The hungry puma instantly transferred all his attention to Mike when the red puppy entered the thicket. Here was food in plenty, good food; he had eaten a dog before. He waited until Mike seemed near enough, then, launched his lithe spring.
However, the puma did not distinguish between dogs and he had previously caught and eaten only an aging, lost hound. Mike was much younger arid infinitely more agile. The puma’s outstretched claws missed their target by three inches and Mike dodged out of the thicket.
He ran as fast as he could, with healthy fear lending speed to his legs. Mike had never been hurt by anything except the porcupine, but the law of survival was part of his heritage and he knew that the puma intended to kill him. Furthermore, he knew that it could. Mike raced full speed back toward Danny and found him resting wearily in the snow with his pack braced against a dead stump. Mike slid to a halt beside him and turned around to bristle and bark.
He faced the direction from which he had come, testing the wind with his nose, while the hungry puma lingered behind some brush a few hundred feet away. Having caught man scent, the big cat had no wish to come any nearer. Mike barked again, challenging his enemy, and Danny’s hand played around the red puppy’s ears.
“What’s the matter?” Danny asked. “What’s up, Mike? You see your own shadow out there?”
Without understanding the words, Mike sensed the comradeship in the tone of voice.
Danny could not know, nor could Mike himself reason out, that a change had been worked within him. The days when he had been only a senseless puppy, with never a thought except for himself, were definitely in the past. Time, and affection, and now shared trouble, were all combining to work the change. Mike was growing up.
Being a dog, neither the past nor the future mattered to him. The moment was the thing, and now Mike sat on the crusted snow reading the wind that told him of the puma’s movements. The big cat had made a circle and gone to one side. Now he lay behind a fallen beech, eyes and ears alert and tail twitching as he studied the situation. The puma had no desire to expose himself to a man., but neither did he have the slightest intention of abandoning the trail until he had caught Mike. Cunning and wise, he would follow the pair until he found an opportunity to catch and kill the dog.
Mike growled low in his throat, and Danny looked questioningly in the direction the red puppy was looking, then turned to go on. Mike stayed behind him, making short little excursions out on the crust to read the wind to better advantage. The puma was coming, slinking along their trail like a tawny shadow. But so woods-wise was he that he never once showed himself. Mike knew he was coming only because his nose told him.
With only a mouthful of cold food at noon, they plodded slowly on. The sun started its downward sweep and with its descent the cold became more intense. Accustomed to being outside, and provided by nature with a suitable coat for all seasons, Mike did not feel it. Danny tried to tighten his jacket and shivered as he stopped in a cluster of big beech trees.
A squirrel chattered in one of the beeches. Mike glanced disinterestedly up, not caring about such game. It was fun to chase squirrels, and to watch them leap with panicky haste into the trees. That was all. But now Mike sensed the change in Danny.
Dead-tired and almost apathetic for the past hour, Danny was now tensely alert. The revolver in his hand, he stood in his tracks and looked eagerly into the towering trees. Nothing happened; the squirrel did not even chatter again. Mike knew what Danny did not, that it had gone into a hole in one of the trunks, but long after the squirrel had found safety Danny continued to stare up into the trees.
Then, with a despairing little gesture, he sheathed his gun and set about gathering firewood. Mike crowded anxiously in, staying as close to Danny as he could get and risking a burned nose when Danny lighted a match with which to start his fire. An eddying breeze brought him the puma’s scent. It had come in very close, but when smoke started curling from the fire it retreated. The ravenous cat was not so desperately hungry that he would risk getting near a fire. Mike followed the puma’s progress with his nose. He also watched Danny’s preparation of their meager meal.
The red puppy had never wondered about the source of his food. He knew only that humans had never let him go hungry. When his belly was empty, they gave him something to fill it and he was sure that it would be filled now. Mike gobbled the tiny piece of meat and the bit of bread Danny gave him, and looked questioningly about for more. He whined when Danny ate an equal amount and sat staring dully into the fire. The red puppy scraped his master’s arm with an impatient paw. Danny stirred angrily.
