The Healer (7 page)

Suddenly the pack hit the line and burst into full cry. Once Billy had been passing a taproom where a juke box was braying out one of the standard rock records that were as familiar as the racket of traffic. Suddenly through the routine syncopation a trumpet had risen—wild, inspiring, heart-stirring. Billy had stopped dead, his soul in his mouth. As long as the trumpet shrilled he had stayed there, his feet shuffling, his arms jerking, giving little gasps in time to the rhythm. The cry of the hounds hit him in the same way. It seemed as though they were talking to him and he involuntarily cried out, "You find him, dogs! You go after him!" The men laughed, and he was embarrassed into silence, ashamed that an animal lover like himself could be encouraging a hunt. He stood listening to the cadence of the cries. From the intent expressions on the men's faces, Billy was sure that they could interpret the sounds and he wanted to ask questions, but knew better than to talk at such a moment.

The whole pack congregated in a circle around a tuft of foxtail, their noses all buried in the grass, their tails wagging. They were working eagerly, each trying to suck up with his nose a decisive whiff of the odor they knew was caught there. Billy started to run forward but Abe Zook caught him and said, "Not so near yet! The wolf let them smell, not you!"

Wasser dropped back and made a long swing. Almost at once he gave tongue. The rest left the grass and rushed over. They examined briefly the line that Wasser had discovered, yelped expectantly, and then, ignoring the old hound, dashed forward. Only a few strides, and then the whole pack burst into chorus as they poured across the meadow.

"Now they're off," said Lapp. "I'll bet they're headed for the ridge. They'll follow that fence, go along the pipeline and jump that coyote in Swamenburg's woods. What you think?"

"Maybe," said Abe. "Let us go over the hill out and look if anything breaks from the woods over the road."

They hurried back to the car and Ike Yoder started it with a force that made the gravel spurt under the tires. They had lost sight of the pack and could no longer hear them over the noise of the engine. On the way to the farm, Yoder had been a slow, cautious driver, but now he tore along like a madman, the car leaping and jolting over the potholes. Then to Billy's shock, he gave the wheel a sudden twist and went right across a field, following the open gap of a pipeline. At the top of the ridge he killed the engine and everyone leaned out to listen, Billy trying to hold his breath so he could hear better.

Far away he could hear crows crying angrily. Then came the sound of a house dog barking, which for a moment, Billy thought might be the cry of the hounds. They waited a few minutes more but no other sounds came to them. Ike Yoder abruptly threw the car into gear and they were off again.

They rocketed down the far side of the hill at full speed, the car swaying so that the boy had to cling to the side. They hit the dirt road farther down and tore along it. The woods came to an abrupt end here, and Yoder stopped. Everyone strained with listening.

"There they are," said Lapp, jumping out. The other men followed him and, in his excitement, Billy fell. Abe Zook angrily jerked him to his feet and muttered, "Don't be such a dumkoft!"

Now they could clearly hear the hounds. "Oh, that's welcome!" breathed Yoder. They continued to listen, Billy scarcely daring to breathe.

"They're coming back from the woods," said Yoder after a minute.

"They've split," added Lapp.

Abe Zook said nothing. Billy was bursting to ask questions but did not dare, for the men were still listening intently.

"Rock and Squealer are on the dog that the wolf runs with," said Abe after a pause. "I have seen her and I think she is a female. They will not stay long on her. They are not much for another dog. They know something is wrong already."

Billy was now conscious that the baying was coming from two different directions. From a field below the ridge the boy could identify the cry of two hounds, one of them shrill. Even while he listened the baying petered away uncertainly, but from the woods above them came a deeper, surer chorus.

"Where do you think he'll break?" asked Lapp.

Abe Zook shrugged. "Here down by the fence maybe."

The men fingered their guns and said nothing. Billy stared at the long gash of the pipeline cutting and wondered what might suddenly appear there.

Rock and Squealer emerged from the woods, ran over to the men and then cast about looking for a fresh scent. Lapp called them over and heaved them into the car.

Abe Zook suggested, "Let us take the car and go to Five Points. Isaac, you stay here maybe?"

"OK, I'll stay," agreed Lapp. "I'll keep the dogs with me."

