Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls [76]
Grandpa was scared and excited. He was jumping up and down, whooping and hollering.
Papa raised the gun to aim.
I jumped and grabbed his arm. "Don't do that," I yelled. "You're sure to hit one of my dogs."
Round and round in the deep water the fight went on. The coon climbed on Old Dan's head and sank his teeth in one of his long tender ears. Old Dan bawled with pain. Little Ann swam in and caught one of the coon's hind legs in her mouth. She tried hard to pull him off. All three disappeared under the water.
I held my breath.
The water churned and boiled. All three came to the top about the same time. The coon was between the bank we were standing on and my dogs. He swam toward us. They caught him again just as he reached shore. He fought his way free and ran for a large sycamore. Old Dan caught him just as he started up. I knew that was the end of the fight.
After it was all over and the coon had been skinned, Grandpa said, "I hope we don't have to go through that again tonight. For a while I sure thought your dogs were goners."
The judge said, "Well, have you ever seen that? Look over there!"
Old Dan was standing perfectly still, with eyes closed and head hanging down. Little Ann was licking at his cut and bleeding ears.
"She always does that," I said. "If you'll watch, when she gets done with him, he'll do the same for her."
We stood and watched until they had finished doctoring each other. Then, trotting side by side, they disappeared in the darkness.
We followed along, stopping now and then to listen.
XVII
LOOKING UP THE SKY, PAPA SAID, "THAT DOESN'T LOOK GOOD up there. I think we are in for a storm."
The sky had turned a dark gray. Fast-moving clouds were rolling through the heavens.
Grandpa said, "Looks like we're going to get some wind, too."
Scared and thinking everyone might want to stop hunting because of a few clouds, I said, "If a storm is brewing, it's a good night to hunt. All game stirs just before a storm."
Thirty minutes later, Papa said, "Listen."
We stood still. A low moaning sound could be heard in the tops of the tall sycamores.
Grandpa said, "I was afraid of that. We're going to get some wind."
We heard a rattling in the leaves and underbrush. It was beginning to sleet. The air turned cold and chilly.
From far downriver, we heard the deep baying of a hound on a trail. It was Old Dan. Seconds later, the rhythmic crying of Little Ann could be heard. Swal197 lowing the lump that had jumped up in my throat, I whooped as loud as I could.
The ground was turning white with sleet. The storm had really set in. We hurried along.
I said to Papa, "If this keeps up that old coon won't run long. He'll head for his den."
"If it gets much worse," Grandpa said, "I know some coon hunters that won't be running very long. They'll be frozen too stiff to run."
The judge asked if there was any danger of getting lost.
"I don't know," Papa said. "It's all strange country to me."
My dogs' voices sounded far away. I knew they were much closer than they sounded as they were downwind from us. Finding three large sycamores growing close together, we stopped on the leeward side.
Papa shouted above the wind, "I don't know if we can take much more of this."
"It is bad," Grandpa replied, "and it looks like it's going to get worse."
"You can't see over fifteen feet now," the judge said. "Do you think we can find the buggy?"
"I think we can find the buggy all right," Papa said.
I could no longer hear the voices of my dogs. This had me worried. I didn't want to leave them out in the storm.
"Can anyone hear the hounds?" Grandpa asked.
"I can't," Papa said.
The judge spoke up. "Fellows, I think we'd better go in," he said. "There's no telling where they are. They may have crossed the river."
Scared and knowing I had to do something, I said, "They're closer than you think, probably treed by now. You can't hear them for this wind." I begged, "Let's go a little further."
There was no reply and no one made a move to leave the shelter of the trees.
Taking a few