“There’s no more!” he half shouted. “See?”
Mike sniffed distantly at the pack when Danny opened it for him. He flattened his ears and rolled appeasing eyes, not understanding the fact that food supplies were practically gone and uncomfortable because he was still hungry. Mike knew only that, for some unaccountable reason, Danny was angry with him and he did not like it.
He retreated to the edge of the light circle cast by the fire, then came back within it, for his nose told him that the hungry puma still lingered in the shadows. It was no place for him. In the semi-darkness, he moved confidently closer to Danny. His paws twitched.
He was hungry, but neither exhausted nor terrified. Mike knew that he had been near death when he met the puma, but now that he was again with Danny, that threat was removed. Today, for the first time, he had learned that he was not self-sufficient, but part of a team. He moved softly over to be nearer Danny, and stared steadily into the unfriendly night.
The puma was creeping nearer. A weak moon had risen, casting moving shadows across the snow, and the puma was taking advantage of them to get nearer the camp. He felt bolder now, for the fire sent up only straggling wisps of smoke. Wrapped in his blankets, Danny had surrendered to exhaustion. Mike snuffled again at the creeping puma, then edged in until his rear paws were braced against the sleeping Danny. There fear left him. Alone he could do little, but together he and Danny could face any threat.
The red puppy growled harshly, and the advancing puma stopped. Then he came on, slowly and furtively. Mike growled again, fiercely this time. The numbed Danny stirred fretfully in his blankets.
The puma was very near now; a little more and he would be within leaping distance. Mike snarled again, and again, as he made ready to repel the attacker. Danny stirred, rolled over, and woke up.
He did not make any noise or cry out when he came awake because he had been born to the woods and wild places. He knew the value of silence, and even sick exhaustion could not make him forget it. When Danny rolled out of his blankets he did so carefully and silently. He inched himself to a sitting position and drew the .22 from its holster.
Mike pricked up his ears and stared intently at a motionless shadow. He knew the puma was there for his nose told him, but he could not be certain he saw it. Danny fixed his eyes on the place, like a hundred other shadows but still unlike any of them. Moving ever so slowly, Danny raised the .22 and squeezed the trigger.
When the little revolver snapped, the shadow melted into the night. The puma, taken by surprise, had silently backed away. He was not hurt and he did not run, for to run would be to expose himself. When he knew he could no longer be seen, the puma turned and loped away after easier game. He had gambled and lost.
Knowing the enemy vanquished, Mike relaxed. For a few minutes Danny remained in a sitting position, the little revolver in his hand. What had he shot at? Had he really seen anything? In any event, Mike was now quiet, so Danny put more wood on the fire and returned to his blankets. When he did, Mike lifted a corner with his nose, crawled in beside him, and snuggled up against Danny’s back. They did not awaken until dawn had come.
Mike waited hopefully, expectantly, as Danny built up the fire and brewed a pot of coffee. There was nothing else, and Mike tried to stay his rising hunger by licking his chops. He snuffled at the steaming coffee, then turned his nose away.
When Danny resumed hi
s heartbreakingly slow progress toward the distant valleys, Mike climbed out of the trail he broke to run about on the crust. He liked that better, for in the trail the sharp edges of the broken snow were like glass, and hurt his feet. Mike looked back to see if Danny was coming, then gave all his attention to what lay ahead.
They were crossing a small clearing where blackberry brambles barred their path. Tall weeds had found a rooting in the brambles, and their seeded tops still protruded above the snow. Mike caught the scent of partridges that were eating the seeds, and started toward them. Then he heard Danny’s tense voice.
“Whoa! Whoa, Mike!”
The red puppy paused, and looked around. Again he swung his head to drink in the entrancing scent of partridges. He froze into a point.
