The Healer

by Daniel P. Mannix

  Wolf and the pack leader circled each other head to tail instead of meeting head on, for there were certain important preliminaries before a fight—a fight which might still be avoided. Wolf's tail was lifted near the base and curved. Even from his distance, Billy could see the exposed scent gland on the upper surface, some sixteen inches from the tip. This was the only part of the tail that had no under fur and the hair covering the gland was the coarsest on his body. Wolf bent his tail and spread these hairs to allow the scent to escape. Billy could tell that the pack leader instantly recognized the odor of the property owner for he side-stepped away, his tail going down. Until now the dog had been uncertain who the stranger might be. For an instant it looked as though he might retreat, but then he also lifted his tail so Wolf could smell his odor. Billy could tell by Wolf's actions that he immediately identified the enemy who had been polluting his scent posts. His plierlike jaws opened in a snarl, and he moved closer. Now nothing but ignominious flight on the leader's part could prevent a fight. Billy felt that if the leader had been alone he might have run, but he did not dare to retreat in the presence of the pack.

  Slowly the two males circled each other, coming closer and closer, both balancing carefully and moving only one foot at a time, so as to be able to leap away from a sudden attack without falling over their own feet. Rumbling growls sounded from deep in their chests, the whites of their eyes showed as their curled lips strained the skin of their faces. Wolf's long canines were especially prominent, protruding like fangs. The dog's teeth were more symmetrical. He was much heavier than Wolf, although he stood only an inch or so higher at the shoulder. Gradually, like a clock running down, their circling slowed. They were now almost face to face. The growls rose in pitch and became snarls.

  The coyote's head went down and his back arched like an angry cat's. This made him look bigger and also braced him for a leap. The dog's head was up, his back straight. Both fighters had their ears laid back out of harm's way. The preliminaries were over. Now something had to happen. The white teeth shone, the snarls went up the scale until they could be no shriller. As they reached a climax, Wolf struck.

  He made a quick jump for the dog's neck, hoping to slash open the jugular with one of his daggerlike canines. The dog took the stroke on his shoulder. The tooth opened a red line down his side, but the dog's shoulder was well padded. Wolf struck again, and this time the dog met him jaw to jaw, teeth clicking on teeth. Both went up on their hind legs, trying to get over the other's head and fasten to the back of the neck. For a few seconds they stood erect, teeth grating together, shoving with their forelegs to overbalance the other. Then the dog's greater weight told, and Wolf went over backward. Instantly the dog was on top of him, boring his muzzle through Wolf's wildly thrashing legs for the throat hold. If the dog had grabbed one of Wolf's legs and crushed it, the fight would have been virtually over, but Billy guessed that the leader was a "throat fighter." In his first fight with another dog, he had probably vanquished his opponent by a throat hold and had been using it ever since. Unless very much tempted by an easy hold, he would always go for the throat. Abe Zook had told Billy that once an animal finds a certain technique successful, he will continue to employ it from then on, regardless of circumstances.

  Wolf was able to roll away and escape, leaving a mouthful of his mane in the dog's jaws, but the pack leader was confident now. He was heavier and stronger than his opponent and knew it, so he charged straight in. Billy saw Wolf turn away and knew he wanted to run, but the pack was now behind him, so he was trapped. He drew away, his lips pulled back so far that the lining was turned inside out. As the dog charged, he jumped aside, feinting with his bushy tail. The dog tried to get a grip but everywhere he struck, that thick brush was in his face, blinding him and filling his jaws. In the open, Wolf could have kept up the game almost indefinitely, but the leader was forcing him against the other dogs and they were growing more excited. In a few seconds, the whole pack would be on the coyote. They had held off so far only because Wolf was attacking them instead of their attacking him, and they had a guilty feeling about invading his territory.

