Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls [89]
As I stood and watched him in the moonlight, my heart swelled with pride. Wounded though he was, he wanted to make sure there were no more lions around.
I called to him. In a stiff-legged trot he came to me. I caught hold of his collar and gave him another inspection. In the lantern light I could see the mud-caked wounds clearly. The bleeding had almost stopped. I felt much better.
Little Ann came over. I knelt down and put my arms around them. I knew that if it hadn't been for their loyalty and unselfish courage I would have probably been killed by the slashing claws of the devil cat.
"I don't know how I'll ever pay you back for what you've done," I said, "but I'll never forget it."
Getting up, I said, "Come on, let's go home so I can take care of those wounds."
I hadn't gone far when I heard a cry. At first I thought it was a bird, or a night hawk. I stood still and listened. I glanced at Little Ann. She was looking behind me. I turned around and looked for Old Dan. He was nowhere in sight.
The cry came again, low and pitiful. Instantly Little Ann started back the way we had come. I followed as fast as I could run.
I found Old Dan lying on his side, pleading for help. What I saw was almost more than I could stand. There, tangled in the low branches of a huckleberry bush, were the entrails of my dog. With a gasping cry I knelt down by his side.
I knew what had happened. Far back in the soft belly, the slashing, razor-sharp claws of the lion had cut into the hollow. In my inspections I had overlooked the wound. His entrails had worked out and had become entangled in the bush. The forward motion of his body had done the rest.
He whimpered as I laid my hand on his head. A warm, red tongue flicked out at it. With tears in my eyes, I started talking to him. "Hang on, boy," I said. "Everything will be all right. I'll take care of you."
With trembling hands, I unwound the entrails from the bush. With my handkerchief I wiped away the gravel, leaves, and pine needles. With fingers that shook, I worked the entrails back into the wound.
Knowing that I couldn't carry him and the ax and lantern, I stuck the ax deep in the side of a white oak tree. I blew out the lantern and hung the handle over the other blade. I wrapped my dog in my old sheepskin coat and hurried for home.
Arriving home, I awakened my mother and father. Together we doctored my dogs. Old Dan was taken care of first. Very gently Mama worked the entrails out and in a pan of warm soapy water, washed them clean of the pine needles, leaves, and grit.
"If I only knew what I was doing," Mama said, as she worked, "I'd feel better."
With gentle hands, she worked the entrails back through the opening. The wound was sewn up and bandaged with a clean white cloth.
Little Ann wasn't hard to doctor. I held her head while Mama cleaned her wounds with peroxide. Feeling the bite of the strong liquid, she whined and licked at my hands.
"It's all right, little girl," I said. "You'll be well in no time."
I opened the door and watched her as she limped off to the doghouse.
Hearing a whimper, I turned around. There in the doorway to the room stood my sisters. I could tell by the looks on their faces that they had been watching for some time. They looked pitiful standing there in their long white gowns. I felt sorry for them.
"Will Little Ann be all right?" my oldest sister asked.
"Yes," I said, "she'll be all right. She only had one bad wound and we've taken care of that."
"Old Dan's hurt bad, isn't he?" she said.
I nodded my head.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"It's bad," I said. "He was cut wide open."
They all started crying.
"Now here," Mama said, going over, "you girls get back in bed. You'll take a death of cold being up like this in your bare feet."
"Mommie," the little one said. "God won't let Old Dan die, will He?"
"I don't