The old urge was there, the driving impulse to rush furiously upon his game and see if he could overwhelm it. But for the first time something in Danny’s voice stopped him. The sound of the familiar command had a new meaning, the end of a long chain of occurrences. Mike was no longer the wild, undisciplined puppy who had escaped from the Haggin estate. A thousand wild chases were behind him, and Red’s punishment, and the endless patience and affection offered by Danny and Ross. And fresh in his mind was the realization that he and Danny had faced, and overcome, danger and terror-together. He quivered with eagerness, but held his point.
There was motion in the brambles. One of the partridges thrust a curious head straight up, then sat still. Mike drooled, and tensed his muscles. Before he could move, he heard the snap of Danny’s .22.
Utterly bewildered, the red puppy paused. Two partridges thundered away. But another one remained in the brambles, an inert heap of brown feathers. Mike felt an overwhelming flood of excitement; at last his dearest wishes were realized. Everything else was forgotten as he bounded toward the partridge. Mike closed his jaws about the bird, then Danny’s voice penetrated his delirious haze.
“Mike. Come here, Mike.”
The puppy stood still, not knowing in this joyful moment just what he should do. Again he heard Danny’s voice.
“Fetch, Mike.”
Then, at long last, Mike gave his whole heart to a master. He started back toward Danny.
Two days later, well down in a sheltered valley, Mike pricked up his ears and looked at the snowbound trees ahead of them. He barked, then started happily forward. Danny’s incredulous eyes followed him. A moment later Big Red burst out of the trees. A little way behind him was Ross, on snow-shoes and pulling a toboggan.
“Danny!” Ross’s voice broke. “Boy, I’m right glad to see you!”
“I’m kind of glad to see you,” Danny admitted. “What brought you up here?”
“That Red dog,” said Ross. “We looked every other place we could think of, and Red wanted to come up here. I figured I might as well follow him. What happened? You hurt bad?”
“Well,” Danny said lamely, “I went up Tower Head to look for marten, only there weren’t any, and then a big windstorm came, and a limb hit me, and-”
“Save it,” Ross commanded. “Climb aboard.”
Danny settled gratefully on the toboggan and let Ross wrap him in warm blankets. He fought the drowsiness that overcame him, for he had a very important message. It had nothing to do with marten, or money, or broken ribs. It was something far more important. He fingered the two partridges at his belt.
“We’ve got a partridge dog, Pappy.” Then he fell asleep.
13. Trial by Hunting
Danny, his right side strapped, fretted about the cabin. It had been this way for two weeks now, ever since he and Mike had escaped from Tower Head. Two ribs were cracked, the doctor at Centerville had said,when Ross took him there on the toboggan. Had he had immediate attention everything would have been simple. But the long struggle through crusted snow had done much to aggravate his condition and the best possible cure would be at least two weeks in the hospital. Overriding Ross’s protest, Danny had refused to spend even two days in the hospital. That cost a lot of money which they could not afford.
The pain in his side was bearable as long as he restricted himself to moderate exertion, but he could travel neither far nor fast. He would hit no more long trails this winter. Danny worried. If he and Ross were to get a mate for Red, they must take fur and a lot of it. But if neither could branch into the deep wilderness they were necessarily confined to whatever they could find near home; Danny stooped to pet Red’s ears.
“You old mooch hound,” he said. “I still don’t think there’ll ever be a better dog, but that son of yours is almost as good a hunter as you are.”
He smiled as he spoke. Mike, as he knew when he was honest with himself, was already an even better hunter than the crippled Red. But he was still not their dog.
Danny glanced impatiently out the window. A fox had been crossing the clearing every third or fourth night. Anxious for as much fur as he could get, Danny had set a couple of traps. But so far nothing had been caught. Danny paced about the cabin, then went outside to the wood pile.
He stooped to gather an armful of wood, then let most of it tumble back into the snow as searing pain wrenched his side. Danny grimaced, then knelt to catch up a couple of pieces of wood. He carried them into the cabin and went back for two more pieces.
