As they approached the big barns, Sheilah slowed her step and walked so close to Ross that she all but brushed his legs. Curley Jordan, one of Mr. Haggin’s men and a good friend of the Picketts, was exercising a stallion in the yard. He jerked a calloused thumb toward the house.
“Boss said to tell you he won’t be long. Stick around.”
They sat down in the grass, Sheilah resting companionably between the two, and watched Curley work. Then a stranger, dressed in jodhpurs and leather leggings, emerged from one of the tenant houses and came toward them.
He was a tall man with a fading thatch of brown hair. His face, sun-tanned and wind-creased, had obviously been exposed to every sort of weather. He smiled as he came forward.
“So you’re my competition, are you?”
“Guess so,” Danny said. “Would you be John Price’s trainer?”
“That’s me, Joe Williams.”
He looked keenly at Sheilah, and Danny warmed to him. His was the air of a man who knew dogs, and plainly he was able to see Sheilah’s good points as well as her few flaws. When he came near, Sheilah pressed her sleek head tightly against Ross’s shoulder and refused to look around.
“She doesn’t take kindly to anybody she doesn’t know,” Danny explained.
“I understand. Is she the best you’ve got?”
“Not the best hunter, but we can’t run him; he’s crippled. All we’ve got except Sheilah and Red are five unbroken pups.”
“Uh-huh. Would it be fair enough if you ran her against another bitch her own age?”
“Sure,” Ross said.
“I’ll get Belle.”
Joe Williams disappeared behind the barn, and reappeared in a short time with another English setter beside him. Danny whistled his admiration. If John Price had personally selected these English setters, he knew good stock. Belle was like the young dog that Mike had fought, but more finished. There was fire in her, and quality, and plenty of breeding. Still…. Danny wrinkled his brow.
There was something else about John Price’s dogs, something Danny could not understand at all. Belle was not on a leash, but she still seemed to be confined, as though her trainer were the source of all power and strength. There could be no doubt that the English setters were perfectly trained, but they seemed to lack spontaneity. At the moment Danny could not decide whether that was good or bad.
A few minutes later John Price and Mr. Haggin appeared.
“All set, I see,” Mr. Haggin said. “Good. The heats will be run in the back field. Of course they won’t be formal, and we’ll sort of figure out the rules as we go along. All right?”
Danny walked with the group, but because Sheilah did not like to be so close to strangers, Ross dropped back. They crossed Mr. Haggin’s broad meadows, went through a straggling line of woods, and came into one of the uncultivated back fields. Danny looked questioningly at a wooden crate beneath a tree, and Mr. Haggin saw his glance.
“John wanted to be sure there’d be birds to find, so we had some pheasants brought up.”
“I see.”
Danny kept his own counsel, not voicing the protest that sprang to his lips. As far as he knew, Sheilah had never worked on anything except grouse and quail. Pheasants were entirely different, but they were game birds and Mr. Haggin was certainly trying to be fair. The heats could have been run under very formal rules, and if either dog did not live up to them, disqualification would be the penalty. Knowing that neither Danny nor Ross had ever taken part in such a trial, Mr. Haggin had said that the rules would be made as they went along. Sheilah had a chance.
John Price took over. “Each handler will start his dog at this corner of the field and make a complete circuit. We’ll plant one bird for each, and the winner will be the dog that holds and points best. Any objections?”
Ross shrugged his acceptance. Danny said nothing.
“Do you want to go first?” Price asked Ross.
“Nope, let Joe lead off”
Danny relaxed. He had been wondering just what a handler did, and how he acted, in a trial such as this. Ross had solved that neatly by accepting second place; he could watch Joe Williams and do whatever he did.
“I’ll plant your bird, Joe,” John Price said.
He walked down to the crate, cautiously opened the trap door, reached in, brought out a struggling hen pheasant, and folded his hands about both wings. He whirled the pheasant around a few times, tucked its head under one wing, and put it down in a bunch of tall grass.
Danny approved; evidently John Price knew a lot about both dogs and birds. A pheasant, treated in such a manner, was hypnotized and would remain quiet for a considerable time.
