by Robin Moore
Rory nodded. "I know what it's like to lose somethin" ya love," he said," I lost a dog once. Now I hope you won't laugh at me—losing a dog can be almost as bad as losing a child."
"I'm not laughing," Maggie said.
"Well, you've told me yer story and now I'll tell ya mine, if ya won't think I'm too foolish."
"Tell away," Maggie said, "I assure you, we won't think you're foolish."
"Well," Rory began,"It was maybe five years ago, back before the war. That was when I first met Hank. I didn't think much of him when I first laid eyes on him. He was just a pup then, just a few weeks old.
"I was doin' some fur tradin' down in Buccaloons with an old Indian fella there who I called Pine Tree, cause he was tall and thin like a pine. Now, I have never in my life known a man with such a knowledge of dogs. Dog training, dog sickness, dog personalities, dog ways—he knew it all. And it was a good thing, because in them days they was as many dogs in the village as people. They just multiplied like crazy, the dogs, I mean.
"Pine Tree and I finished our tradin' business. Then he said he had a present for me. He called back into his cabin and out comes one of his young sons, carrying this lubbering, floppy-ear mongrel pup. He presents him to me like he's givin' me a sack of gold and says, 'This will be good dog.' Well, I had my doubts but I didn't want to offend Old Pine Tree, so I took the little fella, put him in the canoe and set off fer my cabin acrost the river.
"Well, that first night away from his mama that pup cried all night and I was on the verge of givin' him back. But there was somethin' in his eye, something about the way he looked at me that prevented me from doin' it. To tell you the truth, I think I was just lonely as could be and not havin' a wife or any white companions, I guess Pine Tree thought this dog might be the best thing for me.
"Well, he was right about that, I named him Hank and that dog and I spent every wakin' hour together from then on. Come to think of it, we spent every sleeping hour together too—he would just snuggle down in the bearskin right along with me.
"I think sleepin' in that bearskin, and gettin' the smell of that bear up his nose was what made him such a good bear huntin' dog. I 'member the very first time we took him out for bear. Old Pine Tree and I went out one fall after black bear and we took along some of his best dogs and we took Hank along too, even though he was a little young.
"And you never saw a dog take to bear huntin' like Hank. He had a nose that could follow a bear's scent through water, trees, across bare rock, anywhere that bear went, Hank's nose would go. That was when I started to get into bear huntin' serious. I got myself a big .60 caliber bear hunting rifle and Hank and I would set off fer days at a time in the fall. When the hunting was good we would go upriver, chase down a bear, shoot him, skin him and canoe him downstream.
"Then it'd be bear steaks and bear loins and bear brains fer dinner fer a solid week. Hank would get the pick of the the bear bones. I'd render up bear fat in big kettles on the fire outside the cabin and Old Pine Tree showed me how the Indians would use the claws and sinew even the entrails of the bear to make things fer around the cabin. But the most delicious part of the operation—and the thing Hank and I loved the best —was smoking the bear hams.
"We would take those hams and hang them up in the smokehouse and smoke em up dry with shagbark hickory chips on the fire. And those hams were like solid gold in trade up and down this river.
"Then, one year, during the fall hunt, we had a turn of bad luck. I was out by myself with Hank and we was twenty miles west of here, over in the swamp country. We had run bear all that first day but hadn't caught anything and we were restin' our bones that night by a fire in the woods when we heard a terrible scream up in the hills behind us. It was the first time either Hank or I had heard a mountain lion. I had heard tell of them before but I had never actually heard one myself. If you haven't heard it, it is one of the eeriest sounds in all of creation. Sounds like a cross between a winter wind and a woman in childbirth pain.
Terrible sound.
"Well, the scream starts gettin' closer and Hank, loyal as always, goes dashin' off into the woods to scare this thing off. I called after him, trying to keep him back, but he was just determined to run that thing off. I heard a terrible thrashing around in the bushes. Hank's yelps of pain were all mixed up with the panther's screams. I clutched up a torch from the fire and my horse pistol and went out into the thicket after them.