The wood box filled slowly, but Danny carried stick after stick until it was completely filled. It was not much, but it was something to do and anything that relieved the endless monotony of just sitting around the cabin was welcome. As usual, Ross and Mike had departed early in the morning to run a line of mink traps, and would not be back until dark.
Danny went into the root cellar for a panfull of potatoes, and cut pork chops.
They had plenty of food, but not in great variety, and were getting tired of the same diet. Even Ross’s hunter’s stews were beginning to taste suspiciously the same.
An hour before twilight, Red raised his head and barked sharply. Going to the door, Danny saw Ross and Mike coming across the clearing. The red puppy skipped gaily ahead and wagged his way into the cabin. He sniffed hungrily at the pork chops.
Danny threw him one. “Here you are, pup. I know you must be starving on account you’re always starving.”
Danny looked fondly at him, and realized that it was only a short time ago that he had considered Mike a worthless mutt, no good for anything at all. But since the experience on Tower Head, Mike had freely given his heart to Danny and Ross, and now under Ross’s magic direction he had developed faster in two weeks than most dogs did in a year. Winning the dog had been hard; teaching him was easy. Mike worked because he loved his masters, not because he feared them. It made a great difference.
Ross came in and took a partridge out of his hunting coat. Danny snorted distastefully.
“I had to get one for him,” Ross defended. “Else he won’t keep his mind on huntin’.”
“Well, I hope you aim to eat it. I had enough of ‘em on Tower Head to last me until next year.”
“I’ll eat it,” Ross sniffed, “seein’ as you’re too high and mighty to sink your teeth into the best grub there is. Anyhow the season ends tomorrow.”
“That’s good.”
Ross sank wearily into a chair. “My tail’s a-draggin’, boy. Must be gettin’ old.”
“At least you’re not a cripple like me,” Danny said.
About to say something else, he busied himself at the stove. Certainly they wouldn’t accomplish their objective this year because neither one could work hard enough. Danny turned the sizzling pork chops in their skillet, then turned to Ross.
“Pappy, do you ever miss Sheilah and the rest of the pups?”
Ross was startled. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s always seemed to me that rightfully they were at least part our dogs and that we had the start we wanted with them. I bet John Price isn’t giving them any kind of a break, and all of them could have amounted to something. Look what Mike did. I know there’s nothing we can do, but I think lots about
those pups. Wish we’d been able to keep ‘em.”
Ross spoke slowly. “Sure, I miss ‘em, Danny. Only, bein’ older than you, I’ve seen a lot of things I couldn’t live without slip through my fingers. We’ll just have to start all over again, and we’ve got Red to start with. Maybe, if Mr. Haggin don’t want him, we’ll have Mike, too.”
Danny said no more, nor did he mention the subject again as the long winter days passed slowly. He missed the deer hunting, but Ross got a nice buck and venison varied their diet. Then, as Christmas came and went, Danny got back on the trap lines.
He could not go far; a couple of miles a day was his limit. But with painstaking thoroughness he worked within a two-mile radius of the cabin. He did not, nor had he expected to, take much fur because such a territory was too small. But he did the best he could.
Then came the spring trapping. They were able to take a few muskrats and their legal quota of four beaver each, but all the fur in their cache would scarcely provide a meager living throughout the summer months. They had gained nothing.
The snow melted, and snow water filled all creek banks to roaring fullness. Even the big drifts in the heights started to rot away. Green grass appeared, and the world was suddenly bursting into spring.
Danny pulled the last of his traps and snares. He was stowing them in the shed when Red and Mike started barking. It was a sharp, challenging sound; someone was coming. Danny went out of the shed to see a rider on a big black horse entering the clearing.
“Mr. Haggin!”
Danny stood still, mouth agape. Mr. Haggin reined his black thoroughbred to a halt and slid from the saddle with practiced ease. Leading his mount, he came forward with hand outstretched.
“Hello, Danny.”
“Gee! I’m glad to see you back!”
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