It was almost noon now. The hunt had been going steadily since daybreak. All told the chase had covered almost thirty miles. It had been a fast exciting chase, for the cool weather had enabled the hounds to hold to the trail. Now, however, the warmth of noon had thawed the frost and the body scent was riding higher in the air, making it more difficult for the hounds to follow. Vulpes was ready to make a break across the country.
He ran out onto the road that led to Buck’s place and suddenly turned in his tracks. The fox walked back on his own trail. When he had gone about one hundred yards he made a running leap that cleared the bank and carried him well up the hillside in one easy motion. He bounded up through the woodlot to River Road and the farms and fields beyond.
Brownie and Joe were beginning to feel the strain of the many miles they had covered that day. They slowed down at the bluffs but they did not stop.
Buck called to them, encouraging them to bring in the fox, and they loped off toward the road, saving their energy for the long miles still ahead.
Suddenly the trail disappeared again. But Brownie knew this trick. He wove back and forth along the road, back tracking until he came to the spot where Vulpes had leapt. Then he circled the area in a wider and wider arc. Joe was dashing from fence to fence, trying to discover which way the fox had jumped. Then both hounds broke into full cry. They had found where the fox had landed and darted through the fence to the hills. They were off again.
Buck noticed the change in the hounds’ direction and stopped his trek to Muddy Branch.
“They’re going out to River Road,” he called to his companions. “If we cut across the glen here and get up on that hill we might see him before he gets too far.” The men turned and followed the chase. The voice of the hounds rang out clearly now. They had caught their second wind and the hunt was once more in full swing.
Vulpes ran down River Road leisurely. He stopped frequently to locate the dogs. He sensed their renewed vigor. Old Brownie was giving all he had. For a moment Vulpes felt the friendship he held for the plucky dog. He liked the old Red Bone, who never failed to accept his bold challenge for a race. Here was a hound that loved the chase.
Vulpes came to the edge of a big farm that lay on the other side of the road. An old rail fence bounded it. He leapt lightly to the top of the fence and ran swiftly along it, balancing himself with his tail. As he sped over the warm wood of the fence that had mellowed to a deep gray in the wind and rain and sun, he caught the movement of a brown body below him in the grass. Without any pause he pounced upon his unsuspecting prey. But it turned out to be a shrew, whose musty flavor didn’t appeal to the fox, and Vulpes vaulted back on the fence. At a break in the rails he dropped to the ground again. The sun was warm and the sweet odor of the dry grasses enervated the fox. He rested on a bright hill as the long weeds moved gently above his head. Some of the stalks still held their seeds. The movement of his body against the grass sent the seeds drifting off to the fields.
Vulpes heard Brownie and Joe reach the fence. They had lost the trail again and were wearily seeking it in the brittle grasses and weeds. Joe was tired. His tongue hung from his mouth and his sides heaved heavily as he breathed. He was glad for the rest, for he was so weary he could hardly push on. He might never have found the trail again if it had not been for Brownie. The Red Bone would not give up. He knew that Vulpes was near-by. Nevertheless he searched easily, conserving himself until he could pick up the chase again. He worked back and forth, thinking that Vulpes might have jumped off the road again. When he was satisfied that he had not, he went back to the fence and smelt it carefully.
The fox watched the hounds for a moment and then slipped through the field to a woodlot beyond. He was well rested now and set his course toward Sugar Loaf Mountain, miles away.
Brownie worried and worried around the fence post and then started down the field to see if Vulpes had crossed it anywhere. He ran right onto the spot where the fox had pounced on the shrew, just as Buck, Gordon and the three other hunters came striding out to River Road a quarter of a mile below.
Buck listened to his dogs.
“I believe that old red fox is heading over to Sugar Loaf,” he said. “If he has, they won’t be back until night.”
Gordon looked at his watch. It was about 2:30. He was exhausted from the long tramp over the rough terrain and up and down the hills. He wondered if they were going to the mountain.
