She started picking around in the groceries, asking about salt, pepper, and matches.
'Nannie, we've got everything,' he said. 'You must think I'm a baby and don't know how to pack a grub box.'
'A baby,' Grandma snorted. 'Why, you're worse than a baby. At least they have a little sense. You don't have any at all. An old codger like you out chasing a coon all over the hills.'
At her biting remark, I thought Grandpa was going to blow up. He snorted like Daisy, our milk cow, when she had seen a booger.
I crawled up in the buggy box with my dogs and hung my feet out.
Grandma came over and asked me about warm clothes. I told her I had plenty.
She kissed me good-bye and we were on our way.
XV
OVER A DIM ROCKY ROAD, IN A NORTHEASTERLY DIRECTION, our buggy moved on.
I noticed that the road stayed at the edge of the foothills, but always in sight of the river.
About the middle of the afternoon we stopped at a small stream to water the team. Papa asked Grandpa if he intended to go all the way to the campground before stopping.
'No,' he said, 'I figure to put up for the night when we reach Bluebird Creek. With a good early start in the morning we can make the campgrounds in plenty of time to pitch our tent and set up camp.'
Late that evening we reached Bluebird Creek. We didn't set up our tent. With a tarp we made a lean-to and built a large fire out in front of it.
While Grandpa fed and watered the team, Papa and I carried our bedding to the shelter and made down our beds.
Grandpa said, 'While we're cooking supper, you see to your dogs. Feed them and fix them a warm bed.'
'I figure to cook them some corn-meal mush,' I said. 'That's what they're used to eating.'
'Mush!' Grandpa growled. 'They're not going to have mush, not if I can help it.'
He walked over to a grocery box, mumbling as he did, 'Mush! A hound can't hunt on a bellyful of that stuff.'
He came back and handed me two large cans of corned-beef hash, saying, 'Here. Reckon they'll eat this.'
I wanted to hug my old grandpa's neck. 'Sure, Grandpa,' I said, 'they'll love that.'
Opening one of the cans, I dumped it out on a piece of bark in front of Old Dan. He sniffed at it and refused to eat. I laughed, for I knew why. While I was opening the other can, Grandpa came over.
'What's the matter,' he asked. 'Won't he eat it?'
'Sure, Grandpa,' I said, 'he'll eat, but not before Little Ann gets her share.'
With the second can opened, I fed her on another piece of bark. Both of them started eating at the same time.
With an astonished look on his face, Grandpa exclaimed, 'Well, I'll be darned. I never saw anything like that. Why, I never saw a hound that wouldn't eat. Did you train them to do that?'
'No, Grandpa,' I said. 'They've always been that way. They won't take anything away from each other, and everything they do, they do it as one.'
Papa had overheard our conversation. He said, 'You think that's strange. You should have seen what I saw one day.
'One of the girls threw two cold biscuits out in the back yard to Old Dan. He stood and looked at them for a bit, then, picking both of them up in his mouth, he trotted around the house. I followed just to see what he was going to do. He walked up in front of the doghouse, laid them down, and growled; not like he was mad. It was a strange kind of a growl. Little Ann came out of the doghouse and each of them ate a biscuit. Now, I saw this with my own eyes. Believe me, those dogs are close to each other-real close.'