“All right, Joe,” Price called.
Joe Williams moved away with the English setter beside him. He spoke some command, some word that Danny could not hear, and the dog started to hunt. Danny kept his eyes on her.
A beautiful creature, she seemed to acquire added beauty and grace now that she was hunting. All fire and flesh, she raced so swiftly that her trainer began to run to keep up. But at another command the dog slowed slightly. Danny narrowed his eyes.
There still seemed to be an invisible leash stretching from Belle to her trainer. They worked together in almost perfect coordination, and that was good. There was still something about it that he didn’t like.
Certainly Belle was a superb hunter, and she was enjoying the hunt, but not to the same extent that Red would. He threw himself heart and soul into the game, and worked as perfectly with Danny as Belle was working with Joe Williams, from sheer love of hunting and for Danny. Belle seemed a little strained, a little mechanical, as though she could never forget there was a man behind her. She was a wonderful hunter. Red was an artistic one.
Danny’s eyes were attracted by motion at the far end of the field. He saw two grouse come out of the beech woods into the open meadow, and disappear in tall grass. Probably they were looking for seeds, or had a dust bath in the grass. Danny’s eyes returned to the dog.
She was almost at the far end of the field, turning to come back toward her planted game. When they neared the pheasant, Joe Williams dropped a little behind his dog. He was not going to make the mistake of pointing it out to her.
Nor did he have to. Getting bird scent, Belle stopped instantly. She froze in a point, plumed tail stiff and one fore paw lifted. Joe Williams edged up to flush the pheasant.
It flew so close to the grass tops that its beating wings sent little air currents ruffling through them. Joe Williams called his dog to heel and came in.
Danny gulped. It had been a wonderful performance, almost a perfect one. Before he was hurt Red could have done as well or better, but Danny looked doubtfully at Sheilah.
John Price planted another bird and called, “All right, Ross.”
Sheilah crowded close beside Ross as he started off, following the path laid out by Joe Williams. Danny crossed his fingers and breathed hard; this was exactly what he had feared. Sheilah, upset by close contact with too many strangers, had no intention of leaving Ross’s side. Besides Danny, only Joe Williams seemed to know that.
“That’s a good dog,” the trainer said, “but she’s strictly one-man. Right now she’s nervous as a hurt cat.
“Yes, darn it,” Danny agreed.
They were in the far corner of the field before Sheilah would hunt at all. Then she trotted forward, casting as a hunting dog will, and Danny’s heart sang. Sheilah lacked Belle’s ability to impress an audience. But she was hunting almost as well and there was something present here that had been absent from Belle’s performance—something free and easy.
Never since Danny and Ross had had her had Sheilah known a whipping or even a slap. Never had she been forced to do anything which love for Danny and Ross Would not have made her do anyway. It showed in the way she hunted. Danny’s eyes glowed. This was the way a dog should hunt. An Irish setter with Belle’s speed, hunting the way Sheilah hunted, would be perfection itself.
They
swung to come up, following almost exactly the path laid out by Joe Williams and Belle. Sheilah stopped suddenly.
Danny’s heart leaped. The English setter passed within a few feet of where Sheilah was standing, but Belle had missed entirely the two grouse in the field. Sheilah was on them! She edged up and snapped into a perfect point.
Ross walked in ahead of her, and Danny felt suddenly cold. No birds flushed. Nothing at all happened. The two grouse had come into the meadow because they thought themselves perfectly safe. Finding a dog upon them, and too wise to fly, they must have run through the grass and back into the woods.
Danny remembered too late that nobody except himself had seen them come there.
3. A New Job
Danny worked on the wood pile furiously, trying by hard labor to forget the worries that beset him. To all eyes except his, Sheilah had taken a bad beating when she ran against John Price’s black and white dog. Danny knew that she had not; Sheilah wasn’t as fast but she had a better nose. Point for point, she was at least as good as Belle.