Brownie sounded the call of the hunt. Buck straightened up and listened.
“He’s on it again!” But the hound did not repeat the cry. He could not tell where Vulpes had gone after he had found the shrew. It occurred to him, however, that the fence was the secret of the escape and he whined as he tried to jump up on it. Excitedly he ran down the field. Then Joe found the scent at the break in the fence. His glad baying called to the Red Bone and the hunters that the day was not done and that the fox might still be theirs.
With a crying howl the dogs followed the trail. Rested by the delay, the two hounds started off toward the mountains. While there was still a trail to follow the hounds would not give up. A farmer in the field below saw Vulpes cross his land. It was not long after that that he looked up from his hoe to see the gallant fox hounds tonguing along his trail.
Stacks turned to Buck Queen:
“Well, I guess we might as well go back and rest. Maybe we can pick up the chase in the morning.”
“Yes,” said old Buck. “There ain’t any use following them now. They’re off for the night.” The five men shouldered their guns and walked down the long road to Buck’s farm. It was late afternoon when they stomped the mud from their boots on the back porch and went into the parlor to talk over the chase.
Vulpes enjoyed the long stretch of farms, streams and woods on the way to Sugar Loaf Mountain. He led his pursuers over meadows and past brooks. He wound through groves of leafless trees and all afternoon the cry of dogs filled the lands behind him. From time to time he rested. Brownie had nearly reached him several times, but each time he had sprinted forward and left the hound far behind.
At dusk the fox crept along the forest at the foot of the mountain. The giant hill was dark and shadowy. A cold wind had blown up and was moaning through the formless treetops. Above the sad music of the wind, the fox could hear the constant voice of Brownie. It sounded weird and lonely.
Somewhere, during the night, the fox turned and led the dogs back toward the river. Vulpes, Brownie and Joe passed through the streets of small sleeping towns on the homeward lap. They loped by wooden churches with their white steeples high against the stars, and grocery stores that were guarded by sleeping cats. They crossed graveyards and slid under the iron fences into the empty gardens of roadside farmers. And a few heard them pass. A carpenter, tossing restlessly on his bed, thought he heard a plaintive cry coming from the mountains. A housewife awakened by her child wondered why the dogs were restless. The hunt went on.
Around three o’clock in the morning Vulpes came to Muddy Branch. He had raced the last four miles home and had left the dogs far behind. Deep in his protective woodlands he lay down to rest. The fox panted heavily and his eyes shone like glass goblets in the dark.
Then he heard the hounds closing in on him again. He rose and went on. Taking an old avenue, he went down to his homeland stream that wound under the beech and oaks. Dry leaves blew over the floor of the night woods. A cold wind moved up from the river, shaking the bare limbs of the trees. The fox was ready to lose the dogs for good.
About four in the morning he came to the canal. He waited. Far behind he heard them. They were still following, undaunted. Vulpes looked at the canal. A thin coat of ice had formed over the still waters. He judged the ice against his weight and then darted swiftly across the snapping surface. Vulpes made the other bank with ease. He glided up the tow-path, retracing his steps of the day before.
Brownie was the first to reach the frozen waters. He could not catch the scent of the fox on the ice. But there was not a doub
t in his mind but that he had crossed to the other side. Without hesitating, the hound sped onto the slippery surface and leapt to the far bank. As he sprang the ice broke under him. Brownie’s feet were wet as he climbed the hill.
When Joe reached the canal, his companion was on the other side. His only thought was to clip the inside of the circle that Brownie had made to catch up with the hunt. Midway across the canal the thin surface broke beneath him. The sudden shock of the freezing water on his hot tired body knocked the breath from him. For a moment he was stunned. Then he lunged his chest against the ice and scrambled to regain his footing.