"Put leashes on them yet," said Yoder. The dogs were unloaded from the car, leads fastened to their collars, and Lapp held them while the others drove off.

Five Points was on the far side of the ridge, a place where five roads came together. As they started to get out of the car, there came the sudden scream of a wildly excited hound, not twenty feet from where they were, instantly joined by the yelling of the rest of the pack shouting the view. At almost the same instant, a brown form shot from the underbrush and flew past them. Billy got a quick glimpse of long legs, a narrow muzzle, and a curious undoglike lope, and then the creature had crossed the road and was gone.

"The werewolf!" he screamed. "Now he's gone!"

Neither man answered. Both had been in the act of getting out of the car and neither had his rifle ready.

The pack tore across the road in full cry. There was a brief crashing as they went through the sumac tangle on the far side, and then they disappeared.

"Make down the hill," said Abe Zook, jumping back in the car.

They drove until nearly ten o'clock without seeing or hearing the hounds. Then they came on Lapp, walking wearily along with his gun over his shoulder, and no dogs. They stopped and he climbed into the car.

"I heard them a couple of times," he explained. "The dogs wanted to go so I turned them loose. Seems to me he's left the country by now."

Abe Zook shook his head. "I think not. They are pressing him too hard. He will stay where he knows the land."

"Then they've lost him," returned Lapp. "I ain't heard nothing for an hour or more."

Billy said suddenly, "There's a dog."

A hound was trotting along the road ahead of them, looking neither to the right nor left, and seemingly headed for home. "It's Buck!" said Yoder and speeded up the car. Buck jumped in gratefully and lay panting on the rear seat across Billy's lap.

Within a mile they came on Spot, Rock, and Squealer, heads down, tongues out, ears trailing. The men stopped, and loading the exhausted animals into the car, continued on. They were driving slowly along a stretch of road they had been over a dozen times that morning when Abe Zook abruptly leaned forward and pointed toward a valley below them. "Look once!"

In a distant field, they could see a flock of sheep running insane with fright. "Out, out!" bellowed Lapp, and the men tumbled out of the car—even forgetting to take their guns. Billy shouted and pointed. Running through the flock was another form that looked like a gray sheep. It was heading their way.

The men jostled each other and nearly knocked Billy over getting their guns. He ducked out of their way, guarding his sore hand with the other. Lapp seized his gun and started down the road at a run. "Wait for the car!" shouted Yoder. "Ain't got the time," Lapp called back over his shoulder. The gray shape had disappeared behind some farm buildings and Lapp ran across a field to intercept it. Now Billy could see two dots toiling across the far meadow toward the sheep. He knew they must be Wasser and Blue, still on the trail.

Yoder threw open the door of the car and the hounds burst out, racing after Lapp. "I'm going down the road. Want to stay with me?"

"No, better it is we get out here. I am going to the swamp. They will head there maybe," replied Zook, already half out of the car. Billy followed him, and they hit the road as the car tore off.

Zook glanced up at the darkening sky. "It makes down soon. Now, we run a little."

They set off at a trot. After a few hundred yards Zook left the road, pushing through a screen of sumac, and below him Billy could see a swamp covering some ten acres, green with scum and picketed by swordgrass and cattails.

As they started forward, Blue's bugle voice sounded. Both man and boy froze at the sound. Then came Wasser's cracked bay. To their left was the sound of the other hounds crashing through the underbrush to join the leaders.

Suddenly came the crash of the whole pack opening up. The quarry must have been right ahead of them, for they were clearly hunting by sight. Abe Zook started running, with Billy gasping after him, unable to keep up and half-crying for rage and eagerness.

The cry of the pack was coming closer. They had reached the edge of an aster-goldenrod bog connecting with the main swamp. Here Abe stopped. He stood beside a great ash with his gun at the ready. "Make still yet," he hissed as Billy came up. The boy leaned against the trunk, trying to control his panting and nursing his sore hand.

The pack was coming steadily nearer. Certainly the quarry was headed toward the swamp. At any moment he might break from the woods and be in sight. Abruptly they heard Wasser give a frenzied yelp and then start screaming. Running to meet the pack, he must have come on the coyote.

