Old Yeller (9 page)

W
e couldn’t leave the dead bull to lie there that close to the cabin. In a few days, the scent of rotting flesh would drive us out. Also, the carcass lay too close to the spring. Mama was afraid it would foul up our drinking water.

“We’ll have to try to drag it farther from the cabin and burn it,” she said.

“Burn it?” I said in surprise. “Why can’t we just leave it for the buzzards and varmints to clean up?”

“Because that might spread the sickness,” Mama said. “If the varmints eat it, they might get the sickness too.”

Mama went to put the harness on Jumper. I sent Lisbeth to bring me a rope. I doubled the rope and tied it in a loop around the bull’s horns. Mama brought Jumper, who snorted and shied away at the sight of the dead animal. Jumper had smelled deer blood plenty of times, so I guess it was the size of the bull that scared him. Or maybe like Yeller, Jumper could scent the dead bull’s sickness. I had to talk mean and threaten him with a club before we could get him close enough for Mama to hook the singletree over the loop of rope I’d tied around the bull’s horns.

Then the weight of the bull was too much for him. Jumper couldn’t drag it. He leaned into his collar and dug in with his hoofs. He grunted and strained. He pulled till I saw the big muscles of his haunches flatten and start quivering. But the best he could do was slide the bull carcass along the ground for about a foot before he gave up.

I knew he wasn’t throwing off. Jumper was full of a lot of pesky, aggravating mule tricks; but when you called on him to move a load, he’d move it or bust something.

I called on him again. I drove him at a different angle from the load, hoping he’d have better
luck. He didn’t. He threw everything he had into the collar, and all he did was pop a link out of his right trace chain. The flying link whistled past my ear with the speed of a bullet. It would have killed me just as dead if it had hit me.

Well, that was it. There was no moving the dead bull now. We could patch up that broken trace for pulling an ordinary load. But it would never be strong enough to pull this one. Even if Jumper was.

I looked at Mama. She shook her head. “I guess there’s nothing we can do but burn it here,” she said. “But it’s going to take a sight of wood gathering.”

It did, too. We’d lived there long enough to use up all the dead wood close to the cabin. Now, Mama and Lisbeth had to go way out into the brush for it. I got a piece of rawhide string and patched up the trace chain, and Mama and Lisbeth used Jumper to drag up big dead logs. I helped them pile the logs on top of the bull. We piled them up till we had the carcass completely covered, then set fire to them.

In a little bit, the fire was roaring. Sheets of hot flame shot high into the air. The heat and the
stench of burnt hair and scorching hide drove us back.

It was the biggest fire I’d ever seen. I thought there was fire enough there to burn three bulls. But when it began to die down a couple of hours later, the bull carcass wasn’t half burnt up. Mama and Lisbeth went back to dragging up more wood.

It took two days and nights to burn up that bull. We worked all day long each day, with Mama and Lisbeth dragging up the wood and me feeding the stinking fire. Then at night, we could hardly sleep. This was because of the howling and snarling and fighting of the wolves lured to the place by the scent of the roasting meat. The wolves didn’t get any of it; they were too afraid of the hot fire. But that didn’t keep them from gathering for miles around and making the nights hideous with their howlings and snarlings.

And all night long, both nights, Old Yeller crippled back and forth between the fire and the cabin, baying savagely, warning the wolves to keep away.

Both nights, I lay there, watching the eyes of the shifting wolves glow like live mesquite coals
in the firelight, and listening to the weak moaning bawl of old Spot still traveling in a circle. I lay there, feeling shivery with a fearful dread that brought up pictures in my mind of Bud Searcy’s uncle.

I sure did wish Papa would come home.

As soon as the job of burning the bull was over, Mama told us we had to do the same for the Spot heifer. That was all Mama said about it, but I could tell by the look in her eyes how much she hated to give up. She’d had great hopes for Spot’s making us a real milk cow, especially after Old Yeller had gentled her so fast; but that was all gone now.

Mama looked tired, and more worried than I think I’d ever seen her. I guess she couldn’t help thinking what I was thinking—that if hydrophobia had sickened one of our cows, it just might get them all.