It was slow progress. The ice chipped as he paddled forward. When he placed his feet on the surface to pull himself out, it broke under the weight. Joe threw all his energy into one last spurt. He hit a solid chink of ice and strained forward. But the chilling effect of the water on his tired hot body had sapped his strength, and he could not quite make the last pull. Desperately he struggled, inching his body forward. Now his hind legs would not answer to his will. They trembled and refused to move. Joe clung to the solid ice with his fore paws as the cold began to shoot through his muscles. Then he felt his grip slipping. He sank slowly back into the water. The valiant hound disappeared beneath the quiet surface. Joe never came up again.
The water rippled away in growing circles where the hound had gone down. It lapped coldly against the ice. Small crystals began to seal over the break in the canal. Like silver darts they shot over the still waters glittering and sparkling as they grew, until gradually the little pocket was closed as if to seal away the woodland tragedy.
Joe had never given up the hunt. He had followed it until he could go no farther.
As the sun came up, Vulpes and Brownie were far up the canal. They crossed to the woodland side at the Seneca Locks and were running down toward Muddy Branch again when Buck awoke and went to the door.
He listened in the cold for a long time. Presently the voice of Brownie sounded faintly, barely audible in the distant hills. Buck returned to his warm parlor to dress. He was finishing his big plate of scrambled eggs as Will Stacks came up on the back porch. May opened the door for the trapper.
“Buck,” Will said as he came in with a blast of cold air, “the hounds are back. I heard ’em pass my place about two hours ago. I came over to see if you were going out again.”
“I heard ’em, too,” said Buck. “That is, I heard Brownie, not Joe.”
Around eight o’clock Jim Gordon appeared.
“Are we going out again?” asked the young man eagerly. He had slept off the weariness of the previous day and was feeling fresh again.
“Yes,” answered Buck, “I guess we’d better go out and see what’s going on.”
“Have they really been running all night?”
“Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed, they have! They’ve been clear over to Sugar Loaf and back. That fox will be cutting capers this morning. He won’t want those dogs hanging on any longer.”
The three men sat around the fire. Buck kept getting up and going to the door to listen.
“I don’t hear Joe,” he said, coming back. “Hope nothing’s wrong.”
Now Vulpes and Brownie were in the bottom lands below Buck’s place. Vulpes passed the old goat pen and slipped through the page wire fence that marked off the property. Brownie was following. His ears flopped against his head. His feet felt heavier and heavier. He missed Joe now, but thought he had probably stopped to rest somewhere along the chase.
The hound came to the page fence and squeezed painfully through it. His body was thicker than Vulpes’ and he could not leap through the tight mesh with the fox’s ease. For several minutes he was held back by the barrier. With one last push he went squirming between the wires and sprawled onto the earth beyond.
Both animals were walking now. Vulpes had gone up a ravine. While he followed a ridge at the head of it, Brownie’s voice rang out fitfully below him. As the day passed on, Brownie dropped farther and farther behind. The scent was becoming weak on the warming earth and the dog was feeling tired.
About noon Vulpes went up to River Road again. He paused at the side of the lane and looked down the long, rutted pike. In the distance around the bend he could hear a horse and wagon plodding along. The wagon was tossing and jostling as it rode the ditches and hard mud. Vulpes ran down the road. He had caught the scent of the load and knew what it was. The cart was full of manure. One of the farmers was driving it to the fields to dump. The fox didn’t see the wagon as he trotted down the curving, hilly road before it. For several minutes he ran along far ahead of the load and then jumped off to the side of the road. The creaking wagon rolled over his trail as it plodded along. The rough road bounced the iron wheels and the manure flew into the air. The strong-scented pieces fell across his track. Vulpes scampered off into the woods and lay down at a safe distance to watch the next move of the Red Bone.
Meanwhile the hunters had gone out. They had picked up the bay of Brownie as he completed the circle around the hill and pushed up the ravine to River Road. Buck had two fresh young pups on leashes. He had brought them along to relieve the exhausted Brownie and Joe. The pups were wild and eager. It took all Buck’s strength to hold them in.
