Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls [14]
Rising with the two pups held close to my chest, I asked if I owed anything.
He said, "There is a small feed bill but I'll take care of it. It's not much anyway."
Taking his knife he cut two slits in the sack. He put the pups in it and worked their heads through the holes. As he handed the sack to me, he said, "Well, there you are. Good-bye and good hunting!"
Walking down the street toward town, I thought, "Now, maybe the people won't stare at me when they see what I've got. After all, not every boy owns two good hounds."
Turning the corner onto the main street, I threw out my chest.
I hadn't gone far before I realized that the reception I got wasn't what I thought it would be. People began to stop and stare, some even snickered. I couldn't understand why they were staring. Surely it couldn't be at the two beautiful hound pups sticking out of the gunny sack.
Thinking that maybe I had a hole in the seat of my britches, I looked over to my reflection in a plateglass window. I craned my neck for a better view of my rear. I could see a patch there all right, and a few threadbare spots, but no whiteness was showing through. I figured that the people were just jealous because they didn't have two good hounds.
I saw a drunk coming. He was staggering all over the street. Just as he was passing me I heard him stop. As I looked back I saw he was staring wide-eyed at my sack. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his hands. Opening them again he stared. Shaking his head, he staggered on down the street.
All around people began to roar with laughter. Someone shouted, "What's the matter, John? You seeing things today?"
I hurried on, wanting to get away from the stares and the snickers.
It wouldn't have happened again in a hundred years, but there they came. The same two old women I had met before. We stopped and had another glaring fight.
One said, "I declare."
The other one snorted, "Well, I never."
My face burned. I couldn't take any more. After all, a man can stand so much and no more. In a loud voice, I said, "You may have these people fooled with those expensive-looking feathers in your hats, but I know what they are. They're goose feathers painted with iodine."
One started to say something, but her words were drowned out by the roaring laughter from all around. Gathering up their long skirts, they swished on down the street.
All around me people began to shout questions and laugh. One wanted to know if I had the mother in the sack. Storekeepers stepped out and gawked. I could see the end of the street, but it looked as if it were a hundred miles away. My face was as red as a fox's tail. I ducked my head, tightened my grip on the sack, and walked on.
I don't know where they came from, but like chickens coming home to roost, they flocked around me. Most of them were about my age. Some were a little bigger, some smaller. They ganged around me, screaming and yelling. They started clapping their hands and chanting, 'Tlie dog boy has come to town. The dog boy has come to town."
My heart burst. Tears came rolling. The day I had waited for so long had turned black and ugly.
The leader of the gang was about my size. He had a dirty freckled face and his two front teeth were missing. I suppose he had lost them in a back alley fight. His shock of yellow sunburnt hair bobbed up and down as he skipped and jumped to the rhythm of the "dog boy" song. He wore a pair of cowboy boots. They were two sizes too big for him, no doubt handed down by an older brother.
He stomped on my right foot. I looked down and saw a drop of blood ooze out from under the broken nail. It hurt like the dickens but I gritted my teeth and walked on.
Freckle-face pulled the ear of my little girl pup. I heard her painful cry. That was too much. I hadn't worked two long hard years for my pups to have some freckle-face punk pull their ears.
Swinging the sack from my shoulder, I walked over and set it down in a doorway. As I turned around to face the rnob, I doubled up my fist, and took a Jack Dempsey stance.
Freckle-face said,