Where the Red Fern Grows

by Wilson Rawls

  There was a low cough and a deep growl from the lion. I saw him crouch. I knew what was coming. My hands felt hot and sweaty on the smooth ash handle of the ax. With a blood-curdling scream he sprang from the tree with claws outspread and long, yellow fangs bared.

  Old Dan didn’t wait. Rearing up on his hind legs, he met the lion in the air. The heavy weight bowled him over and over. He wound up in a fallen treetop.

  The impact of the two bodies threw the lion off balance. Little Ann darted in. Her aim was true. I heard the snap of her steel-trap jaws as they closed on his throat.

  With a squall of pain and rage, the big cat rolled over on his side, dragging Little Ann with him. His right paw reached out and curved over her shoulder. Sinews tightened and razor-sharp claws dug inward. With a cry of pain, she loosened her hold. I saw the blood squirting from the deep wound in her shoulder. She ignored it and bored back into the fight.

  Old Dan, stunned for an instant from the impact of the lion’s body, fought his way from the treetop. Bawling the cry of the damned, he charged back in.

  I went berserk, and charged into the fight.

  There in the flinty hills of the Ozarks, I fought for the lives of my dogs. I fought with the only weapon I had, the sharp cutting blade of a double-bitted ax.

  Screaming like a madman, with tears running down my face, I hacked and chopped at the big snarling mountain cat.

  Once, feeling the bite of the sharp blade, the devil cat turned on me. His yellow slitted eyes burned with hate. The long, lithe body dipped low to the ground. The shoulder muscles knotted and bulged. I tried to jump back but my foot slipped and I dropped to my knees. I knew I was trapped. With a terrifying scream he sprang.

  I never saw my dogs when they got between the lion and me, but they were there. Side by side, they rose up from the ground as one. They sailed straight into those jaws of death, their small, red bodies taking the ripping, slashing claws meant for me.

  I screamed and charged back into the fight, swinging my ax, but I was careful not to hit one of my dogs.

  The battle raged on and on, down the side of the mountain, over huckleberry bushes, fallen logs, and rocks. It was a rolling, tumbling mass of fighting fury. I was in the middle of it all, falling, screaming, crying and hacking away at every opportunity.

  I had cut the big cat several times. Blood showed red on the bit of the ax, but as yet I had not gotten in the fatal lick. I knew it had to be soon for my dogs were no match against the razor-sharp claws and the long, yellow fangs.

  The screams of the big cat and the deep bellowing voices of my dogs echoed through the mountains as if the demons of hell had been turned loose. Down the side of the mountain, the terrible fight went on, down to the very bottom of the canyon.

  The big cat had Old Dan by the throat. I knew he was seeking to cut the all-important vein, the jugular. At the pitiful bawl of Old Dan, Little Ann, throwing caution to the wind, ran in and sank her teeth in the lion’s tough neck.

  With her claws digging into the mountain soil, she braced herself, and started pulling. The muscles in her small legs knotted and quivered. She was trying hard to pull the devil cat’s fangs from the throat of Old Dan.

  In the rays of a bright Ozark moon, I could see clearly. For an instant I saw the broad back of the big cat. I saw the knotty bulge of steel-bound muscle, the piston-like jerk of the deadly hind claws, trying for the downward stroke that could disembowel a dog.

  Raising the ax high over my head, I brought it down with all the strength in my body. My aim was true. Behind the shoulders, in the broad muscular back, the heavy blade sank with a sickening sound. The keen edge cleaved through the tough skin. It seemed to hiss as it sliced its way through bone and gristle.

  I left the ax where it was, sunk to the eye in the back of the devil cat.

  He loosened his hold on the throat of Old Dan. With a scream of pain, he reared up on his hind legs and started pawing the air. Little Ann dangled from his neck, still holding on. Her eyes were shut tight and her small feet were digging and clawing at the body.

  Old Dan, spewing blood from a dozen wounds, leaped high in the air. His long, red body sailed in between the outspread paws of the lion. I heard the snap of his powerful jaws as they closed on the throat.