"I suppose the light from my torch scared that mountain lion off. But there was no sign of Hank. I finally located him, he was lying on his side on the thicket, his head and shoulders and paws just scratched to ribbons. I thought he was dead at first. But then he looked up at me and whined and I knew he still had a chance.
"I carried him back to the river and brought him down to Old Pine Tree in the village. The old man used hot comfrey leaves for the bandages and said Hank would heal from the wounds in time.
"But he said there was another problem. Some people said there was a woods-witch up in the swampy hills that was taken' on the shape of a panther and luring dogs out from their masters then attackin' em. And Old Pine Tree said that if a dog was scratched by one of them panthers, it was only a matter a time before that dog went crazy and and would start actin' out during the full moon time.
"Well, I watched Hank real careful after that and in a few weeks his wounds healed and I figured he was all right.
"Then, one night, a strange thing happened. It was in early December and we still hadn't gotten any snow yet, but it was cold in the evenin's . I went out to the smokehouse that night to select a ham for our dinner. I used a little pine pitch torch to see my way. Hank and I opened the big hickory slat door like we always did. We kept that door barred because there are plenty animals would like to steal off those hams. And when we would open that door, the smell of those smoked hams rollin' out was enough to make a fella's mouth water.
"Anyway, I reached up — Then I noticed—one of the hams was missing. I counted them again but, sure enough, there were only eleven. There should have been twelve hams because every bear I've ever seen has two ham on 'im."
"I said, 'Hank,what can this mean? What kinda animal has been in here? Sniff 'im out boy!'
"Hank sniffed around the door and all the way around the smokehouse but he couldn't seem to find any thin'. I had never known his nose to fail like that. I closed the door firm and latched it. The moon was shining real bright that night, full moon up in the sky. And I 'member my torch went out. But the moonlight was so bright I didn't need it to walk back to the cabin.
"That night, I sat up here by the fireplace and smoked my pipe and tried to think. I thought maybe I had just forgotten to count the hams or had lost one somewheres along the way. Then
I noticed that Hank was all atremblin' in his dreams. He yelped and as if something was passing over him, making him afeared.
"Well, I checked the next morning and even though the smokehouse door was locked, another bear ham was missin! I was furious! I was down to ten hams for the winter. I called Hank and he sniffed around, but he seemed dull and listless, like he'd been up all the night.
"Again, that night, he had those trembly dreams. Then I remembered an old trick that Pine Tree had showed me one time. He said it was a sure-fire way to figure out what a dog is dreamin'. I thought it was worth a try.
"As Hank was asleep on the floor, I crept over to my shelf and took down a piece of soft canvas cloth. Careful not to wake Hank, I laid that cloth over his sleeping eyes and ears and nose and left it there until he quit shiftin' around. Then I pulled that canvas up off him and laying on my own bed, I laid that cloth over my own face.
"Sure enough, I fell asleep and in that sleep, I started dreamin'. I started dreamin' I was a dog." Maggie and Jake sat quietly, staring into the fire.
"Yer not going to think I'm foolish if I go on?" Rory asked.
"No," Maggie said, "not at all, go on..."
Chapter Seven
"Well," Rory said, "I know this is a little hard
to believe, but I swear it's true. I started dreamin' I was a dog. In fact, I started dreamin' I was Hank, the dog.
"I saw myself waking up in Hank's body there on the cabin floor, he looked over and there was me, Rory Garvin, layin' in the bed asleep.
"Hank crept silent acrost the floor, careful not to wake me. With his paw, he pushed open the door and stepped out into the moonlight. Hank headed straight for the smokehouse.
"He leaped on a stump nearby and from the stump up onto the roof of the smokehouse. Placing his paws on either side of the smoke hole, he reached down into the smokehouse and plucked one of those hams off the peg on the rafters. Now I had a little trap door on the chimney top to keep squirrels out, but he just pushed that aside with his nose then let it fall back down into place.
"With that bear ham in his teeth, Hank jumped down off the roof of the smokehouse and ran back into the woods for a few hundred paces. There he stopped and feasted on that ham. But he couldn't finish the whole thing. And, like a dog will do, he dug a hole there in the hillside and buried that hambone.
