After Papa had stopped talking, silence settled over the camp.
Grandpa stood staring at my dogs. In a slow voice, as if he were picking his words, he said, 'You know, I've always felt like there was something strange about those dogs. I don't know just what it is, and I can't exactly put my finger on it, yet I can feel it. Maybe it's just my imagination. I don't rightly know.'
Turning to my father, he said, 'Did you ever notice the way they watch this boy? They see every move he makes.'
Papa said, 'Yes, I've noticed a lot of things they have done. In fact, I could tell you of a few that you would never believe, but right now here's something you had better believe. Supper is ready.'
While I was helping myself to hot dutch-oven corn bread, fried potatoes, and fresh side meat, Grandpa poured the coffee. Instead of the two cups I expected to see, he set out three and filled them to the brim with the strong black liquid.
I had never been allowed to drink coffee at home and didn't exactly know what to do. I glanced at Papa. He seemed too busy with his eating to pay any attention to me. Taking the bull by the horns, I reached over and ran my finger through the cup's handle. I held my breath as I walked over and sat down by a post oak stump. Nothing was said. Grandpa and Papa paid no attention to what I did. My head swelled up as big as a number-four washtub. I thought, 'I'm not only big enough to help Papa with the farm. Now I'm big enough to drink coffee.'
With supper over and the dishes washed, Grandpa said, 'Well, we had better turn in as I want to get an early start in the morning.'
Long after Grandpa and Papa had fallen asleep, I lay thinking of the big hunt. My thoughts were interrupted when the wonders of night life began to stir in the silence around us.
From a ridge on our right a red fox started barking. He was curious and, in his small way, challenging the intruders that had dared to stop in his wild domain. From far back in the flinty hills, the monotonous call of a hoot owl floated down in the silent night. It was the mating call and was answered from a distant mountain.
I could hear the stamping feet of our horses, and the grinding, crunching noise made by their strong teeth as they ate the hard, yellow kernels of corn in their feed boxes. A night hawk screamed as he winged his way through the starlit night. An eerie screech from a tree close by made shivers run up and down my spine. It was a screech owl.
I didn't like to hear the small owl, for there was a superstition in the mountains concerning them. It was said that if you heard one owl it meant nothing at all, but if you heard more than one, it meant bad luck.
I lay and listened to the eerie twittering sound. It was coming from the left of our camp. The creepy noise stopped, and for several moments there was silence. When next I heard the cry, it was coming from the right. I sat up in alarm. Had I heard two owls?
My movement had awakened Grandpa. In a sleepy voice, he asked, 'What's the matter? Can't you sleep? What are you sitting up like that for?'
'Grandpa, I heard two screech owls,' I said.
Grunting and mumbling, he sat up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he said, 'You heard two screech owls. Why, that's nothing. I've heard two-oh, I see. You're thinking of the bad-luck superstition. There's nothing to that; nothing at all. Now you lie down and go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.'
I tried hard to fall asleep, but couldn't. I couldn't get the owls out of my mind. Had I really heard two? Were we going to have bad luck? Surely nothing bad could happen. Not on such a wonderful hunt.
I found peace in my mind by telling myself that the owl had changed trees. Yes, that was it. He had simply flown out of one tree to another.
The next morning, while having breakfast, Grandpa started kidding me about the screech owls.
'I wish you could have caught one of those owls last night,' he said. 'We could have boiled him in our coffee pot. I've heard there is nothing like strong hoot-owl coffee.'
'It wasn't a hoot owl, Grandpa,' I said. 'It was a screech owl. I don't know for sure if I heard one or two. It could have been just one.' Pointing to a small red oak, I said, 'I think the first time I heard him, he was over there. The next time, it was over in that direction. Maybe he changed trees. I sure hope so.'
Grandpa saw I was bothered. 'You don't believe that hogwash superstition, do you? Bad luck! Baw, there's nothing to it.'
Papa laughed, and said, 'These mountains are full of that jinx stuff. If a man believed it all, he'd go crazy.'
The encouraging words from Papa and Grandpa helped some, but there was still some doubt. It's hard for a