  The leader stopped trying to grab Wolf in his jaws and, swinging sideways, hit the coyote with his shoulder. Wolf reeled back and nearly fell. The leader, sure now that he had the right system, bumped him again. Wolf threw out a foreleg and the dog grabbed for it. As his head went down and his neck stretched out, Wolf ripped open the side of his neck. The slash missed the jugular but left a half-inch deep gash that sent blood squirting over both of them. As the coyote's head went up, the dog grabbed him by the muzzle and their jaws locked. Wolf flung himself back and forth desperately to break the grip but the dog had him. Levering with his greater weight, the leader forced the coyote's head to one side. Wolf tried to keep his feet but he was forced down on his side. The dog was on top, pinning him to the ground. Now the pack leader had only to release his jaw grip and take this throat hold and the fight was over. Wolf's only hope had been to stay on his feet, avoid the dog's rushes, and slash him as he went past.

  Billy could stand no more. Shouting, he ran toward the combatants. Some of the dogs saw him and leaped away, but the fighters paid no attention to him at all. Suddenly the leader let go his jaw hold and struck for the prostrate coyote's throat. As he did so, Blackie fastened onto his chest. Billy shouted with excitement. Blackie had gone to the defence of her mate. Billy had found fawns that the pair had killed and noted that the chest was always crushed in. That was Blackie's favorite hold because she had killed her first fawn that way. She had several times helped Wolf kill large game and had learned that it was part of her job to come to his help when he was in trouble. Billy could not help wondering if in the general excitement, and accustomed as she was to helping in a struggle, she was only following a pattern rather than really trying to save her mate.

  Her jaws were not wide enough to crush in the dog's chest, but Wolf rolled free. The pack leader ignored Blackie and sprang after Wolf, but now that it was clearly a free for all, the other dogs rushed in. Ordinarily they would not have touched a bitch, but the fury of combat was on them and they were drugged with the scent of blood and excitement. In the melee, they bit at each other, and the whole area around the post was a struggling mass of fighting animals.

  Billy arrived, panting, but did not dare to interfere with the raving animals. He looked around for a club but there was nothing, not even a large stone. The leader bored his way through the mob and fastened on Wolf a second time. Again, he managed to get the jaw hold and both animals went up on their hind legs as the coyote fought to break the fatal grip before he was thrown down. Steadily giving way to prevent his heavier adversary from throwing him, Wolf reached the edge of the sharp decline into the swamp. His hind legs went from under him, he made a frantic effort to regain his balance, and then both animals rolled down the slope into the water with the rest of the pack on top of them.

  Billy ran to the fence post and tried to jerk it loose but the post was too firmly embedded in the ground. Wolf and Blackie were smothered in a mass of raging dogs and could not last much longer. Billy was weeping as he struggled with the post and at last, despairing of freeing it, stumbled down the slope with some wild idea of separating the combatants with his bare hands.

  He heard the crack of a rifle and one of the dogs yelped with pain. There was another shot and another. Billy stopped bewildered. Then the muck of furious animals distintegrated and dogs were running in all directions. Billy saw Wolf and Blackie thrash out of the swamp and race for the shelter of the distant woods. Another shot, and dirt jumped a yard from Wolf's side. The coyote had been running at full speed, yet now he seemed able to squeeze an additional spurt of speed out of his long legs. The dogs were running in the opposite direction. A wire fence around the pasture held them for a few seconds. Then some went over it and some under it. Three dogs were left in the shallow water of the marsh. One was dead, one still breathing, and one limping and crying on three legs.

  Bi
lly saw Jim Stoltzfoos, the game warden, running across the pasture with his rifle in his hand. He stopped, aimed carefully, and put the two wounded animals out of their pain. Then he turned to Billy.

  "Son, you must be crazy. Those dogs could have torn you to pieces. Haven't you any sense?"

  "They were trying to kill Wolf and Blackie—and you shot at Wolf," Billy screamed.

  "You mean that coyote?"

  "He's not a coyote—his name is Wolf. He was only trying to defend his range from those dogs."

  The warden stood looking at the boy for a long time. Then he unloaded his rifle.

  "I'd better take you home. You don't look too well to me."

