The Fox and the Hound
By Daniel P. Mannix
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Chapter 3 - The First Hunt - Shooting at a Crossing
Chapter 4 - The Second Hunt - Jug Hunting
Chapter 5 - Third Hunt - Gassing
Chapter 6 - Fourth Hunt - Trapping
Chapter 7 - Fifth Hunt - Formal Hunting
Chapter 8 - Sixth Hunt - The Still Hunt
Chapter 9 - Seventh Hunt - Coursing with Greyhounds
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The Hound
The big half-bred bloodhound lay in his barrel kennel and dreamed he was deer hunting. Of all the quarry he had ever trailed, deer was the hound's favorite, although it was usually strictly forbidden. He had been whipped, beaten with a club, and even hit in the flanks by bird shot for this crime; yet once, after an interminable journey to a faraway place, he had been allowed to track a deer. Now he smelled again that warm, rich odor as he toiled after the quarry. Again he heard the rapid toot - toot - toot of his master's horn blowing the "Gone away," and the notes made him yelp with excitement. He was not running now, but flying over the ground, and the scent was growing stronger, The quarry must be almost in sight. The hound kicked convulsively in his barrel and whined with eagerness.
He was vaguely aware of a distant noise so remote he was barely conscious of it. Yet the noise grew louder and more irritating. It was a shrill Yip-yurr! repeated over and over. The hound tried to banish it from his thoughts and concentrate on the glory of the chase, but the yapping forced itself on him. Gradually the splendor of the hunt began to fade, driven away by that infuriating, sharp yipping. With the noise came penetrating odor that obliterated the glory of the thrilling deer scent. With a cry that was half bark, half growl, the hound came awake. He lay for an instant unsure of what was going on. Then he smelled the pungent scent of fox, and fox very close. At the same moment, the taunting yipping came again.
With a roar of fury, the hound burst from his barrel into the false light of early dawn. There, only a few yards away, a fox was sitting grinning at him. So crazed with rage he could not think, the hound Rung himself at the intruder. The fox did not move. As his jaws were about to close over the stinking red interloper, the hound was flung on his side and lay groveling on the hard-packed earth. He had come to the end of his chain and been jerked backward.
By now every hound in the pack, as well as the fierce mongrel catch dogs, had been awakened and were raging at the ends of their chains. The fox cocked his triangular head to grin at them, knowing he was safe. Then he turned to the hound and barked again in the same teasing way. The taunt set the hound completely out of his head with madness. He flung himself the full length of the chain, rolled on the ground, tore at the metal links, and screamed with frustration while the fox still sat scoffing at him. The fox clearly knew to a foot the length of the chain - no difficult feat, for the fan-shaped strip of padded earth around each kennel showed the boundaries beyond which the captive dog could not go - and was enjoying himself immensely. He had stopped barking, as he could not have been heard above the tumult, and sat gloating over the chaos he was causing.
The headlights of a car swept the hill slope, illuminating briefly the coat of the fox so that it glowed as if with an internal light. Instantly the fox dropped his gloating, confident air. The grin vanished; he crouched down and turned to look at the lane leading to the isolated cabin below him. The lights of a second car glided over him, making the fox crouch even lower. Then as the clamor of the dogs increased in volume and frustration, the fox skulked away, beginning to run as soon as he was clear of the light, and vanished into the scrub-oak thickets.
The hound was the first to stop his frustrated screaming. In spite of the noise of the pack, he recognized the distinctive sound of his Master's car. A few moments later, he was able to identify the second vehicle. It belonged to men who came occasionally to his Master's home, and their presence always meant that his services would be in demand. He could identify half a dozen cars by their sound, although he could not recognize them by sight. When this particular car came, he was always called on to track a man. The hound didn't like tracking men especially - the scent was always poor, and there was no killing at the end of the trail. Although not bloodthirsty like the catch dogs, he did enjoy those last exciting moments of the chase, the anticipated crack of the rifle, and smelling the dead quarry. Still, anything that got him off the tiresome chain was a relief. So he stood hopefully, his tail wagging with doubtful eagerness, as there was still a chance his services might not be required.
He saw the cars stop and men get out. He thought one was his Master; but at that distance he could not be sure. for he was shortsighted. The men went into the cabin and then came out again, starting up the kill. The pack began to bark now, partly in warning and partly in expectation. As the men came closer, the hound could see that the figure in front was his Master. He recognized him by his manner of walking rather than by his appearance. He began to wiggle with excitement.
The Master came up to him and the hound saw that he was putting on a heavy leather belt and carried the long leash that meant man-tracking. He was to go and the rest would be left behind. Frantic with pride and delight, he groveled on the ground, turning his head sideways to expose the jugular vein as a sign of utter abjection to ingratiate himself further with his Master, whom he recognized as a stronger animal. The Master patted him and spoke his name, "Copper," together with other words the hound could not understand but which, from the tone, were gentle. Encouraged, the hound sprang up and, putting his forepaws on the Master's chest, tried to lick his face as he would the face of another dog who had showed friendliness. He was good-naturedly repulsed. The snap of his kennel chain was released and the tracking leash fastened to his collar.
