Two hours later Danny and Red came back. Holding no grudges, Mike wagged both back into the cabin. His interest was suddenly alerted. Partridge scent was all about, and grew stronger as it had time to fill the closed cabin. Danny took four partridges from his hunting jacket and put them on the table. Mike edged nearer, and nearer, as though fearful that the birds might fly away. He reared on a chair and looked steadily at them, too fascinated to think of anything else. -
When Danny thrust a partridge at him, he was so startled that he leaped backward to the floor. For a moment he stood still, then slowly advanced to take the proffered game. Gently, never ruffling a feather, he closed his jaws on it and sighed blissfully. Never before had he known a moment such as this. When Danny took the partridge away, Mike whined to have it back.
“That’s enough,” said Danny. “Now you’d better run a bit.”
He pushed Red and Mike out the door, and the puppy tried at once to get back in. But the door was tightly shut. Failing to enter the cabin, Mike turned to trot along behind Red. He followed the big dog dutifully, wagging his tail and changing his stride when Red changed his. Red started for the beech woods.
Mike stayed behind, still imitating exactly everything the older dog did. Red had been out only a short while, not nearly long enough to tire himself, and he wanted more hunting. When he caught the scent of a partridge he froze instantly on it.
Mike honored for as long as he could resist the tantalizing smell of the bird. Then he went in to flush, and raced along beneath the disappearing partridge. He lost it just as a tornado struck him.
It was Red, a wrathful Red who had seen all the finer points of partridge hunting violated by an un-teachable puppy. He flung himself on Mike, raking with punishing teeth again and again. Mike squealed, and flung himself on his back in token of abject surrender. Snarling, Red stood astride the prostrate puppy. Finally he turned his back and walked away.
Mike slunk behind him. Many things had gone right this day but so many others had gone wrong. It was far too bewildering to understand. The mystified, chastened puppy followed Red at a safe distance.
When they reached the cabin, Mike’s nose led him irresistibly around to the refuse heap. He dug a discarded partridge wing from the litter, took it tenderly in his mouth, and carried it into the cabin with him. Mike lay down behind the stove, cradling the wing beneath him.
It was a great comfort.
10. Tower Head
Time passed swiftly but the season did not adjust accordingly. Beeches, maples, birches, basswood, and other deciduous trees changed color and the leaves rustled to the earth. But the weather remained warm. Right up to the first week in November, Danny did not find it necessary to change his light leather hunting jacket for a heavier woolen one.
It was a freak year, Ross said, but because it was so uncertain, it was due to change swiftly when it changed. Overnight they were going to have howling winter, and one that would last until late spring. Nor could Ross be shaken in that idea despite the weather’s continued mildness. You didn’t see green grass in November, he maintained, without also seeing snow in May.
Danny fretted because furs were not yet prime; the big snowshoe hares whose change of color told trappers when they could profitably start stringing trap lines had not yet undergone the complete change from brown to white. Some of them did present a ludicrous pinto effect, half white and half brown.
They could take bounty furs, and Danny and Ross ran their trap lines steadily. There were now thirty-one weasels, eleven gray foxes, and three big-footed wildcats, in the shed behind the house. That was almost a hundred and fifty dollars in bounty fur alone, but Danny and Ross had put in so many hours getting it that their pay per hour averaged less than fifty cents. They’d have to do a whole lot better than that if they were going to buy a suitable mate for Red. A good bitch could be had reasonably, but Danny made up his mind to have the best.
Danny had almost given up hope of making anything out of Mike, so when he could spare time from his bounty lines he hunted partridges with Red alone. They were very plentiful, almost at their peak cycle, and he shot as many as the law allowed. The grouse that they couldn’t eat at once were canned.
Ross’s line of bounty traps was not as long as Danny’s nor did he stay out as many hours. There was no doubt about it; Ross was getting too old to run the woods as he formerly had. The lion’s share of the hardest work therefore rested on Danny’s shoulders.