  Still sobbing, Billy followed the man to his jeep and climbed into the car. Neither spoke until they reached the farmhouse. Then Billy said, "You're not going to try to kill Wolf and Blackie anymore, are you?"

  "We'll talk about that some other time. You'd better go and lie down. I'm glad I happened along when I did, that's all."

  Wasser was barking, and Abe Zook came out of the barn. Billy ran to him crying and the old man put his arm around the boy's shoulder. He shouted furiously to the warden, "What have you to the boy been doing?"

  "Saving his life," the warden called back. Then he threw the car into gear and drove away.

  SIX

  When the warden had gone, Abe Zook turned furiously on Billy and demanded, "What has happened?"

  Billy told him as well as he could. When he had finished, Zook snapped, "Never did I think I would be glad for a game warden, but he is saving your life, boy," and strode away. He refused to say more until after supper, when he had a few drinks of homemade beer and lit a cigar of Indian tobacco.

  "The black dog must be with pups," he explained. "For no other reason would the wolf fight against a pack. He must hold his land so there will be a place for his offspring to live. Now that three of them are dead, perhaps the dog pack will leave. Let us hope so. May they go and trouble some other place."

  "What about Wolf and Blackie? Will they let me play with the pups?"

  "Such a thing put out of your mind. You will never find the den, for it will be where the wolf wishes, not the dog. He will hide it well. Come, let us find other things to interest you."

  Rising, Zook went to a shelf and, after turning over a collection of strange objects, returned with a small box. Billy had seen it before, but Abe Zook had never bothered to explain its purpose. Actually, it was two boxes : a small one, about twice the size of a matchbox, mounted on top of a cigar box. The small box had a sliding glass cover. A hole just large enough for one of Billy's fingers connected it to the cigar box and a piece of tin could be inserted under the small box to close the hole.

  "Tomorrow we start out early and find ourselves a bee," said Abe Zook, and that was all that Billy could get out of him.

  As soon as the dew was off the grass the next day, they set out. Zook carried an old pair of field glasses, a small bottle of white paint, climbing irons, a rope, and a saw. Billy was given several buckets, a hat with a veil, gloves, and a box attached to a bellows. They headed for a hay field overlooking the valley where the wild mustard was in bloom. Billy trudged along without daring to ask questions, wondering whether this was another of the old braucher's charms or if Zook really had some project in mind.

  "Now I am showing you how to catch a bee," said Zook. He caught several that had alighted on the mustard flowers by shooing them into the box with his handkerchief. Next he slid back the glass top on the small box and put a dab of honey from a small bottle on the inside. "This honey is mixed with anise to give it a strong odor," he explained. He closed the glass top and took out the tin slide. Before long one of the prisoners crawled up through the hole into the small box and Zook slid the tin door back into position to keep the others out.

  "What now?" asked Billy, still uncertain whether the whole business had some real purpose or was one of the old man's magical rites.

  "Watch and you will see." Zook got out the bottle of paint, dipped in a twig, and cautiously sliding back the glass, marked the bee—an easier process than Billy had supposed, as the bee was so busy feeding that she paid no attention to the twig. When the bee was full, Zook pulled out the glass and released her.

  "Now be watching close where she goes," said the old man, lifting his glasses. The bee circled around for a few minutes as though to mark the spot and get her bearings. Then she took off, flying so directly that Billy for the first time knew what a "beeline" meant.

  "Watch already," called Zook as the bee disappeared. The bee went so fast that Billy could only follow her line of flight for a dozen yards or so, but he pointed out the direction as best he could. Zook marked another bee and released it. This bee took off in another direction but Zook did not seem discouraged. He continued to mark and release bees, carefully noting with his big watch when each bee was released. When the last bee had flown, Zook drove a stake into the ground and put the box with the glass slide pulled back on top of it.

