I waited for my plea to be answered.
With its loud roaring, the north wind seemed to be laughing at us. All around, tall stalks of cane were weaving and dancing to the rattling rhythm of their knife-edged blades.
My father tried to talk above the wind, but his words were lost in the storm. Just before another blast, clear as a foghorn on a stormy sea, Old Dan's voice rang loud and clear. It seemed louder than the roar of the wind or the skeleton-like rustling of the tall swaying cane.
I jumped to my feet. My heart did a complete flip-flop. The knot in my throat felt as big as an apple. I tried to whoop, but it was no use. Little Ann bawled and tugged on the rope.
There was no mistaking the direction. We knew that Little Ann had been right all along. Straight as an arrow, she had led us to him.
Old Dan was treed down in a deep gully. I slid off the bank and ran to him. His back was covered with a layer of frozen sleet. His frost-covered whiskers stood out straight as porcupine quills.
I worked the wedges of ice from between his toes, and scraped the sleet from his body with my hands. Little Ann came over and tried to wash his face. He didn't like it. Jerking loose from me, he ran over to the tree, reared up on it, and started bawling.
Hearing shouting from the bank above me, I looked up. I could dimly see Papa and the judge through the driving sleet. At first I thought they were shouting to me, but on peering closer I could see that they had their backs to me. Catching hold of some long stalks of cane that were hanging down from the steep bank, I pulled myself up.
Papa shouted in my ear, 'Something has happened to your grandfather.'
Turning to the judge, he said, 'He was behind you. When was the last time you saw him?'
'I don't know for sure,' the judge said. 'I guess it was back there when we heard the hound bawl.'
'Didn't you hear anything?' Papa asked.
'Hear anything?' the judge exclaimed. 'How could I hear anything in all that noise? I thought he was behind me all the time, and didn't miss him until we got here.'
I couldn't hold back the tears. My grandfather was lost and wandering in that white jungle of cane. Screaming for him, I started back.
Papa caught me. He shouted, 'Don't do that.'
I tried to tear away from him but his grip on my arm was firm.
'Shoot the gun,' the judge said.
Papa shot time after time. It was useless. We got no answer.
Little Ann came up out of the washout. She stood and stared at me. Turning, she disappeared quickly in the thick cane. Minutes later we heard her. It was a long, mournful cry.
The only times I had ever heard my little dog bawl like that were when she was baying at a bright Ozark moon, or when someone played a French harp or a riddle close to her ear. She didn't stop until we reached her.
Grandpa lay as he had fallen, face down in the icy sleet. His right foot was wedged in the fork of a broken box elder limb. When the ankle had twisted, the searing pain must have made him unconscious.
Papa worked Grandpa's foot free and turned him over. I sat down and placed his head in my lap. While Papa and the judge massaged his arms and legs, I wiped the frozen sleet from his eyes and face.
Burying my face in the iron-gray hair, I cried and begged God not to let my grandfather die.
'I think he's gone,' the judge said.
'I don't think so,' Papa said. 'He took a bad fall when that limb tripped him, but he hasn't been lying here long enough to be frozen. I think he's just unconscious.'
Papa lifted him to a sitting position and told the judge to start slapping his face. Grandpa moaned and moved his head.
