that's different. It'll be dark and anything could happen.'
'There won't be anything happen,' I said. 'I promise I'll be careful.'
Mama got up from the table saying, 'Well, it's like I said, I can't say no and I can't help worrying. I'll pray every night you're out.'
The way Mama had me feeling, I didn't know whether to go hunting or not. Papa must have sensed how I felt. 'It's dark now,' he said, 'and I understand those coons start stirring pretty early. You had better be going, hadn't you?'
While Mama was bundling me up, Papa lit my lantern. He handed it to me, saying, 'I'd like to see a big coonskin on the smokehouse wall in the morning.'
The whole family followed me out on the porch. There we all got a surprise. My dogs were sitting on the steps, waiting for me.
I heard Papa laugh. 'Why, they know you're going hunting,' he said, 'know it as well as anything.'
'Well, I never,' said Mama. 'Do you really think they do? It does look like they do. Why, just look at them.'
Little Ann started wiggling and twisting. Old Dan trotted out to the gate, stopped, turned around, and looked at me.
'Sure they know Billy's going hunting,' piped the little one, 'and I know why.'
'How do you know so much, silly?' asked the oldest one.
'Because I told Little Ann, that's why,' she said, 'and she told Old Dan. That's how they know.'
We all had to laugh at her.
The last thing I heard as I left the house was the voice of my mother. 'Be careful, Billy,' she said, 'and don't stay out late.'
It was a beautiful night, still and frosty. A big grinning Ozark moon had the countryside bathed in a soft yellow glow. The starlit heaven reminded me of a large blue umbrella, outspread and with the handle broken off.
Just before I reached the timber, I called my dogs to me. 'Now the trail will be a little different tonight,' I whispered. 'It won't be a hide dragged on the ground. It'll be the real thing, so remember everything I taught you and I'm depending on you. Just put one up a tree and I'll do the rest.'
I turned them loose, saying, 'Go get 'em.'
They streaked for the timber.
By the time I had reached the river, every nerve in my body was drawn up as tight as a fiddlestring. Big-eyed and with ears open, I walked on, stopping now and then to listen. The way I was slipping along anyone would have thought I was trying to slip up on a coon myself.
I had never seen a night so peaceful and still. All around me tall sycamores gleamed like white streamers in the moonlight. A prowling skunk came wobbling up the riverbank. He stopped when he saw me. I smiled at the fox- fire glow of his small, beady, red eyes. He turned and disappeared in the underbrush. I heard a sharp snap and a feathery rustle in some brush close by. A small rodent started squealing in agony. A night hawk had found his supper.
Across the river and from far back in the rugged mountains I heard the baying of a hound. I wondered if it was the same one I had heard from my window on those nights so long ago.
Although my eyes were seeing the wonders of the night, my ears were ever alert, listening for the sound of my hounds telling me they had found a trail.
I was expecting one of them to bawl, but when it came it startled me. The deep tones of Old Dan's voice jarred the silence around me. I dropped my ax and almost dropped my lantern. A strange feeling came over me. I took a deep breath and threw back my head to give the call of the hunter, but something went wrong. My throat felt like it had been tied in a knot. I swallowed a couple of times and the knot disappeared.
As loud as I could, I whooped, 'Who-e-e-e. Get him, Dan. Get him.'
Little Ann came in. The bell-like tones of her voice made shivers run up and down my spine. I whooped to her. 'Who-e-e-e. Tell it to him, little girl. Tell it to him.'
This was what I had prayed for, worked and sweated for, my own little hounds bawling on the trail of a river coon. I don't know why I cried, but I did. While the tears rolled, I whooped again and again.