  "Now we are waiting," he said. Billy sat down and looked over the valley. It was a glorious spring. The pewter-colored days of winter had gone and it was a time of blue and gold—robin's-egg blue skies and a golden sun. The new leaves on the trees were as tender as fresh lettuce and the air was full of scents. Billy, remembering when he had gone into Wolf's mind, wished that now he had the coyote's power to distinguish between the individual odors and find them attractive, frightening, warning, or informative. Recalling that wonderful power, he felt almost crippled without it—as though he had gone blind. But Wolf could not see as well as he could, and he was content to look around. Wild geraniums covered the hillside with a veil of pink, bordered with purple where sweet William bloomed along the fence rows. The ghostly dutchman's pipes glimmered along the edge of the woods and the incessant song of a red-eyed vireo sounded continually.

  A marked bee was hovering around the box, and with her were a couple of other bees. "Friends of hers from the same hive," said Zook, looking at his watch. "It is just ten minutes." Other marked bees were beginning to come in for the honey in the box and Zook noted each one's time. "After filling up with honey, they go straight to the hive," he told Billy. "If a bee takes eight minutes for a round trip, the hive is half a mile away. If she takes fourteen minutes, then the hive is a full mile. Twenty-three minutes means two miles. Long ago I worked out all these numbers."

  "Suppose the bee takes half an hour, how far is the hive then?" asked Billy.

  "It is probably five miles or so away and not worth bothering about. Now we will catch some of those that took only ten minutes and be trying again."

  Zook caught some of the ten minute bees and then he and Billy walked a mile or so to another position. Here he started releasing the insects. "Now we watch how they fly," he told Billy. After a few minutes he reported, "See, they are heading so." He pointed across the valley. "The other flight was like this," and he pointed. "So we have two straight lines. Where they cross will be the hive."

  They walked to the spot where Zook believed that the two lines crossed, and a few more bees were released.

  When they returned, bringing others with them, Zook again consulted his watch.

  "The hive is less than half a mile away," he reported with satisfaction. "Now you must be using your ears as well as your eyes. Often you can hear them buzzing around the bee tree when you are not seeing them."

  They started walking. Billy was growing tired from carrying the heavy buckets but he refused to complain. Soon they came to an old Victorian house deep in the woods. There were some gigantic old trees and Zook said proudly, "The hive is in one of those trees. We will look for bees flying in and out of a hole."

  Although they looked for nearly an hour, there was no sign of the bees and Zook became irritable. He flipped some of his bee bait on the bushes and said, "We will wait once." He and Billy waited, but nothing happened.

  Billy was growing restless. The braucher liked to make a mystery out of everything, and
sometimes this was fun, but today the boy was hot and tired. Also, he was worried about Wolf and Blackie. If Blackie was going to have pups, he wanted to be there to help her even though he had no idea what to do. At least, he might be able to protect the werewolffen from the dog pack and the game warden.

  "Ah there!" said Zook with satisfaction. Bees had begun to alight on the bait and gorge themselves. "When they go, we follow them," said Zook rising. As usual, the bees made their straight flight to the hive, and now the mystery was solved. The hive was in the cupola of the old house.

  "What do we do now, burn the house down?" asked Billy, who could still see no point in the expedition.

  "Let us be asking the people who live there if we can get into the cupola. 1 am thinking they would not be too glad to have a hive of bees in their attic."

  He knocked on the door and a little old lady opened it. She looked to be about the same age as the house. Zook asked her about the bees.

  "Oh certainly," said the woman cordially. "They must have tons of honey up there. It keeps dripping through the ceiling onto our beds. But they've built in an air space and there's no way into it."

  Zook looked discouraged. "Sixty-five cents a pound I could be getting for that honey," he told Billy. "Would you be letting me break through the ceiling?"

  "No!" said the lady decidedly.

  Zook turned to Billy. "To most people, there would be no answer, but I am a braucher. I will show you how to put a charm on bees so we get both the honey and the swarm."

  Empty-handed, they returned to the farm. After much rummaging around in the loft of the barn, Zook found an old beehive. It was a square box with a slit along the bottom to allow the bees to enter. Inside were removable frames and Zook explained how the bees would build their wax combs in the frames, which could then be taken out and the honey extracted.