That night I dreamed about gold cups, little red hounds, and coons as big as rain barrels. Once I woke myself up whooping to my dogs.
The next few days were busy ones for me. Knowing that Papa and I would be gone for several days, I did everything I could to make things convenient for Mama. I chopped a large pile of wood and stacked it close to the kitchen door. To make it easy for her to feed our stock, I cut some poles from the hillside and boxed up one of the stalls in the barn. I filled it full of hay so she wouldn't have to climb the ladder to the loft.
Papa laid down the law to my sisters about being good and helping Mama while we were gone.
The day before we were to leave, I was as nervous as a June bug in a henhouse. The day seemed endless. A few of the miserable hours were spent talking to my dogs. I told them all about the big hunt and how important it was.
'Now if you don't win the golden cup,' I said, 'I won't be mad because I know you will do your best.'
Old Dan wouldn't even look at me, and paid no attention to what I said. He was sulking because I hadn't been taking him hunting. When I talked to Little Ann, it was different. She listened and seemed to understand everything I said.
I dreaded to go to bed that night. I thought sleep would be impossible. I must have been more tired than I thought I was. I fell asleep almost immediately. Old Red, our rooster, woke me at daybreak, crowing his fool head off.
It was a beautiful morning, clear and frosty.
After a good breakfast, we kissed Mama goodbye and started for the store.
I'm sure there were a lot of coon hunters in the Oxarks, but on that morning none could have felt as big and important as I. Walking along by the side of my father, I threw out my chest and tried hard to keep pace with his long strides. He noticed and laughed.
'You'll have to grow a little bit,' he said, 'before you can take steps that long.'
I didn't say anything. I just smiled.
Hearing a noise overhead, I looked up. The gray ones were winging their way southward. I listened to their talking and wondered what they were saying.
Looking to the mountains around us, I saw that the mysterious artist who comes at night had paid us a visit. I wondered how he could paint so many different colors in one night; red, wine, yellow, and rust.
My dogs were trotting along in front of us. I smiled at the way their hind quarters shifted to the right. Little Ann would jump and bounce and try to get Old Dan to play, but the solemn old boy just jogged along, heedless of everything.
'You know,' Papa said, 'she doesn't even act like a hound. She is bouncing and playing all the time. Why, she acts more like a little pup than a hound.'
'Yes, I know,' I said. 'I've noticed that myself, but you know one thing, Papa, she's the smartest dog I've ever seen. Why, some of the things she does are almost unbelievable.'
'Yes, I know,' said Papa, 'but still it's strange, very strange.'
'There's only one thing wrong with her, Papa,' I said.
'Yea, what's that?' he asked.
'You won't believe it,' I said, 'but she's gun-shy.'
'Gun-shy? How do you know she's gun-shy?' Papa asked.
'I didn't know for a long time,' I said, 'until one day when I was hoeing corn down in the field by the old slough. She and Old Dan were digging in a bank t after a ground hog. Across the river some fishermen ! started shooting a gun. It scared Little Ann, and she came running to me, shaking all over.'
'Aw,' Papa said, 'maybe you just thought she was scared.'
'No, I didn't, Papa,' I said. 'It happened again up at the store one day. Grandpa shot a chicken hawk. When the gun went off, it scared her half to death. No, she's gun-shy all right.'
'Aw, well,' Papa said, 'that doesn't mean anything. A lot of dogs are afraid of guns.'
