him with a strange wild look. She was smiling a little, as though she had a secret.

  **What?" he asked, feeling excited, but not knowing why.

  *'Let's go fox hunting tonight/'

  Jonathan still felt excited, but not so much. ''All right. Where?"

  For some reason Judy whispered. ''Widow's Hill."

  "Where's that?"

  ''It's where the men hunt. It belongs to an old, old man named Senator Hammond."

  "Will he let us?"

  Judy laughed, the sly look still on her face. "He won't even know we're there."

  Jonathan was puzzled. "Suppose Pot Likker starts barking, won't the senator hear him?"

  "Doggone right he'll hear him."

  "Well?"

  Judy slid along the limb until she was closer. Then, talking as though she was afraid somebody might overhear her, she said, "Let's do it, Jonathan! We could sneak Pot Likker into the race. Then w^e could hide up on the hill so they couldn't see us. Oh, I'd just love to hear Pot Likker give tongue on a real race. Wouldn't you?"

  Jonathan nodded. Then, lowering his voice to the same tone as hers, he asked, "You mean there'll be men up there, too?"

  "Sure there will. They have a race every Saturday night. There'll be old one-gallus fox hunters from all o'er. And the hounds! They'll have the best hounds in the world running tonight."

  ''They will/' Jonathan said slowly, ''if Pot Likker is running with them."

  "Will you do it?'' Judy asked breathlessly.

  "Sure." Jonathan suddenly felt big and old. "I can do anything I want to, you know."

  Judy sat baek frowning. "How'll we get there?"

  "How far is it?"

  "A Jong way."

  "If we started walking now, eould we get there in time for the race?"

  She shook her head.

  "How about on horseback?"

  "Uh uh."

  "We could hitchhike."

  "I thought of that. But don't you think that anybody who'd pick us up with a dog would turn out to be one of the men going to the hunt, too?"

  Jonathan nodded. "Nobody else would, I guess."

  "Then how?" But before he could answer Judy started to jitterbug on the limb.

  "Sit still; you'll break it," he warned her.

  "The railroad goes right by Widow's Hill, Jonathan," she said, calming down. "Do you suppose that engine
er you know would give us a ride?"

  "Maybe. He's a fox hunter, so maybe he would."

  "It wouldn't hurt to ask him, would it?"

  "All he could do would be to say no."

  Then Judy frowned again. "Would he tell on you?"

  Jonathan frowned, too. Then he said, ''No. I don't think so, Judy. In the first place, he doesn't know I've run away."

  "I wish you wouldn't say 'run away,' Jonathan," she said quietly. "It kind of makes me feel bad, wrong. Just say you've 'moved.'"

  "All right. Because I haven't really run away. I told my father—at least I wrote him a letter—telling him all about it."

  "If he still remembers about dogs, he'll understand, won't he?"

  "I think so."

  "Will he try to find you, Jonathan? I mean, get the police or the FBI or something?"

  Jonathan thought. "I don't know. I don't think so. My father's kind of funny. You might think that he was sort of a stern, faraway man, but, sometimes, he can be just like other people."

  "I hope he leaves you alone," Judy said. "What would happen to Pot Likker if he made you go away from him?" He won t.

  Judy started climbing down out of the tree. "We'd better start back so we'll be there in plenty of time to catch the train."

  Jonathan braced himself in the tree and put the horn up to his lips. He blew the long, wailing, "Come here. Pot Likker," tune. In a little while Pot Likker came galloping through the woods.

  'Til go by Uncle Dan's, then meet you at the track/' Judy said.

  They were waiting for Mr. Duncan's train when it pulled slowlv up the long hill at the Farm.

  Jonathan started waving as the engine crawled toward them. When Mr. Duncan waved back, Jonathan began to trot along, warning Pot Likker to stay right at his heels.

  Running along beside the window of the engine, Jonathan yelled up, ''Will you take us to Widow's Hill, Mr. Duncan?"

  Mr. Duncan cupped his ear and yelled something.

  The engine kept on puffing and grinding. Bursts of wet, warm steam flowed around Jonathan and Pot Likker as they ran.