“I’ll do the shooting,” I told her. “But I’m going to follow her out a ways from the house to do it. Closer to some wood.”

“How about your leg?” Mama asked.

“That leg’s getting all right,” I told her. “Think
it’ll do it some good to be walked on.”

“Well, try to kill her on bare ground,” Mama cautioned. “As dry as it is now, we’ll be running a risk of setting the woods afire if there’s much old grass around the place.”

I waited till Spot circled past the cabin again, then took my gun and followed her, keeping a safe distance behind.

By now, Spot was so sick and starved I could hardly stand to look at her. She didn’t look like a cow; she looked more like the skeleton of one. She was just skin and bones. She was so weak that she stumbled as she walked. Half a dozen times she went to her knees and each time I’d think she’d taken her last step. But she’d always get up and go on again—and keep bawling.

I kept waiting for her to cross a bare patch of ground where it would be safe to build a fire. She didn’t; and I couldn’t drive her, of course. She was too crazy mad to be driven anywhere. I was afraid to mess with her. She might be like the bull. If I ever let her know I was anywhere about, she might go on the fight.

I guess she was a mile from the cabin before I saw that she was about to cross a dry sandy
wash, something like the one where Yeller and I had got mixed up with the hogs. That would be a good place, I knew. It was pretty far for us to have to come to burn her, but there was plenty of dry wood around. And if I could drop her out there in that wide sandy wash, there’d be no danger of a fire getting away from us.

I hurried around and got ahead of her. I hid behind a turkey-pear bush on the far side of the wash. But as sick and blind as she was, I think I could have stood out in the broad open without her ever seeing me. I waited till she came stumbling across the sandy bed of the wash, then fired, dropping her in the middle of it.

I’d used up more of my strength than I knew, following Spot so far from the cabin. By the time I got back I was dead beat. The sweat was pouring off me and I was trembling all over.

Mama took one look at me and told me to get to bed. “We’ll go start the burning,” she said. “You stay on that leg any longer, and it’ll start swelling again.”

I didn’t argue. I knew I was too weak and tired to take another walk that far without rest. So I told Mama where to find Spot and told her
to leave Little Arliss with me, and watched her and Lisbeth head out, both mounted on Jumper. Mama was carrying a panful of live coals to start the fire with.

At the last minute, Yeller got up off his cowhide. He stood watching them a minute, like he was trying to make up his mind about something; then he went trotting after them. He was still thin and rough looking and crippling pretty badly in one leg. But I figured he knew better than I did whether or not he was able to travel. I didn’t call him back.

As it turned out, it’s a good thing I didn’t. Only, afterward, I wished a thousand times that I could have had some way of looking ahead to what was going to happen. Then I would have done everything I could to keep all of them from going.

With Little Arliss to look after, I sure didn’t mean to drop off to sleep. But I did and slept till sundown, when suddenly I jerked awake, feeling guilty about leaving him alone so long.

I needn’t have worried. Little Arliss was right out there in the yard, playing with the speckled pup. They had themselves a game going. Arliss
was racing around the cabin, dragging a short piece of frayed rope. The pup was chasing the rope. Now and then he’d get close enough to pounce on it. Then he’d let out a growl and set teeth into it and try to shake it and hang on at the same time. Generally, he got jerked off his feet and turned a couple of somersets, but that didn’t seem to bother him. The next time Arliss came racing past, the pup would tie into the rope again.

I wondered if he wouldn’t get some of his baby teeth jerked out at such rough play, but guessed it wouldn’t matter. He’d soon be shedding them, anyhow.

I wondered, too, what was keeping Mama and Lisbeth so long. Then I thought how far it was to where the dead cow lay and how long it would take for just the two of them to drag up enough wood and get a fire started, and figured they’d be lucky if they got back before dark.

I went off to the spring after a bucket of fresh water and wondered when Papa would come back. Mama had said a couple of days ago that it was about that time, and I hoped so. For one thing, I could hardly wait to see what sort of
horse Papa was going to bring me. But mainly, this hydrophobia plague had me scared. I’d handled things pretty well until that came along. Of course, I’d gotten a pretty bad hog cut, but that could have happened to anybody, even a grown man. And I was about to get well of that. But if the sickness got more of our cattle, I wouldn’t know what to do.