Never a shotgun enthusiast, but one who relied on his rifle, Ross had taken to using a shotgun only since he had acquired an interest in Irish setters. Now he carried one when making the rounds of his trap lines, and usually took Mike with him.
The first few trips he brought in nothing, then he came in with a limit shoot of five. Without speaking he took them out of his hunting jacket and laid them on the table. Danny glanced inquiringly around at Mike, who sat on his haunches looking up at the table. The red puppy was quivering with excitement.
“Don’t tell me he got ‘em for you?” Danny asked.
“No,” Ross admitted. “No, he didn’t. I ran into a whole flock of ‘em, so thick I could have got some with a club. Mike wasn’t even with me. He’s as wild and bull-headed as ever; I’ll bet he’s chased five thousand grouse out of range.”
Ross looked at the anxious puppy, then at Danny.
“Danny, that pup’s got everything except some one thing. If he was a horse, he’d take apples and sugar out of your hand, then pitch you fifteen feet the first time you got on his back. But he’s not an outlaw. He lives for bird huntin’, but he aims to hunt his own way. Try to club or beat it out of him and you’ll ruin him entire. I can’t help wonderin’ if I was wrong about him. I don’t know if he’ll ever come around.”
Danny said nothing. He had thought from the first that Mike was worthless, but hadn’t wanted to hurt Ross by saying so.
“Sure wish I was smarter than I am,” Ross said, “and knew what to do with the mutt.”
“Want to take him back?” Danny asked.
Ross grinned and shook his head. “We’ll keep him around a while. Once, before you were born, I had a big black hound almost as bull-headed as Mike. When he wanted to hunt he hunted---in his own way. Then one day he came around.”
“How?” Danny inquired.
“He tangled with a lashin’ big lynx and was gettin’ his ears chewed off when I came along and shot the lynx. That showed him he was wearin’ pants too big for him, and that it took two of us to make a go of huntin’. Somethin’ like that ought to happen to Mike, to make him want to hunt for us instead of just for himself.”
“Maybe,” Danny was dubious.
He put their dinner of roast partridge, mashed potatoes, creamed carrots, and scalding coffee, on the table. They ate in silence, did the few chores there were, and went to bed.
Though he was usually asleep a few seconds after his head hit the pillow, tonight Danny was wakeful. He wanted to work with dogs, and not be just a trapper. Had they made a mistake in leaving their job? Perhaps, when Mr. Haggin returned, he would set everything right again. It was going to take longer than Danny had thought to buy a mate, and meanwhile all they had was Red and Mike. Crippled as he was. Red was still a good gun dog but he could never win any field trials. Mike was just plain useless. The only thing left to do was hump himself and get that mate for Red.
Up with dawn, Danny ran his bounty traps over the beech ridges and took two more weasels. His first trip over the same line had produced eight. Weasels were getting scarce; he would have to pull his traps. It would not do to exterminate them. Even bloody killers like weasels had their place in checking over-populations of mice, moles, and other vermin. As he went on, Danny picked up eleven of his weasel traps.
Red snapped to a point. Danny dropped his traps and edged up behind the big dog. He went in to flush, but the single partridge that rose was a wary bird that kept trees between the gunner and himself. Danny missed, grinned, and slipped another shell into his g
un. Red looked reproachfully at him.
“Got to miss some,” Danny defended himself. “You needn’t look at me that way, Red. Go hunt up another bird.”
Red trotted on, and a snowshoe rabbit jumped up in his path. Danny watched the big hare bob out of sight. It was almost white, so Danny made his decision. Within a week he could start trapping some of the more valuable fur-bearers. Mink, fairly good now, should be prime then. But before he did any serious trapping he wanted to go back to Tower Head and investigate the marten he had seen there. There might be several of them, and if so he might get almost enough fur to buy the dog he must have.
Danny swung back on his line and started picking up more traps. They were number ones and would be used for mink later on, s6 he dumped them into a hollow stump. When he gathered some larger traps, with a bigger jaw spread, he put them into his pack. These he would take to Tower Head and use for the marten.
