The Fox and the Hound (9 page)

Out of the cover, the fox had run along a slash made by a high-tension line and then through a hole in a fence so overgrown by honeysuckle and grape that no trace of the original wire could be seen. The fox had been running just ahead of the hound, but now he suddenly put on speed, as Copper could tell by the scent growing distinctly fainter as the fox outdistanced him. Copper knew what that meant - they were coming to a crossing. The fox wanted to leave the hound well behind so he would have time to stop at the crossing, look about him, and test the breeze before going over the road. The fox's path lay along a hedgerow that fenced a farm, and as Copper reached it, he recognized by both sight and smell the multiflora hedge where one of the gunners had been stationed.

At once, Copper put forth his utmost speed, at the same time changing his rather perfunctory baying to a loud cry in order to alert the man ahead, just as the volume of his baying changed when he wanted to notify other hounds that the quarry had changed its course and was headed toward them. It was crucially important for the fox to be pressed as hard as possible coming into the crossing, as otherwise he would have time to detect the presence of the waiting man. Although his feet felt heavier now than they had at the beginning of the run, and breathing was harder, Copper Rung himself forward, shouting as loudly as he could.

The thorny, unclipped stems of the hedge hung down in a veil, and between them and the hedge itself the fox had made a run that was almost a tunnel. Copper was too big to follow him here, and also the thorns tore the hound's long, soft ears, so he ran across the field, paralleling the hedge and still throwing his voice until the baying echoed from the side of a nearby barn. Copper knew well the fox was heading for the crossing, so there was no need to follow the trail exactly - simply press hard and notify the man that they were coming.

Two farm dogs rushed out of the barnyard and ran barking toward Copper. The hound was annoyed at these yapping idiots and kept on, but the dogs refused to let him go. Thinking that he was running from them they rushed in, dividing to attack from both sides. To his amazement and rage, Copper found himself involved in a dogfight with two ignorant curs who did not recognize a professional hound at work when they saw one.

Copper had never been a fighter, leaving that to the catch dogs, but in his indignation he turned on the two curs with a fury that caused them to withdraw, fighting on their home ground though they were. Copper tried to go on, but as soon as he turned the farm dogs rushed in again, snapping and snarling, their crests raised, their lips curled back to show the white teeth, their tails high. Copper was forced to defend himself, and the three furious animals spun around in a circle, rearing up as each dog tried to get higher than the other for the back-of-the-neck grip, and then falling to roll together on the grass.

Copper did his best, but he soon realized he was outmatched. Disengaging himself, he ran with the curs barking victoriously on his tail. They chased him across the field and under a barbed- wire fence. This was the limit of the farm, their home range, so they stopped at the fence, barking as loudly as possible and threatening all sorts of punishments if the hound ever dared return. Finally they trotted off toward the barn, shoulder to shoulder, feeling very proud of themselves and extremely companionable as brothers-in-arms.

Copper had not been seriously mauled, but he felt stiff and shaken as he went on. It took him some time to recover from the shock of the unexpected assault and get his mind back on the business at hand. He finally managed to orient himself, and returned to where the fox's line paralleled the hedge. Then he went on.

As he approached the crossing, he winded the gunner in the sassafras. That he could do so worried him, for it meant the wind had shifted slightly during the morning and the fox could do the same. Copper dropped his nose to the trail and followed it with a sinking heart. His worst suspicions were confirmed. Yes, here the fox had come to a sudden stop and there had been a slight spurt of urine. Then the fox had turned off sharply. Copper followed the line with scarcely enough enthusiasm to bay. The fox had avoided the crossing and gone over the road a quarter of a mile farther down. If only those damn curs had not interfered and Copper had been able to press him hard at this critical point, the hound would be worrying the body right now.

There was nothing for it but to keep on and hope for the best. After all, there were two more posted crossings, and at one the Master was sure to be waiting. The thought gave Copper confidence, and his baying rang out clear and true.

Copper knew from experience that from now on the fox would be doubly cautious at all crossings, determined to lose him, so the hound followed the line with meticulous care, alert for tricks. At first, there seemed to be nothing to worry about. The fox returned to his regular route as soon as possible and kept to it. Here the route led across some open fields, going from rise to rise in typical fox fashion, and although the strong light of the noonday sun was beginning to kill the scent in the open - as strong sunlight always did - enough of it lay in the shaded sides of the mounds to enable the hound to press on at a fast lope. There was also a little breeze here that made the scent swirl so it was more readily detected.

Copper came to a circular mound some fifty feet across with a deep depression in the center. The fox had run up the side of the mound, but here the scent ended. There was limestone under the grass, which always killed scent, and the rim of the mound was all in the full glare of the sun. Copper circled the mound, working the lip carefully to find where the fox had left it, but his nose told him nothing. He then made another cast, going over every foot of the outside slope. Poor as the scent was, he could not believe that the fox could have run down the mound again without leaving some trace. The fox must still be there somewhere, possibly in a hole.

Copper returned to the lip of the crater and then worked out the inside slope as systematically as he had the outer incline. Again he drew a blank. Copper was baffled. There were some outcroppings of limestone in the crater, and Copper wondered if he could pick up some scent in the shadow of one of these. He started to check them one after another.

Nothing - nothing - nothing. Copper was getting discouraged. Looking around with his nearsighted eyes, he saw one last rock lying in the bottom of the hollow. Without hope, and merely as a routine, final gesture he walked over to it and extended his muzzle.

