Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls [62]
He handed him a piece of the cheese. I heard it rattle in his throat as he gulped it down.
Grandpa came back and set Little Ann up on the counter. He chuckled as he broke the cheese up in small pieces and fed her.
"Yes, sir," he said, "I think we have the best darn coon hounds in these Ozark Mountains, and just as sure as shootin', we're going to win that gold cup."
Grandpa didn't have to say that. The way I was feeling, I already had the cup. All I had to do was go and get it.
Finished with his feeding of Little Ann, Grandpa said, "Now, let's see. The hunt starts on the twenty-third. That's about-well, let's see-this is the seventeenth." Counting on his fingers he finally figured it out. "That's six days from now," he said in a jubilant voice.
I nodded my head.
"We can leave here early on the morning of the twenty-second," he said, "and barring accidents, we should make the campground in plenty of time for the grand opening."
I asked how we were going.
"We'll go in my buggy," he said. "I'll load the tent and everything the night before."
I asked him what he wanted me to bring.
"Nothing," he said, "but these two little hounds, and you be here early; and I believe I'd let these dogs rest, 'cause we want them in tiptop shape when we get there."
I saw the thinking wrinkles bunch up on Grandpa's forehead.
"You reckon your daddy would like to go?" he asked, "As late in the fall as it is, I don't think he's too busy, is he?"
"No, our crops are all gathered," I said. "We've been clearing some of the bottom land, but that's almost done now."
"Well, ask him," he said. "Tell him I'd like to have him go."
"I'll ask him," I said, "but you know how Papa is. The farm comes first with him."
"I know," Grandpa said, "but you ask him anyway, and tell him what I said. Now it's getting late and you had better be heading for home."
I was almost to the door when Grandpa said, i"Wait a minute."
He walked over behind the candy counter and shook out one of the quarter sacks. He filled it up to the brim, bounced it on the counter a few times, and dropped in a few more gumdrops.
With a twinkle in his eye, and a smile on his face, he handed it to me saying, "Save some for your sisters."
I was so choked up I couldn't say anything. I took it and flew out the door, calling to my dogs.
On my way home I didn't walk on the ground. I was way up in the clouds just skipping along. With a song, I told the sycamore trees and the popeyed gray squirrels how happy I was.
Little Ann sensed my happiness. She pranced along on the trail. With a doggish grin on her face, she begged for a piece of candy, which I so gladly gave.
Even Old Dan felt the pleasant atmosphere. His long red tail fanned the air. Once he raised his head and bawled. I stood still and listened to the droning tones of his deep voice. The sound seemed to be trapped for an instant in the thick timber. It rolled around under the tall white sycamores, beat its way through the wild cane, and found freedom out over the clear blue waters of the river. The sound, following the river's course, rolled like the beat of a jungle drum.
As the echo died away in the distance, silence settled over the bottoms. The gray squirrels stopped their chattering. The wild birds quit their singing. I stood still. No sound could be heard. It seemed that all the creatures of the wild were holding their breath. I gazed up to the towering heights of the tall trees. No leaf was stirring. The silence seemed strained and expectant, like a young boy waiting for a firecracker to explode.
I looked at Old Dan. He was standing perfectly still, with his right front foot raised and his long ears fanned open. He seemed to be listening, and challenging any living creature to make a noise.
The silence was broken by the "Whee-e-e-e" of a red-tailed hawk. This seemed to be a signal. All around me the happy atmosphere resumed its natural state.
I heard the "Barn, bam, bam" of a woodpecker high in the top of a box elder snag. The cry of a kingfisher and the scream of a bluejay blended perfectly with the