  The big cat screamed again. Blood gurgled and sprayed. In a bright red mist, it rained out over the underbrush and rattled like sleet on the white oak leaves. In a boxer’s stance, he stood and clawed the air. His slitted eyes turned green with hate. He seemed to be unaware of the two hounds hanging from his body, and kept staring at me. I stood in a trance and stared back at the ghastly scene.

  The breath of life was slowly leaving him. He was dying on his feet but refusing to go down. My ax handle stuck straight out from his back. Blood, gushing from the mortal wound, glistened in the moonlight. A shudder ran through his body. He tried once again to scream. Blood gurgled in his throat.

  It was the end of the trail for the scourge of the mountains. No more would he scream his challenge from the rimrocks to the valley below. The small, harmless calves and the young colts would be safe from his silent stalk.

  He fell toward me. It seemed that with his last effort he was still trying to get at me.

  As his heavy body struck the ground, something exploded in my head. I knew no more.

  When I came to, I was sitting down. It was silent and still. A bird, disturbed by the fight, started chirping far up on the side of the mountain. A small winter breeze rustled some dead leaves in the deep canyon. A cold, crawling chill crept over my body.

  I looked over at the lion. My dogs were still glued to his lifeless body. In his dying convulsions the ax had become dislodged from the wound. It lay there in the moonlight, covered with blood.

  My numb brain started working. I thought of another time the ax had been covered with blood. I don’t know why I thought of Rubin Pritchard at that time, or why I thought of these words I had often heard: “There is a little good in all evil.”

  I got to my feet and went over to my dogs. I knew I had to inspect them to see how badly they were hurt. It wasn’t too hard to get Little Ann to loosen her hold. I examined her body. She was cut in several places, but nothing fatal. The only bad wound she had was in her shoulder. It was nine inches long and down to the clean, white bone. She started licking it immediately.

  It was different with Old Dan. Try as I might, he wouldn’t turn loose. Maybe he could remember the night in the cave when he was a pup. How the big cat had screamed and how he had bawled back at him.

  I took hold of his hind legs and tried to pull him loose. It was no use. He knew that the hold he had was a deadly one and he wasn’t going to let go. I tried to tell him it was all over, that the lion was dead, to turn loose as I wanted to see how badly he was hurt. He couldn’t understand and wouldn’t even open his eyes. He was determined to hold on until the body turned cold and stiff.

  With my ax handle, I pried apart his locked jaws. Holding onto his collar, I led him off to one side. I couldn’t turn him loose as I knew if I did, he would go back to the lion.

  With one hand I started examining him. I ran my fingers through the short, red hair. I could feel the quivering muscles and the hot, sweaty skin. He was a bloody mess. His long, velvety ears were shredded. His entire body was a mass of deep, raw, red wounds. On both sides of his rib carriage, the sharp claws had laid the flesh open to the bone.

  His friendly old face was pitiful to see. A razor-sharp claw had ripped down on an angle across his right eye. It was swollen shut. I wondered if he would ever see from that eye again.

  Blood dripped from his wounds and fell on the white oak leaves. I saw he was bleeding to death. With tears running down my cheeks, I did the only thing a hunter could do. I raked the leaves away and let his blood drip on the black mountain soil. Mixing it into a mud, I worked it into his wounds to stop the flow of blood.

  With my ax in one hand and holding onto his collar with the other, we climbed out of the canyon. I
knew if I could get him far enough away from the lion he wouldn’t go back.

  On reaching the top, I saw the yellow glow of my lantern. I turned Old Dan loose and walked over and picked it up.

  Not knowing exactly where I was, I looked down out of the mountains to get my bearings. Beyond the foothills and fields I could see the long, white, crooked line of steam, marking the river’s course. Following the snakelike pattern with my eyes, in no time I knew exactly where I was, for I knew every bend in the river.

  Anxious to get home so I could take care of my dogs, I turned to call to them. Little Ann was close by. She was sitting down, licking at the wound in her shoulder. I saw the shadowy form of Old Dan sniffing around the tree where the lion had been treed.