Only how could he prove it? Nobody except Danny had seen the grouse come into the field, and at the time he hadn’t thought them worth mentioning. To bring it up afterwards, to say that Sheilah had been on birds which the English setter had passed, would sound like the lamest of alibis.
Danny laid a length of tough oak in his chopping block, swung his axe, and split the wood cleanly. He split the two halves to stove size and threw them on the great heap of wood already split. But in spite of furious labor he could not forget his troubles.
Mr. Haggin hadn’t said outright that he was going to sell his Irish setters, but neither had he said that he wouldn’t. Patting Danny on the shoulder, he had told him to go back up to the cabin and watch over the dogs. That was all and it wasn’t enough.
The uncertainty had hung fire long enough, and it wasn’t going to harig any longer. Mr. Haggin must say what he intended to do about Sheilah and the pups.
Danny sank his double-bitted axe into the chopping block so hard that he left the handle quivering, and glanced toward the puppies’ cage. All five sprawled in the sun; for once even Mike had not escaped. Sheilah had gone bee-hunting with Ross. Whistling for Red, Danny turned toward the Smokey Creek trail.
Red, who had been resting on the porch, arose and quartered out to intercept Danny. The big dog fell in beside him. Danny let his dangling fingers play around Red’s ears, and at once he felt better. There was nothing he couldn’t do, and no problem he couldn’t solve, as long as he kept his self-confidence-and Red. Red raised a moist tongue to lick Danny’s hand. Danny smiled. Nobody could feel badly for long if he had a dog like Red beside him.
Side by side, they passed the barns and went to the big house. Red, who had been here so often that he knew exactly what to do, lay down in a sunny comer of the porch. Danny punched the bell, and Mr. Haggin himself opened the door.
“Good morning, Mr. Haggin. Figured I’d better come down and have a talk with you.”
“Glad you did, it saved me a trip up to see you. Had breakfast?”
“At sun-up. Pappy wanted to go bee-hunting.”
“Um-m! Hope he remembers me with some wild honey; I won’t have many more opportunities to enjoy it. I’m leaving tomorrow. Have a cup of coffee anyhow, Danny.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Haggin ordered coffee for both of them. Then he looked keenly at him.
“How far wide of the mark would I be if I guessed that you’d come to me about Irish setters?”
“You’d be right on the point and holding true,” Danny said. “That’s just why I’m here.”
“What’s on your mind, specifically?”
“I’d like to know where Pappy and I stand.”
“Where-you always did, Danny, I’ve never in my life hired a man unless I really wanted to keep him. You needn’t worry about your job.”
“How about Sheilah and the pups?”
“I hope you don’t think I’d be fool enough to put everything we did into those Irish setters and then let them go because Sheilah couldn’t stand up to Belle.”
“She could, Mr. Haggin. You’ve shot behind her.”
“I’m not denying that she’s a good gun dog, but she doesn’t have Belle’s caliber. Red has, but of course he’s in a class by himself. It’ll be a long while before another one like him happens along. As for you, you worry too much.”
“I worry too much?”
“That’s it. What did I tell you when I asked you to work with my dogs?”
“You said you wanted me to learn all there is to know about them.”
“Think you learned that in a year?”
“Nobody could.”
“That’s right.” Mr. Haggin rose to pace the floor. “Danny, I have a purpose in this Wintapi estate. Fortunately I also have enough money to back my ideas. I’ve always been interested in animals, and hope to leave them a little better than I found them. If I can do that I’ll be satisfied. As far as the dogs are concerned, I chose Irish setters because I liked them and thought they were the best. I still think so. I also like my nephew and am willing to listen to his ideas. We’ll give John’s setters a fair trial, and if he can show something better than we have, more power to him.
“I want to be fair, Danny, to you as well as to everyone else. You’ve done an excellent job as far as you’ve gone, and you and your father have an instinctive knowledge of dogs. I’m lucky to have you. But instinct isn’t everything. When you pitted Sheilah against one of the English setters, I did not expect Sheilah to win. I’m surprised that she did as well as she did. Why? These English setters are in the hands of a professional trainer and as far as I know there aren’t any better than Joe Williams. He’s devoted his life to his job. It would be unreasonable if he did not know much that you do not.”