"Then he trotted back to the clearing, slipped in the door, pushed it closed with his nose, and laid down on the floor and fell asleep as if nothing had happened.
"Now, that was the dream I had. The next morning when I opened my eyes, I snatched that piece of cloth off my face and without so much as a glance at Hank, I made straight for that smokehouse.
"Sure enough, another ham was missin!
"I walked around to the back of the smokehouse and found a set of tracks going back into the woods. I started followin' 'em. But after a while I didn't need to follow the tracks, because every rock and every tree was clear, just like it was in my dream. Soon I was standin' beside that big hemlock tree. I knew right where to dig. And I came up with what I hoped I wouldn't find—three half-eaten bear hams.
"I stormed back to the cabin and shook those hambones at Hank, all the while shoutin', 'Hank! What's the meanin' of this? I thought you and I were partners! You're nothin' but a common thief!'
"Well, poor Hank, he cowered and whined and crept forward as if he was beggin' my forgiveness. But I wasn't havin' any of it. I grabbed a piece of rope and tied it tight around Hank's neck, led him down to the canoe and took him acrost to Old Pine Tree, told him the whole story.
"Pine Tree sat there by his fire, smokin' his clay pipe and lookin' at Hank.
" 'Looks like the full-moon sickness to me,' he said.
"Then he explained. Folks said that if a dog got so much as a scratch from one of them nightcats, they would go moon-struck. The full moon illness would hit them hard, makin' 'em act crazy. But the rest of the time they'd act normal.
"'Well,' I told Pine Tree,”I can't have a dog that steals from me, full moon or not.'
"Pine tree took the pipe from his mouth and nodded. T understand. He just steals? He hasn't bit you or tried to ruin anything in the cabin?'
"I shook my head. 'No. But, even so, I can't keep a dog that steals from me.Pine Tree reached out and rubbed Hank on the head.
" 'I'll keep him with me,' the old man said, 'I'll have the boys pen him up during the moon-time so's he doesn't cause any trouble.'
"I nodded and handed the rope over to him. Hank was watching' every move I made, knowing that somethin' peculiar was happenin'. When I stood up to go, Hank stood up too, as if to follow me, but the old man held him firm by the rope. I walked out of the cabin without so much as backward look.
"As I was gettin' in my canoe, I heard Hank bark. I could see that Old Pine Tree had him tied up to the sapling by the cabin door. Hank struggled against the rope but couldn't pull free. In all of his life Hank had never known ropes or collars or leashes. He was a free dog.
"When Hank saw that I was pushin' off from shore and leavin' him behind, he put his muzzle in the air and gave out the longest, most lonesome moan I have ever heard. It was hard to paddle away that day and leave him, but I didn't see any other way, because you can't keep a dog that steals from ya.
"Well, I paddled back to the cabin and checked the smokehouse. The hams were safe. Then I set about fixin' my dinner. But the old cabin didn't seem the same without Hank. I was so used to him doggin' my steps that it felt like I had gone and lost my shadow.
"I wanted Hank back, sure enough. But I had given him away and I couldn't take him back, that woulda been an insult to Pine Tree. So I let things be.
"It got kinda difficult to visit the village after that because they just let Hank run free and except fer his few days a month when they kept him penned up, he was all right. Every time I'd come down to the village he's come running up to me leaping round and lickin' me. It was enough to break a man's heart because both he and I knew that no matter how many masters he had, he and I would always be partners. So I stayed away from the village a fair amount after that. It was just too heart-breakin' fer both of us.
"The boys told me that Hank would meet the canoes that came in and every canoe that came in he would look at and snifT, hoping I would be on it. And sometimes, at night, he would run up and down the riverbank, barking and howling trying to call me out out my cabin. But I refused to have anything to do with him. I figured as long as there was a river between him and me, I wouldn't be bothered by him. He wasn't a very good swimmer and even if he was, the current was pretty strong there and Hank knew better than to attempt swimmin' acrost.