To his astonishment, the rock suddenly darted away. Copper was so surprised he jumped back with a growl. Then the odor of fox hit him. Bellowing with excitement, he rushed forward, but not until he passed the spot where the fox had been lying did he realize that the fox had been crouched there curled up like a ball all the time he was casting to and fro in the crater, often not ten feet from the motionless animal, When he lay still the fox gave off virtually no odor, and to the color-blind hound the grayish limestone rocks were the same color as the fox.

They were off again. The fox was running through a hollow now, and the soil was moist. In spite of the sun, the grass was damp, and the scent from the fox's pads spread so rapidly the hound no longer had to follow the tracks themselves but a scent path several feet wide. Ahead lay a plowed field, and the fox cut across it. Copper approached the dark-colored earth apprehensively, but to his gratification the scent held well. The dark earth absorbed the warmth of the sun so the ground was warmer than the air and the scent rose, hanging an inch or so above the furrows. At dawn, at sunset, or on a warm day, scenting conditions here would have been impossible but now they were just right.

On the far side, the fox returned to his regular route, and now Copper sensed a subtle change in the scent. It was weakening. For a moment he thought the fox had speeded up for another crossing, but the scent was not stale. Nor were scenting conditions bad, for they were in the shadow of a line of maples. Copper felt a thrill of exultation. The fox was weakening and scent fades with a fading fox. Heretofore his baying had been low in the scale, and prolonged. Now it increased in tempo, key, and volume.

The fox ran along a snake fence, which bothered Copper not at all, tried his backtracking trick again, and then put on speed. As he ran, Copper began to note familiar landmarks, although he had been over this portion of the route only once before. Copper had a remarkable memory for certain details, and he began to recognize the touch of a pokeweed stalk that brushed his shoulder at a certain angle when he had run this way earlier, the smell of an individual rusty iron post and the clear, moist odor of flowing water ahead. They were coming to the log over the stream crossing where the second gunner had been posted. This was a "low" crossing in the bottom of a little valley, and scent would be bad. Copper increased his pace to keep the scent as fresh as possible, as well as to push the fox,

Here the fox's route crossed the stream twice: first across some stones in the creek, then along a line of scrub willows, and then back across the log. Copper threw his voice, but the scenting grew so bad that he was forced to concentrate on the line. He came to the creek where the fox had bounded nimbly from stone to stone without wetting his feet, The heavy, tired hound floundered through the water and up the other side. Here the scent stopped. Copper searched the clay bank in vain. He wondered if the fox could have turned and waded down or up the stream - foxes often did. He must be sure.

He turned and ran upstream, forded the creek again and tried the other bank. Scent would not lie on the running water, he knew, but if the fox had waded... bits of scent were often carried by the stream into little bays and backwaters. Copper checked them all and then tried downstream. Nothing there. He returned to the stepping-stones, went up the bank, and worked out a line of willows. At long last he found the line again. Baying loudly, Copper tore on.

There was the log, and the trail ran straight for it. Copper had almost reached it when he saw the gunner stand up from his ambush with the gun in his hand. Copper's nose told him the fox had already passed - why hadn't the man shot him? After several hours of his lonely vigil in the intense cold, the man must have relaxed to stretch, yawn, or scratch himself. He had taken his eyes off the log for a moment, and of course it was in that instant that the fox had slipped past. Copper had been too busy working out the line to warn him by baying. Raging, the hound crossed the log and kept on.

Well, there was still the Master. Copper knew the Master would not relax even for a second with a fox running. And he never missed. Copper had no idea at which of the remaining crossings the Master had posted himself, but he would be somewhere; that the old hound never doubted. Then all his efforts would be rewarded.

They were on good humus and the scent was clear although fading. The fox must be weakening, and Copper deliberately held back, for he did not want the fox to go to ground. The fox took advantage of the lead to make for a swamp, and there he left another maze of trails. This was more of a problem than the other tangles had been, for the swamp was too big for Copper to circle it and pick up the trail where the fox had emerged. He had to work it out. The job was not as hard as he had feared, for the sun had melted the frozen mud and there were puddles of water that held the scent beautifully after the fox had splashed through them. The fox had also jumped from hummock to hummock, and the dry swamp grass held his body scent. He had doubled in and out, crossing his own trail constantly; but Copper could perfectly well tell the difference between a trail made a minute before and one made two minutes before, and he was never confused. The fox would have to come out sometime, and come out he did, Copper even got a glimpse of the gray shape drifting across a meadow as he emerged from the rushes, and for a few wonderful seconds the hound was running by sight, telling the whole world of his triumph.

Now the fox tried what were obviously his last tricks. He ran along the bank of the stream for some distance and then down into the water. Copper needed to go only a few yards to be sure the fox had not gone downstream. A dam of driftwood had formed that the fox would have had to cross, and there was no scent on the dam. Upstream, then, it had to be, Copper waded up the stream, smelling each rock and watersoaked log in case the fox had rubbed against them, but he found nothing. Then he tried the banks. Still nothing. This was a puzzler. Copper begrudged every second these casts cost him, for any delay made the fading scent grow still colder and also gave the fox a chance to rest.

As usual in such a situation, Copper returned to the last place he had a sure scent: the spot where the fox had gone down into the stream. Yes, although the scent was now dead the quarry had certainly run along the bank and then gone down the bank. But wait a minute. There was something peculiar about the scent. Could it be - yes, it was double! The fox had run down to the stream and then backtracked. But where had he then left the trail? Copper had been conscientious about checking for jump-offs to one side or the other ever since the fox had started his series of tricks.