I
t wasn’t until dark came that I really began to get uneasy about Mama and Lisbeth. Then I could hardly stand it because they hadn’t come home. I knew in my own mind why they hadn’t: it had been late when they’d started out; they’d had a good long piece to go; and even with wood handy, it took considerable time to drag up enough for the size fire they needed.

And I couldn’t think of any real danger to them. They weren’t far enough away from the cabin to be lost. And if they were, Jumper knew the way home. Also, Jumper was gentle; there wasn’t much chance that he’d scare and throw
them off. On top of all that, they had Old Yeller along. Old Yeller might be pretty weak and crippled yet, but he’d protect them from just about anything that might come their way.

Still, I was uneasy. I couldn’t help having the feeling that something was wrong. I’d have gone to see about them if it hadn’t been for Little Arliss. It was past his suppertime; he was getting hungry and sleepy and fussy.

I took him and the speckled pup inside the kitchen and lit a candle. I settled them on the floor and gave them each a bowl of sweet milk into which I’d crumbled cold cornbread. In a little bit, both were eating out of the same bowl. Little Arliss knew better than that and I ought to have paddled him for doing it. But I didn’t. I didn’t say a word; I was too worried.

I’d just about made up my mind to put Little Arliss and the pup to bed and go look for Mama and Lisbeth when I heard a sound that took me to the door in a hurry. It was the sound of dogs fighting. The sound came from way out there in the dark; but the minute I stepped outside, I could tell that the fight was moving toward the cabin. Also, I recognized the voice of Old Yeller.

It was the sort of raging yell he let out when he was in a fight to the finish. It was the same savage roaring and snarling and squawling that he’d done the day he fought the killer hogs off me.

The sound of it chilled my blood. I stood, rooted to the ground, trying to think what it could be, what I ought to do.

Then I heard Jumper snorting keenly and Mama calling in a frightened voice. “Travis! Travis! Make a light, Son, and get your gun. And hurry!”

I came alive then. I hollered back at her, to let her know that I’d heard. I ran back into the cabin and got my gun. I couldn’t think at first what would make the sort of light I needed, then recollected a clump of bear grass that Mama’d recently grubbed out, where she wanted to start a new fall garden. Bear grass has an oily sap that makes it burn bright and fierce for a long time. A pile of it burning would make a big light.

I ran and snatched up four bunches of the half-dried bear grass. The sharp ends of the stiff blades stabbed and stung my arms and chest as I grabbed them up. But I had no time to bother about that. I ran and dumped the bunches in a
pile on the bare ground outside the yard fence, then hurried to bring a live coal from the fireplace to start them burning.

I fanned fast with my hat. The bear-grass blades started smoking, giving off their foul smell. A little flame started, flickered and wavered for a moment, then bloomed suddenly and leaped high with a roar.

I jumped back, gun held ready, and caught my first glimpse of the screaming, howling battle that came wheeling into the circle of light. It was Old Yeller, all right, tangled with some animal as big and savage as he was.

Mama called from outside the light’s rim. “Careful, Son. And take close aim; it’s a big loafer wolf, gone mad.”

My heart nearly quit on me. There weren’t many of the gray loafer wolves in our part of the country, but I knew about them. They were big and savage enough to hamstring a horse or drag down a full-grown cow. And here was Old Yeller, weak and crippled, trying to fight a mad one!

I brought up my gun, then held fire while I hollered at Mama. “Y’all get in the cabin,” I yelled. “I’m scared to shoot till I know you’re
out of the line of fire!”

I heard Mama whacking Jumper with a stick to make him go. I heard Jumper snort and the clatter of his hoofs as he went galloping in a wide circle to come up behind the cabin. But even after Mama called from the door behind me, I still couldn’t fire. Not without taking a chance on killing Old Yeller.

I waited, my nerves on edge, while Old Yeller and the big wolf fought there in the firelight, whirling and leaping and snarling and slashing, their bared fangs gleaming white, their eyes burning green in the half light.