Buck and his friends found the old Red Bone circling the road.
“Can’t imagine where old Joe is,” said Buck when he saw Brownie alone. The dog looked up at his master and wagged his tail. Then he dropped his head and tried to pick out the scent of the fox from the confusion of smells. He knew Vulpes was not far away. He was sure he could find his trail again.
Buck looked down and saw blotches of blood on the mud. The tired old dog had run the pads off his feet and was staining the earth as he ran. Still game to the hunt he pulled himself from one side of the road to the other with great effort. His master saw his trouble and set the young pups loose. They burst over to Brownie with a flash and tore wildly along the ground.
Brownie watched them out of bloodshot eyes. He knew they were not thinking out the search. They had no design to their work. He could not turn the hunt over to the careless pups. Brownie pushed forward. His swollen legs moved slowly.
Buck felt badly as he watched his gallant hound work. He knew he would continue the search until he dropped or found the trail. He wanted to take him out of the hunt, but the dog shied away from him and pressed his nose closer to the ground.
Then a deep throated bay came from his hoarse dry throat. Brownie had found the trail.
“He’s worked it out! He’s got that trail!” said Buck as he smiled fondly at his hound. No sooner had Brownie given voice than the young pups flocked over to him and burst off on Vulpes’ trail.
Brownie stopped and watched them go. As he pushed forward to lead the pack, his feet dragged and pains shot through his stiff muscles. Holding his nose high he loped forward. Then Brownie collapsed. He could go no farther. Buck rushed to his side and leaned over him. He picked up his feverish head and stroked it, working his strong fingers over his muscles to keep them from growing stiff. Brownie looked up at the old hunter from his sad hound eyes. He flopped his tail against the ground.
Buck took off his heavy sweater. He wrapped the hound in the warm knitted wool and gently picked him up.
Jim Gordon had been standing a few feet away, watching the scene without saying a word. He was struck by the ferocity and intensity of the hunt, reflected in the noble dog who even though battered and exhausted still wanted to follow it. Brownie’s ears lifted anxiously when the baying of the young hounds rang back through the woods. But the spent Red Bone could not even muster enough energy to attempt a struggle to free himself from Buck’s arms. He could only whimper without moving as the men started back to the hunter’s home.
Back at the farm the old hunter carefully put the dog in his kennel. He wrapped an old burlap bag around him to keep the cold from his trembling body. He brought him food and water and rubbed him briskly to restore some tone to his flagging muscles.
Bro
wnie did not move all day or the next night. He was completely exhausted. Around noon the next day he put his head out of his door to eat, but he didn’t rise until another night had passed.
The fox rested while the dogs worked out the trail. When he was ready to move on he rose and glided swiftly to the glen below. He walked up the next hill. Vulpes was tired. He wanted to go back to Muddy Branch and Fulva. He wanted to sleep.
Suddenly he heard the baying of the pups. Their voices rang out with freshness and pep across the countryside. The fox darted onward. Here was new energy. He raced down through the woods and out of earshot of the hounds. He knew he must trick them soon or they might corner him before he reached his haven. The fox gave one powerful leap and jumped far to the right of the trail. He cleared nearly six yards in a last effort to lose the hunt. Trotting swiftly he darted up the hill to an old trail that circled back to the stream in the bottomlands.
For once the hounds behaved as the fox had planned. The young dogs overshot the trail in their eagerness and soon lost the fox. They circled excitedly, wondering what to do next. Their fresh enthusiasm and abounding youthful energies carried them crashing through the thickets, but away from their quarry. The hunt was done.
Buck sat down quietly to his dinner that night. Several times he interrupted his meal to go to the door and look for Joe. He came back each time with a worried expression on his face.
“I don’t understand why that hound isn’t back, May,” he said slowly. “It’s not like him. I’m afraid something has happened to that dog.”
Vulpes, the Red Fox (American Woodland Tales) Page 11