Then they saw Wasser running all out, screeching his head off, headed for the swamp. For an instant they could see nothing more. Then a gray shadow slipped into the high weeds ahead of the hound. They heard Wasser yelp as he plunged into the cover in pursuit and the brambles tore his long ears. Abe Zook raised the gun, watching for a shot. The coyote must be in the midst of the swamp now.

"There!" screamed Billy. From the other side of the swamp the gray shape appeared. It was uncanny. Nothing could have crossed that tangle so rapidly; they could hear Wasser still deep in the network. Caught off guard, Abe Zook swung around, but it was too late. The gray shape was already vanishing into the woods. In a blind rage Abe fired after it, as futile a gesture as shooting at the moon.

A gust of wind sent a splatter of raindrops into their faces. Black, toadstool-shaped clouds were moving in under the dull overhang. Abe Zook called to Wasser as the rest of the pack came up, and then the storm broke. Any further hunting was impossible; the rain was washing out the scent.

Drenched, they made their way back to the car with the discouraged hounds. Ike Yoder and Isaac Lapp were already inside and asked no questions.

Yoder dropped them and Wasser off at the stone house, and Billy built a fire in the fireplace while Abe Zook went out to the barn. Wasser lay dead beat before the first fingers of flame stealing up through the dry wood. Billy stripped down to his shorts and spread his clothes over one of the benches to dry. He got a blanket from his bed and wrapping up in it, sat staring at the fire.

He was as tired as Wasser as he watched the flames that pulsated, flickered, swayed, and undulated, turning colors as they grew and fastened on the different woods. The flames trembled and swayed higher so he seemed to sink into them. Suddenly he felt himself running down a street with boys after him. His back stiffened with the effort to escape and he could taste the sweat running down his face, but he could not feel his fatigue—only the frustration at not being able to run faster. His feet slowed and grew heavy, but still his body streaked along the concrete, his shoes barely touching the hard surface. He could hear his pursuers yelling and their cries were growing louder and louder like the cry of hounds. He had to find a wall so he could put his back against it and at least make a show. He did not want to be tackled so he would fall down. That had happened once before. Then everyone piled on top of you.

Someone grabbed his ankles and he fell flat. They were all shouting together and right on him. A knot of wood in the fireplace exploded like a rifle shot. Billy screamed aloud.

Abe Zook came in carrying a milk pail and a bag. "The herbs are dry," he said, putting the bag on the table. "Tomorrow, perhaps we can get more. Perhaps next time we should be getting some wolfsbane. That animal put a hex on you."

Billy pulled on his clothes. Without looking at the old man he said, "Why do you want to kill that coyote? He isn't hurting you. He only wants to live in his own way."

"You have forgotten the dead sheep already?"

Billy dragged on his socks and straightened the laces of his shoes. "He hasn't any home and everyone hates him. So he goes crazy and kills things. Then you want to run him down with dogs and kill him. It isn't fair."

"Boy, you are sick in the head. I thought you liked the hunt."

"I was excited then and didn't think. Now I know how he feels."

Abe Zook made no answer. He went to the stove and shredded some bark with his pocket knife, preparatory to starting a fire.

Billy said, "You don't like me, do you?"

Abe Zook sighed. "Yes, I feel for you. You have a feeling for things which I do not. When I was a boy, I knew such feelings, but now they are lost."

"Couldn't you put a charm on that wolf so he would be tame? Then I could keep him."

Abe Zook made no answer. He dropped the bark into the stove and carefully laid dried twigs across it. Then he struck a match and lit the heap. Not until the flame crept up and the twigs caught did he reply.

Then he said gently, "Boy, if you think you make a pet out of a werewolf you have got a wonderful much to learn."

It had begun to snow the evening before. Little dancing flakes had appeared from nowhere in the yellow squares of light from the windows of the stone house. A steady, soft whisper came from the roof instead of the hard patter of the autumn rains. The fences and sheds slowly vanished under the white waves that whirled about them, and beautiful frost mosaics formed on the windowpanes. The next morning was Saturday and there was no school. Billy stood on a little hill at dawn, puffs of steam coming from his mouth as he panted after the climb. On his heavily gloved fist sat the great horned owl, held to the boy's hand by two leather straps fastened around the bird's legs. Billy had named the owl Dracula, and Dracula sat quietly with his feathers fluffed up against the cold.