Danny nodded, remembering the way Joe had handled Belle.
“All right. Now there are five pups, four good ones, with Red and Sheilah’s blood, which was the best I was able to find. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that dogs vary; there can be a wide difference between litter mates and the best blood lines in the world aren’t within themselves proof of quality. Look at Mike and you’ll know what I mean. However, at least one of the four pups should take to hunting. I don’t necessarily expect any champions-I know they’re scarce-but I would like to see one of those four pups trained so he is able to hold his own with the average bird dog of any other breed. If I can get one I’m sticking by the Irishmen, but I’m not saying that we won’t keep the English setters, too.
“I don’t expect you and your dad to make that sort of hunter out of any pup; it would be unfair to expect you to compete with Joe Williams. I would like to see you become an all-around setter man, one able to handle any dog anywhere. Danny, how would you like to move your stock down here and work closely with Joe?”
“You mean leave the beech woods?”
“I had the idea,” Mr. Haggin said wryly, “that this place of mine was pretty close to the beech woods too. However, if this is too civilized for you and Ross, you could continue to live in your beloved cabin. Just move Sheilah and the pups down here.”
Danny was overwhelmed. “Gosh, Mr. Haggin, I never thought about training the pups that way.”
“Start thinking,” Mr. Haggin urged. “I’ll put Ross on the payroll too. Within six months, I expect, he’ll be teaching Joe Williams things.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Mr. Haggin, these Irish setters aren’t like any other dog. You have to understand them or you can’t do a thing with them. They can think for themselves, and lots of times their thinking is better than yours. They’ll follow their own way when they’re bound to and nobody can change that.”
“Then you and your dad have a job making Joe understand your Irishmen.”
“We could try,” said Danny doubtfully.
“Good! That’s all I ask of you.”
“Suppose it doesn’t work?”
Mr; Haggin looked puzzled.
“In what way?”
“I don’t mean the pups,” Danny said hastily. They’ll stand up and I know it. But suppose we can’t convince your nephew and Joe Williams that they will?”
“In that event I’m sure John will make any necessary adjustments.”
“Well, as I’ve already said, we can try.”
“Good,” Mr. Haggin extended his hand. “Happy hunting, Danny.”
Danny shook the extended hand heartily, and there was warmth in his voice as he bade Mr. Haggin good-bye. But once he and Red were on the way home, he was assailed by many doubts.
They came to the bridge over Smokey Creek, and Danny stood for a while gazing at his own reflection in the clear pool beneath. Red scrambled down the bank, waded breast deep into the cold water, and drank. A shadowy fish darted across the pool, and Red scrambled after it. Danny grinned.
“Come on,” he said. “Come on, you old fish hound. Let’s go home and tell Pappy.”
Danny brightened at the thought of his father. Mr. Haggin could be right. Ross could tell at a glance just what any animal was going to do and almost what he was thinking, but perhaps even Ross could learn some new things. They came into the clearing and Mike rushed happily to meet them.
Danny sighed; Mike had been up to more of his tricks. A speckled feather clung to the side of his muzzle.
“You, Mike!” Danny scolded. “Gosh darn your red hide!”
Paying no attention, the red puppy sidled enthusiastically up to Red and seized his ear. Red growled a warning. Ignoring it, Mike braced his paws and jerked backward. Red pulled free and trotted toward the cabin, shaking the abused ear. Then a squawking blue jay flew across the clearing and Mike lengthened out to chase it.
As the red puppy disappeared in the beech woods, the speckled rooster came out from beneath the pig pen. He emerged slowly, looking carefully around before he scuttled for the safety of the chicken coop. A once-proud creature, undisputed ruler of his harem, he was now a disconsolate, dishevelled outcast. All his tail feathers were gone. A brown hen busy with some com pecked savagely at him. The rooster side-stepped and Danny frowned. The former ruler of the flock was not hurt, but Mike would have to be taught to leave chickens alone.
Irish Red Page 3