Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls [72]
Grandpa got tangled up in some underbrush, and lost his hat and spectacles. It took us a while to find the glasses. Papa said something about getting them wired on with bailing wire. Grandpa snorted. The judge laughed.
The coon crossed the river and ran on upstream. Soon my dogs were out of hearing distance. I told Papa we had better stay on our side of the river and keep going until we could hear them again.
Twenty minutes later we heard them coming back. We stopped.
"I think they have crossed back to our side," I said.
All at once the voices of my dogs were drowned out by a loud roar.
"What in the world was that?" Grandpa said.
"I don't know," the judge said. "Reckon it was wind or thunder?"
About that time we heard it again.
The judge started laughing. "I know now what it is," he said. "Those hounds have run that coon right back by our camp. The noise we heard was the other hunters whooping to them." Everyone laughed.
A few minutes later I heard my dogs bawling treed. On reaching the tree, Papa ran his hand back under his coat. He pulled out Grandpa's gun.
"That's a funny-looking gun," the judge said. "It's a 410-gauge pistol, isn't it?"
"It's the very thing for this kind of work," Papa said. "You couldn't kill a coon with it if you tried, especially if you're using bird shot. All it will do is sting his hide a little."
At the crack of the gun, the coon gave a loud squall and jumped. My dogs lost no time in killing him.
We skinned the coon, and soon were on our way again.
The next time my dogs treed, they were across the river from us. Finding a riffle, we pulled off our shoes and started across.
Grandpa very gingerly started picking his way. His tender old feet moved from one smooth rock to another. Everything was fine until we reached midstream, where the current was much swifter. He stepped on a loose round rock. It rolled and down he went.
As the cold river water touched his body, he let out a yell that could have been heard for miles. He looked so funny we couldn't keep from laughing.
Papa and the judge helped him to his feet. Laughing every step of the way, we finally reached the other side. Grandpa kept going in his wet clothes until we reached the tree where the dogs were.
After killing the coon, we built a large fire so Grandpa could dry his clothes. He'd get up as close to the fire as he could, and turn this way and that. He looked so funny standing there with his long underwear steaming. I started rolling with laughter.
He looked over at me and snapped, "What's so funny?"
I said, "Nothing."
"Well, why are you laughing?" he said.
At this remark, Papa and the judge laughed until their eyes watered.
Mumbling and grumbling, Grandpa said, "If you fellows were as cold as I am, you wouldn't be laughing."
We knew we shouldn't be laughing, but we couldn't help ourselves.
The judge looked at his watch. "It's after three o'clock," he said. "Do you think they'll tree another one?"
As if to throw the words back in the judge's face, Old Dan opened up. I stood up and whooped. "Whoo-e-e! Get him, Dan! Get him! Put him up a little tree."
There was a mad scramble. Grandpa tried to put his britches on backwards. The judge and Papa ran over to help him with his shoes. Each one tried to put a shoe on the wrong foot. I was laughing so hard I could do nothing.
A hundred yards from the fire, I realized we had forgotten the coonskins. I ran back for them.
My dogs had jumped the coon in swampland. He tore out for the river bottoms. I could tell they were close to him by their fast bawling. All at once their baying stopped. We stood still and listened. Old Dan bawled treed a few more times and then stopped.
Grandpa asked, "What's happened?"
I told him the coon had probably pulled some kind of trick.
Coming up to my dogs, we saw they were working up and down an old rail fence. We stood and watched.