  As I stood and watched him in the moonlight, my heart swelled with pride. Wounded though he was, he wanted to make sure there were no more lions around.

  I called to him. In a stiff-legged trot he came to me. I caught hold of his collar and gave him another inspection. In the lantern light I could see the mud-caked wounds clearly. The bleeding had almost stopped. I felt much better.

  Little Ann came over. I knelt down and put my arms around them. I knew that if it hadn’t been for their loyalty and unselfish courage I would have probably been killed by the slashing claws of the devil cat.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you back for what you’ve done,” I said, “but I’ll never forget it.”

  Getting up, I said, “Come on, let’s go home so I can take care of those wounds.”

  I hadn’t gone far when I heard a cry. At first I thought it was a bird, or a night hawk. I stood still and listened. I glanced at Little Ann. She was looking behind me. I turned around and looked for Old Dan. He was nowhere in sight.

  The cry came again, low and pitiful. Instantly Little Ann started back the way we had come. I followed as fast as I could run.

  I found Old Dan lying on his side, pleading for help. What I saw was almost more than I could stand. There, tangled in the low branches of a huckleberry bush, were the entrails of my dog. With a gasping cry I knelt down by his side.

  I knew what had happened. Far back in the soft belly, the slashing, razor-sharp claws of the lion had cut into the hollow. In my inspections I had overlooked the wound. His entrails had worked out and had become entangled in the bush. The forward motion of his body had done the rest.

  He whimpered as I laid my hand on his head. A warm, red tongue flicked out at it. With tears in my eyes, I started talking to him. “Hang on, boy,” I said. “Everything will be all right. I’ll take care of you.”

  With trembling hands, I unwound the entrails from the bush. With my handkerchief I wiped away the gravel, leaves, and pine needles. With fingers that shook, I worked the entrails back into the wound.

  Knowing that I couldn’t carry him and the ax and lantern, I stuck the ax deep in the side of a white oak tree. I blew out the lantern and hung the handle over the other blade. I wrapped my dog in my old sheepskin coat and hurried for home.

  Arriving home, I awakened my mother and father. Together we doctored my dogs. Old Dan was taken care of first. Very gently Mama worked the entrails out and in a pan of warm soapy water, washed them clean of the pine needles, leaves, and grit.

  “If I only knew what I was doing,” Mama said, as she worked, “I’d feel better.”

  With gentle hands, she worked the entrails back through the opening. The wound was sewn up and bandaged with a clean white cloth.

  Little Ann wasn’t hard to doctor. I held her head while Mama cleaned her wounds with peroxide. Feeling the bite of the strong liquid, she whined and licked at my hands.

  “It’s all right, little girl,” I said. “You’ll be well in no time.”

  I opened the door and watched her as she limped off to the doghouse.

  Hearing a whimper, I turned around. There in the doorway to the room stood my sisters. I could tell by the looks on their faces that they had been watching for some time. They looked pitiful standing there in their long white gowns. I felt sorry for them.

  “Will Little Ann be all right?” my oldest sister asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “she’ll be all right. She only had one bad wound and we’ve taken care of that.”

  “Old Dan’s hurt bad, isn’t he?” she said.

  I nodded my head.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “It’s bad,” I said. “He was cut wide open.”

  They all started crying.

  “Now here,” Mama said, going over, “you girls get back in bed. You’ll take a death of cold being up like this in your bare feet.”

  “Mommie,” the little one said. “God won’t let Old Dan die, will He?”

  “I don’t think so, honey,” Mama said. “Now off to bed.”

  They turned and walked slowly back to their room.

  “The way your dogs are cut up,” Papa said, “it must have been a terrible fight.”

  “It was, Papa,” I said. “I never saw anything like it. Little Ann wouldn’t have fought the lion if it hadn’t been for Old Dan. All she was doing was helping him. He wouldn’t quit. He just stayed right in there till the end. I even had to pry his jaws loose from the lion’s throat after the lion was dead.”