Copper at once started for the cars. He did not throw his full weight on the leash until he heard the click of the snap on the other end of the lead being fitted into the eye socket on the belt. Then he pulled on the leash with all his strength, hurrying the Master toward the cars. There was a young Trigg hound named Chief, an excellent tracker and brave fighter who was the Master's favorite. Copper hated Chief with a hatred surpassing the hatred of a jealous woman. He was mortally afraid the Master might take the Trigg too and wanted to get him away from the other dogs as quickly as possible.
When they reached the cars, Copper hesitated. Sometimes the Master took him in one car and sometimes in the other. The Master spoke to the two men whom Copper recognized primarily by the smell of their leather leggings. He had gone out with them several times before. The Master unclipped the lead, opened the door of his car, and ordered the hound to get in. Copper sprang in promptly, jumping up to his special seat on a rack behind the driver, and lay down, thumping the boards enthusiastically with his tail. There was an apprehensive quality to the thumping, as he still was not absolutely sure that the Master might not go back after that accursed Chief. But the Master climbed in and started the car. As soon as it moved, Copper relaxed and stopped his tail wagging. No doubt now, he was safe.
When they reached the paved highway, the second car passed them. A flashing light appeared on its top and it gave off a moaning wail. Both cars speeded up. Copper would have loved to have been able to lean out the window of the car, drinking in the wind, especially as the car accelerated. The rush of air through his open mouth into his lungs gave him an intoxicating sensation. As this was forbidden, he had to be content with the current of air that came in through the open window. Lying quietly, he sucked it in through his broad wet nostrils. The motion of the car soothed him, and he dozed.
He was awakened by the car turning off the smooth highway and jolting over a dirt track. It was broad daylight. Copper yawned and stretched as well as he could in his cramped quarters. The other car was still ahead of them, throwing up dust that made the hound sneeze. He put one paw over his nose as a shield.
The cars stopped and there was a sound of voices. Copper stood up, tired and cramped by the journey and eager to be let out. The Master opened the door and allowed him to jump down and relieve himself against some bushes. There were a number of men here, all talking, and Copper ran around investigating the new smells and pausing to eat a little saw grass, for the ride had made him slightly nauseated.
Copper heard his Master's angry voice and glanced up, apprehensive that he had done something wrong, but the Master was speaking to one of the men who had come from a cabin with something in his hand. The Master snatched the object and came toward Copper. He held it out and the hound realized it was a scent guide, an object that would give him the scent of the man he was to track.
The object was cloth, and Copper smelled it carefully. There were several human scents, including that of the man who had just handled it and of course the Master's scent. This last didn't bother the hound; he naturally recognized and eliminated that particular odor, but he had no way of telling which of the other scents was the important one.
The Master put the tracking leash on his collar and Copper prepared for work. When he heard the familiar click as the leash was snapped to the belt, he started off. All the men began to follow them, but to Copper's relief the Master shouted and all but one dropped back. He was one of the leather-smelling men, and followed a few feet behind.
The Master took Copper on a long swing around the cabin. The hound worked slowly, sorting out the different scents that came to him. Animal scents, such as rabbit and squirrel, he ignored. Occasionally he crossed patches of wild mustard or mint that gave off an odor that tended to mask other scents. In such cases he skirted the patches to be able to work on uncontaminated ground. Twice he crossed clearings where the hot sun had burned off most of the scent. He worked these carefully to make sure of not missing a faint trail.
At last he hit a clear man track. Copper stopped instantly, sniffing long and loudly. Then he went back to the Master for the scent guide. The Master held it out and Copper sniffed the guide. Yes, one of the odors, and by far the strongest, was the same as that of the track. Without any more hesitation Copper went back to the trail and started out.
It was damp and cool under the trees and the scent held well. Copper forged ahead, at times dragging the Master after him, for the man could not pass under low-hanging boughs as easily as the hound. A few times the hound lost the scent, but by pressing on he was able to pick it up within a few yards. Occasionally, though, the quarry had turned off at an angle at places where the scent had sunk into dry ground or been blown away by a wind. Here Copper was at a loss. The Master had to take him back to the last sure place and start him over. By working slowly and systematically from one wisp of scent to the next, the hound was able to unravel the line. In one especially bad spot he had to dig to find the scent where it had soaked into the ground an inch or so below the surface. In another, the scent had been blown completely away, but Copper found a suggestion of it lodged under the edge of a fallen tree.
They came out on a dirt road. The quarry had sat down to rest - the scent was quite strong - and smoked. But here the trail ended. Copper circled the spot to make sure. Then he lifted one leg and urinated as a sign that the quarry had vanished. As a young hound he had followed trails with so much enthusiasm that he had never had time to relieve himself until the scent ended. Then he had wet. The Master had come to recognize what he meant, so now the act of wetting was a code sign between them.
The Master called to the leather-smelling man who came up. They talked while Copper lay down and rested. It had been a long pull, and he was tired and thirsty.
Finally the Master came over to him. He poured water from a canteen onto the rim of his hat, and Copper drank eagerly. Then the Master washed out his nose and massaged his feet. Finally he shook the leash and said, "Go on, boy. Go find 'em."
Copper looked up reproachfully. He had already indicated that the trail stopped here. Yet the Master was insistent. With an almost audible sigh, the hound rose and checked again. Yes, the scent definitely stopped here. Copper tried to think what to do.