Then they went down in a tumbling roll that stopped with the big wolf on top, his huge jaws shut tight on Yeller’s throat. That was my chance, and one that I’d better make good. As weak as Old Yeller was, he’d never break that throat hold.

There in the wavering light, I couldn’t get a true bead on the wolf. I couldn’t see my sights well enough. All I could do was guess-aim and hope for a hit.

I squeezed the trigger. The gunstock slammed back against my shoulder, and such a long streak
of fire spouted from the gun barrel that it blinded me for a second; I couldn’t see a thing.

Then I realized that all the growling and snarling had hushed. A second later, I was running toward the two still gray forms lying side by side.

For a second, I just knew that I’d killed Old Yeller, too. Then, about the time I bent over him, he heaved a big sort of sigh and struggled up to start licking my hands and wagging that stub tail.

I was so relieved that it seemed like all the strength went out of me. I slumped to the ground and was sitting there, shivering, when Mama came and sat down beside me.

She put one arm across my shoulders and held it there while she told me what had happened.

Like I’d figured, it had taken her and Lisbeth till dark to get the wood dragged up and the fire to going around the dead cow. Then they’d mounted old Jumper and headed for home. They’d been without water all this time and were thirsty. When they came to the crossing on Birdsong Creek, they’d dismounted to get a drink. And while they were lying down,
drinking, the wolf came.

He was right on them before they knew it. Mama happened to look up and see the dark hulk of him come bounding toward them across a little clearing. He was snarling as he came, and Mama just barely had time to come to her feet and grab up a dead chinaberry pole before he sprang. She whacked him hard across the head, knocking him to the ground. Then Old Yeller was there, tying into him.

Mama and Lisbeth got back on Jumper and tore out for the house. Right after them came the wolf, like he had his mind fixed on catching them, and nothing else. But old Yeller fought him too hard and too fast. Yeller wasn’t big and strong enough to stop him, but he kept him slowed down and fought away from Jumper and Mama and Lisbeth.

“He had to’ve been mad, Son,” Mama wound up. “You know that no wolf in his right senses would have acted that way. Not even a big loafer wolf.”

“Yessum,” I said, “and it’s sure a good thing that Old Yeller was along to keep him fought
off.” I shuddered at the thought of what could have happened without Old Yeller.

Mama waited a little bit, then said in a quiet voice: “It was a good thing for us, Son; but it wasn’t good for Old Yeller.”

The way she said that gave me a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?” I said. “Old Yeller’s all right. He’s maybe chewed up some, but he can’t be bad hurt. See, he’s done trotting off toward the house.”

Then it hit me what Mama was getting at. All my insides froze. I couldn’t get my breath.

I jumped to my feet, wild with hurt and scare. “But Mama!” I cried out. “Old Yeller’s just saved your life! He’s saved my life. He’s saved Little Arliss’s life! We can’t—”

Mama got up and put her arm across my shoulders again. “I know, Son,” she said. “But he’s been bitten by a mad wolf.”

I started off into the blackness of the night while my mind wheeled and darted this way and that, like a scared rat trying to find its way out of a trap.

“But Mama,” I said. “We don’t know for certain. We could wait and see. We could tie him or
shut him up in the corncrib or some place till we know for sure!”

Mama broke down and went to crying then. She put her head on my shoulder and held me so tight that she nearly choked off my breath.

“We can’t take a chance, Son,” she said, sobbing. “It would be you or me or Little Arliss or Lisbeth next. I’ll shoot him if you can’t, but either way, we’ve got it to do. We just can’t take the chance!”

It came clear to me then that Mama was right. We couldn’t take the risk. And from everything I had heard, I knew that there was very little chance of Old Yeller’s escaping the sickness. It was going to kill something inside me to do it, but I knew then that I had to shoot my big yeller dog.

Once I knew for sure I had it to do, I don’t think I really felt anything. I was just numb all over, like a dead man walking.

Quickly, I left Mama and went to stand in the light of the burning bear grass. I reloaded my gun and called Old Yeller back from the house. I stuck the muzzle of the gun against his head and pulled the trigger.