  Glancing at Old Dan, Papa said, “It’s in his blood, Billy. He’s a hunting hound, and the best one I ever saw. He only has two loves—you and hunting. That’s all he knows.”

  “If it hadn’t been for them, Papa,” I said, “I probably wouldn’t be here now.”

  “What do you mean,” Mama said, “you wouldn’t be here now?”

  I told them how the lion had leaped at me and how my dogs had gotten between him and me.

  “They were so close together,” I said, “when they came up off the ground they looked just like one.”

  There was a moaning sigh from Mama. She covered her face with her hands and started crying.

  “I don’t know,” she sobbed, “I just don’t know. To think how close you came to being killed. I don’t think I can stand any more.”

  “Now, now,” Papa said, as he walked over and put his arms around her. “Don’t go all to pieces. It’s all over. Let’s be thankful and do our best for Old Dan.”

  “Do you think he’ll die, Papa?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Billy,” Papa said, shaking his head. “He’s lost an awful lot of blood and he’s a mighty sick dog. All we can do now is wait and see.”

  Our wait wasn’t long. My dog’s breathing grew faster and faster, and there was a terrible rattling in his throat. I knelt down and laid his head in my lap.

  Old Dan must have known he was dying. Just before he drew one last sigh, and a feeble thump of his tail, his friendly gray eyes closed forever.

  At first I couldn’t believe my dog was dead. I started talking to him. “Please don’t die, Dan,” I said. “Don’t leave me now.”

  I looked to Mama for help. Her face was as white as the bark on a sycamore tree and the hurt in her eyes tore at my heart. She opened her mouth to say something but words wouldn’t come out.

  Feeling as cold as an arctic wind, I got up and stumbled to a chair. Mama came over and said something. Her words were only a murmur in my ears.

  Very gently Papa picked Old Dan up in his arms and carried him out on the porch. When he came back in the house, he said, “Well, we did all we could do, but I guess it wasn’t enough.”

  I had never seen my father and mother look so tired and weary as they did on that night. I knew they wanted to comfort me, but didn’t know what to say.

  Papa tried. “Billy,” he said, “I wouldn’t think too much about this if I were you. It’s not good to hurt like that. I believe I’d just try to forget it. Besides, you still have Little Ann.”

  I wasn’t even thinking about Little Ann at that moment. I knew she was all right.

  “I’m thankful that I still have her,” I said, “but how can I forget Old Dan? He gave his life for me, that’s what he did—just laid
down his life for me. How can I ever forget something like that?”

  Mama said, “It’s been a terrible night for all of us. Let’s go to bed and try to get some rest. Maybe we’ll all feel better tomorrow.”

  “No, Mama,” I said. “You and Papa go on to bed. I think I’ll stay up for a while. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

  Mama started to protest, but Papa shook his head. Arm in arm they walked from the room.

  Long after my mother and father had retired, I sat by the fire trying to think and couldn’t. I felt numb all over. I knew my dog was dead, but I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to. One day they were both alive and happy. Then that night, just like that, one of them was dead.

  I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there when I heard a noise out on the porch. I got up, walked over to the door, and listened. It came again, a low whimper and a scratchy sound.

  I could think of only one thing that could have made the noise. It had to be my dog. He wasn’t dead. He had come back to life. With a pounding heart, I opened the door and stepped out on the porch.

  What I saw was more than I could stand. The noise I had heard had been made by Little Ann. All her life she had slept by Old Dan’s side. And although he was dead, she had left the doghouse, had come back to the porch, and snuggled up close to his side.

  She looked up at me and whimpered. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t know I was running until I tripped and fell. I got to my feet and ran on and on, down through our fields of shocked corn, until I fell face down on the river’s bank. There in the gray shadows of a breaking dawn, I cried until I could cry no more.

  The churring of gray squirrels in the bright morning sun told me it was daylight. I got to my feet and walked back to the house.

  Coming up through our barn lot, I saw my father feeding our stock. He came over and said, “Breakfast is about ready.”