"Then one day, Pine Trees' sons paddled over to get a load of smoked hams for trade. I shouldn't have sent those hams over to the village. I just wasn't thinkin' about what effect them hams would have on Hank.
"When the boys brought them hams back inta the village, it just drove Hank crazy. A few of the boys told me about it later. When the boys pulled up in that canoe, They said Hank came out like he always did and sniffed around them as they unloaded. But when he caught a scent of those Garvin-smoked hams, the poor dog just went crazy.
"He gave out a terrible howl and dashed into the river, swimming hard and strong upstream, swimming against the current, trying to cross over and make it up to my cabin. The boys yelled after him and tried to stop him. But it was too late. He got caught in a big eddy in the center of the river and it drug him down.
"The boys and I searched downstream for miles the next morning. But we never found the body. I suppose he was drowned, trying to swim back to me. But sometimes I like to think that maybe he got washed ashore somewheres downstream and that maybe he's still alive somewhere, going through his monthly cycle of craziness.
"And you've never heard from him since?" Jake asked.
"No, I haven't. I'll admit that sometimes I like to think that he'll make it back to me. Sometimes I imagine that I'll be settin' here some day and I'll look up and there'll be Hank, running up through the clearin', with his tongue hanging out and his ears flopping and that twinkly look in his eye."
Rory was silent for a few moments.
"I never shoulda given him away," the big man whispered. "I shoulda forgiven him like he woulda me, if he woulda been the man and I woulda been the dog. He was my dog."
Maggie laid a comforting hand on Rory's shoulder.
"I understand Rory. I hope yer dog comes back some day.”
Chapter Eight
Maggie did understand. She knew what it was to hope against hope that the thing you’ve lost will someday make its way back to you.
A storm came up the next morning, not a full-fledged storm, but enough to give Maggie and Jake an excuse for staying on at Rory's place for a day or two. It was good to be in out of the wind. And the combination of Maggie's bread and Rory's smoked hams allowed them to regain some of their strength.
Jake had found a fresh ear for his bear stories. Rory found someone to commiserate with about the war and the Indians and the decline of the fur trade.
At last, the storm moved on and Maggie and Jake knew it was time for them to move on as well. Before they left, Maggie had attempted to remove the blindfold across Rory's eyes, but the light was still too strong. Both Jake and Magg
ie felt bad about leaving him in darkness but he assured them he would be all right.
"I don't mean to hold you back on my account," Rory told them, "I've enjoyed yer company. Stop off at the smokehouse on your way out and pick out a smoked ham to take on the trail with ya. Feel free to stop in on your way back downriver."
Then, more quietly, he said to Maggie, "I hope you find yer boy."
"Thanks, Rory. I hope you find your dog."
Then it was time to go. Jake had the sled packed and had brought their snowshoes out into the clearing before the cabin. Rory stood in the doorway, feeling the winter sunlight on his face.
"Clear day," he remarked, "you watch out for snowblindness. Make yourself some birchbark goggles if ya have to."
"Surely will," Jake said. He slipped into the toboggan harness. "Good luck to ya, Garvin."
Then they set off toward the river trail. Maggie called Poordevil and he trotted ahead. It was astonishing how much their bodies had softened in just three days away from the trail. Within an hour, Maggie's leg muscles were begging for relief. The constant shushing of the snowshoes lulled her into the monotony of travel. What's more, she now felt open to the cold. Even though they were walking steadily, Maggie couldn't seem to get warm. Although he didn't complain, Maggie knew that Jake was feeling the strain as well. They moved slowly, camping early that night.
It was strange to walk upriver, into the fresh and silent snow, without the cabin smells and comforts around them. It was strange to camp at night, under the open sky, shivering in their blankets in the snow.
In time, they fell back into the routine of travel and were soon making fifteen miles a day, just as they had on the first leg of the journey.
When Maggie and Jake reached the upper waters of the Allegheny, they found the old Seneca Warrior's Trail which took them up along Oil Creek and into the Seneca Country. After three days of flatland travel, they met up with the Genesee River and followed that waterway north, into even colder weather.