Red pointed again and Danny edged in behind him. Two partridges thundered up and Danny dropped the nearer bird with his right barrel. He swung on the other with his left, and watched it tumble to the ground when he shot. Red rambled out to retrieve. He brought the first bird back to Danny, then got the second. Danny pocketed both.
“There,” he sniffled. “Maybe that’ll give you some different notions about me. How many hunters you ever been out with that can make a double on grouse?”
Red wagged his tail and Danny grinned as he continued back over his line. Taking only the bigger traps, he hung the rest from trees or cached them in hollow stumps. He would pick them up when he was ready to use them and traps left to weather in the woods were always better anyhow. If they were left around the cabin they would be certain to pick up human scent.
Just before nightfall, with five partridges in his pockets and fourteen traps in his pack, Danny reached the cabin. He put his pack down outside, but carried the partridges in and laid them on the table. Ross looked disinterestedly at them.
“Don’t you think we got enough pa’tridges, boy? I’ve eaten so many they’re comin’ out of my ears.”
“I reckon we got enough, Anyhow, we’ll have to quit hunting them in a few days. The snowshoes are almost turned. Pretty soon we can really lay traps.”
“Good! I’ve sort of been achin’ to get after the mink and otter. Might take a few foxes too, though they aren’t worth what they were. I remember the time when you got fifteen dollars for a good prime red.”
“Lucky to get that for a silver, now. I took only weasels today, Pappy, and I looked at every trap.”
“Time we laid off, then. Did you pull your traps?”
Danny nodded. “Cached most of ‘em, but there’s fourteen ones and a half in my pack.”
“What you aim to do with those?”
Danny hesitated. If there were enough marten on Tower Head, it would be a rich strike. If there weren’t, it would mean only that Boss’s hopes would be built up and dashed down. Besides, it was a long, hard climb up there and Ross was in no condition for it.
“Thought I might slide up onto Stoney Lonesome and see what’s there. I’ll take the traps with me in case I find anything. Figure on laying out a couple of nights, so I’ll pack blankets and grub.”
“If you’re goin’ to lay out on Stoney Lonesome you’d best watch yourself.”
“There’s nothing up there that can hurt me.”
“I don’t mean varmints. But this weather we’ve been havin’ is due to shift. Mark my words. You goin’ to take Red with you?”
Danny shook his head and thought fast. The Tower Head climb would be pretty hard for Red. But his father thought he was going to Stoney Lonesome, Red could make that easily, and Ross knew it.
“Think I’ll take Mike,” Danny said. “May get a chance to do something with him, and being out a lot might teach him some sense.” He hoped his reason sounded convincing.
“Good idea,” Ross agreed. “Mike’s good company, and he might learn somethin’ at that.”
That night Danny laid out his pack. He put in two woolen blankets that would keep him warm no matter how much the weather changed, a two day’s supply of food for himself and Mike, and plenty of water-proofed matches. Since he was carrying his own food, and would not have to get any, he decided to pack his .22 revolver rather than a heavier, clumsier shotgun or rifle.
Danny was up, as usual, at dawn. He fed himself and Mike, shouldered the pack, and said goodbye to Ross. At Danny’s order, Red reluctantly went back to his rug and lay down. Mike raced happily into the dimly lighted morning and at once was off on a wild gambol across the clearing. Mike was wild and bull-headed, but he would follow Danny. In fact, unless he was tied or penned, he could not be prevented from following. Danny started up the trail.
A half hour later Mike careened crazily up behind him, made a sudden stop that almost tumbled him on his black nose, frisked around Danny for a few minutes, and was away again. Danny grinned faintly. Mike was useless, but he had a contagious enthusiasm. It was impossible to dislike or resent him.
Swinging on with a mile-eating woodsman’s stride, Danny began to climb. He paid no attention to Mike, who came and went as he pleased but at least had enough woods sense to find Danny at any time he wished.
“Hi,” Danny greeted, when Mike caught up with him again. “Come back to walk with me for a spell, eh? I’m real flattered.”
Mike, who had had enough of running for the time being, tagged amiably behind. Danny buttoned his jacket and wished he had a heavier one.
