Hearing a loud yell from Grandpa, I looked that way. Old Dan and the coon were fighting close to his feet. He was yelling and beating at them with his hat. The judge and Papa ran to help.
The third coon started climbing up the steep bank close to me. Just before reaching the top, his claws slipped in the icy mud. Tumbling end over end, down he came. I grabbed up a stick and threw it at him. Growling and showing his teeth, he started for me. I threw the fight to him then and there. Some ten yards away I looked back. He was climbing the bank. That time he made it and disappeared in the thick cane.
Hearing a squall of pain from Little Ann, I turned. The coon was really working her over. He had climbed up on her back and was tearing and slashing. She couldn't shake him off. Grabbing a club from the ground, I ran to help her.
Before we had killed our coon, Old Dan came tearing in. We stood and watched the fight. When the coon was dead, Papa picked it up and we walked back to the fire.
'How many coons were in that old snag?' Papa asked.
'I saw three,' I said. 'The one that got away climbed out over there.' I pointed in the direction the coon had taken.
I never should have pointed. My dogs turned as one, and started bawling and clawing their way up the steep bank. I shouted and scolded, but to no avail. They disappeared in the rattling cane.
We stood still, listening to their voices. The sound died away in the roaring storm. Sitting down close to the fire, I buried my face in my arms and cried.
I heard the judge say to my father, 'This beats anything I have ever seen. Why, those dogs can read that boy's mind. He just pointed at that bank and away they went. I never saw anything like it. I can't understand some of the things they have done tonight. Hounds usually aren't that smart. If they were collies, or some other breed of dog, it would be different, but they're just redbone hounds, hunting dogs.'
Papa said, 'Yes, I know what you mean. I've seen them do things that I couldn't understand. I'd never heard of hounds that ever had any affection for anyone, but these dogs are different. Did you know they won't hunt with anyone but him, not even me?'
Hearing my grandfather call my name, I went over and sat down by his side. Putting his arm around me, he said, 'Now, I wouldn't worry about those dogs. They'll be all right. It's not long till daylight. Then you can go to them.'
I said, 'Yes, but what if the coon crosses the river? My dogs will follow him. If they get wet they could freeze to death.'
'We'll just have to wait and hope for the best,' he said. 'Now straighten up and quit that sniffling. Act like a coon hunter. You don't see me bawling, and this old foot is paining me something awful.'
I felt better after my talk with Grandpa.
'Come on, let's skin these coons,' Papa said.
I got up to help him.
After the skins were peeled from the carcasses, I had an idea. Holding one up close to the fire until it was warm, I took it over and wrapped it around Grandpa's foot. Chuckling, he said, 'Boy, that feels good. Heat another skin the same way.'
I kept it up for the rest of the night.
XVIII
JUST BEFORE DAWN, THE STORM BLEW ITSELF OUT WITH ONE last angry roar. It started snowing. A frozen silence settled over the canebrake.
Back in the thick timber of the river bottoms, the sharp snapping of frozen limbs could be heard. The tall stalks of wild cane looked exhausted from the hellish night. They were drooping and bending from the weight of the frozen sleet.
I climbed out of the deep gully and listened for my dogs. I couldn't hear them. Just as I started back down the bank, I heard something. I listened. Again I heard the sound.
Papa was watching me. 'Can you hear the dogs?' he asked.
'No, not the dogs,' I said, 'but I can hear something else.'