Summer might reign in Budgegummon, but up here on Tower Head’s slope autumn had arrived with full force. The beeches and other hardwoods were completely bare of leaves. Through the empty branches a bitter wind lashed at Danny. He bent his head to the wind and kept on. He would not get too cold as long as he stayed on the move, and the two woolen blankets in his pack would provide ample warmth for sleeping even in zero weather. It was not likely to become as cold as that for a long while.
Mike, who had been hugging Danny’s heels for the past fifteen minutes, whined uneasily. Danny turned to him.
“You got the shivers too? What’s the matter with everything today?”
As they went on, Danny became more alert. It was about here that he had seen the first marten. If there was good hunting in the vicinity, it might have remained near. Danny swerved from the trail into the beech forest. :
He kept his head tilted, studying the trees. High in a big beech he caught a flash of gray, and saw a squirrel creeping along a branch. Suddenly it began to run, flung itself onto another branch, ran up the tree, and dived into a hole* Then he saw another squirrel. Danny felt a little disappointment If there were many marten here, there should not be so many squirrels.
Danny swung out of the woods and back to the deer path he had followed this far. He rubbed numbed hands together and walked briskly to warm himself. It was very cold, and the wind had sharpened.
Mike left him for another hunt, and Danny let him go. The red puppy would come hack when he felt like it, and even Mike could not get into much trouble on Tower Head. Danny went on.
An hour later he knew. There was almost certainly only a single pair of marten on Tower Head, therefore his hopes of wealth from that source must be put aside. Since he had accomplished what he had set out to do, he might as well go back to Budgegummon. His bunk there would be a lot more comfortable than a pair of blankets on top of this inhospitable mountain. Danny swung around.
As he did so, he was struck in die face by a cold rush of air that sent him reeling. Winter had struck at last, and without warning. Danny gasped his spent breath back in and hurried on, looking for Mike.
In a matter of minutes, the wind’s moaning whine became a mighty roaring. A beech tree nearby snapped four feet above the trunk and fell, carrying smaller trees with it. Danny stopped in his tracks. All about, the great beeches were bending and groaning as the wind lashed them. He was in a serious situation and knew it.
Now he understood the movement of the herd of
deer he had witnessed this morning. The deer had been going down from Tower Head not because they wanted to wander but because, in their own mysterious way, they had known the storm was coming. Ross would have known why they were on the march, but Danny hadn’t guessed.
At one side, a mighty bough broke from a tree and fell, leaving a ragged scar and a long piece of bark dangling like a strip of skin. The wounded tree seemed to shiver.
Danny picked his way among the storm-shaken trees, trying to watch them and still keep an eye out for Mike. He walked slowly, eyes and ears alert. To rush into this holocaust would mean certain doom. He side-stepped nimbly as a tree directly in his path went down. He walked on.
Then, behind him, a great limb cracked loose from its mother trunk and swung forward. Danny had a split second in which to dodge, but the limb had fallen too suddenly and with too little warning.
It struck Danny’s head and he fell face down.
11. White Prison
Danny stirred, and fought sluggishly to a bewildered awakening. For a few minutes he lay still, unable to think where he was or what had happened. Bit by bit, like crooked pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, he fitted the picture together.
He was up on Tower Head, he remembered, where he had come to investigate marten sign. Summer had suddenly become winter, and winter had been ushered in by a terrible wind storm which had ripped through the beech trees. Some had broken. Great boughs had been torn like match sticks from their parent trunks, and one had hit him.
Danny lapsed into a numbed slumber and a second time fought to wakefulness. A thousand drums seemed to pound within his aching head and for a moment he felt very sick. The spasm passed, and when it did he could think more clearly. It had, he remembered, been daylight when he decided to return to Budgegummon. Now inky blackness surrounded him. Danny stretched his hand forth and a warm, wet tongue licked it gently. His exploring fingers found Mike’s silky coat. At once he felt a tremendous rush of gratitude. Until now he had not remembered bringing Mike.
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