The Fox and the Hound (10 page)

The hound backtracked along the trail. He went some distance before the double trail stopped, but the fax had not jumped to either side. Ah, the stream! He could reach that. For the second time Copper waded into the stream, but now below the dam, and began checking The creek was so fast-flowing there were no little backwaters that might hold the wash from the fox’s body, but mulberries overhung the stream and from their trailing limbs Copper was able to pick up the scent he sought. Yes, the fox had come this way. Copper followed him from the twigs until he came to where the fox had left the stream and resumed his run.

        This had been a long check and the scent was growing cold, so Copper hurried on. He came to where the fox had run a hard-topped road - a common trick and annoying rather than puzzling. Unlike moist grass, the scent from the pads would not spread on the hard asphalt, but remained in little patches that made tracking difficult. Still, the fox had to leave the road somewhere, and Copper followed until he found the place. Several times he was nearly hit by passing cars, but Copper remained indifferent to them in his concentration on the elusive line, merely regarding the vehicles as a nuisance because their exhaust fumes and stinking tires further confused the line.

The fox cut through some woods where the scenting was easy and then down a long slope covered with orchard grass where the scent was even better. For the first time since the log crossing, Copper threw his voice in the full, rich bay of a tracking hound, and galloped on eagerly. There was something about this place he remembered. Yes, there was the cherry with the rotten limb lying beside the trunk. Yes, there was the patch of mint, and here was the stone wall covered with poison ivy and wild roses. They were coming to another crossing. Copper felt a sudden surge of confidence that here the Master would be waiting. It was a "high" crossing; if possible the fox always crossed a road where it ran over a little ridge. The fox liked high crossings as he could see in all directions and get the wind blowing straight across the valley unhampered by hills. There was, however, a good sumac tangle here that made a perfect ambush. Right in front of it ran the rutted dirt road and from the tangle the Master would have a perfect shot at the fox as he crossed. Once before in this same place the Master had shot a fox running before Copper inhaled the fading scent and knew the fox was putting on his usual burst of speed before a crossing. Baying with the full force of his great lungs, Copper threw all his powers into catching up and preventing the quarry from hesitating at the road.

        Men had been timbering, and the hauled logs had pressed down a long , wide swathe in the tall grass. As he rounded a bend in the wall, Copper saw ahead of him in the lithe form of the fox speeding toward the road. Instantly he broke into his viewing cry that meant the quarry was in sight. The Master waiting would know what the change in pitch meant. The fox could not turn or stop now with the hound only yards from his brush. The Master would not be scratching or yawning, but waiting with his gun trained on the open patch of road that the fox must cross. Already Copper could feel the taste of soft fur in his mouth and the stench of the body as he worried it. The fox had almost reached the road now.

Down the road came an ancient, rattling farm truck, its driver indifferent to the baying hound or the fleeing scud of the fox. Copper saw the fox hesitate. For an instant he thought the animal would dodge in front of the truck and continue on his route, but instead the fox swung off to one side.

Bang! The half-frozen ground shuddered as a charge of shot struck under the white-tipped brush. The fox leaped convulsive]y, his hindquarters twisting at right angles, his brush shooting out sideways to act as a counterbalance as he swerved. Then the brush spun around and around, as though giving him momentum, and he was off. Until now, the fox had not been running; only keeping ahead of the hound. He ran now. The slim form seemed to shoot over the ground without touching it. In seconds, he was out of Copper’s sight.

Laboring hard, Copper plunged after him. If only he had been hit! He smelled the tom earth and the odor of the shot mingled with the spurt scent of urine and fear. No blood, but there might still be some. Copper kept wildly on. It was useless. The sudden fright had scared the scent from the fox, the shock temporarily paralyzing the scent glands so they were inoperational. One drop of blood - just one little drop every few feet and Copper could still trail that fox across a desert, but there was no blood. Tracking was impossible, and Copper turned sadly back.

On the road, the Master had stopped the truck, and Copper could hear him yelling at the driver. Copper could not understand the words but he recognized the tone. On a few occasions the Master had spoken to him like that, so he knew how the driver must feel. The thought gave him some slight satisfaction.

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The Second Hunt - Jug Hunting

Tod learned three valuable lessons from that terrible day which had climaxed with a sting of shot in his hide that itched him for a long time afterward. First, he made it a point never to use the same lying-up place twice in succession so his enemies would not know where to find him. Second, especially when being chased by a slow hound who made no attempt to press him, he took care never to cross at a crossing; instead he made a detour around such places. Last, unless so hard pressed he was forced to take the easiest and therefore most familiar route, he did not stay on his regular run when hounds were on his trail, and made it his business to learn a number of alternate runs he could use when hunted. When hunting himself, he generally stayed on his regular route because the run had been laid out to enable him to visit the best game areas where mice, rabbits, and other quarry lived; but at the first cry of hounds he switched over to one of his secondary routes as quickly as possible, usually alternating between them, particularly if the hounds were forcing him to run downwind.

Tod had not acquired the bag of tricks he had played on Copper simply by being chased by farm dogs, and even less through any process of abstract reasoning. For several months before that well-nigh fatal day, he had been chased, often three or four times a week, by packs of experienced and determined hounds. These hunts always took place at night, and followed a predetermined pattern that Tod had learned to expect.

The first time Tod heard the pack on his trail, he stopped to listen in astonishment, for he had no idea what the sound was. He even turned and trotted back toward the cry, a victim of his all-consuming curiosity. Still, bewildered, he waited until he caught sight of the hounds - huge, bounding ominous shapes in the darkness - and heard their cry grow shriller and more blood- thirsty as the night breeze carried his body scent directly to them. Now at long last Tod realized that these creatures were deadly enemies. Not only were they terrible to see but the tone of their voices was clearly aggressive. Tod turned and ran for his life.

He kept to his regular route from habit, and luckily for him, within a few yards his route took him under a gate. The hounds were too big to squeeze under the bars, and lost time finding an opening in the hedge through which they could force their way. This gave Tod a few precious yards' lead, but unaware that he had temporarily lost the hounds, he continued running wildly. When he realized that the pack was no longer speaking on his line, he slowed, but when the strike-hounds found the trail again and threw their voices, he continued his panicky flight. Coming to a road, he was turned back by the sight of some cars whose owners on hearing the pack had stopped with lights on and engines running. Spinning around, Tod ran back over his own track and then turned off to one side, making a long leap to avoid a muddy ditch. Still running, he heard the pack come roaring along and cross the road at full speed. Here their voices soon died away. Thoroughly winded, Tod crouched in a patch of bunchgrass and listened. He heard the hounds coming back along his old trail, whimpering with frustration in their efforts to find where he had turned off. They passed the spot where he had made his sideways jump over the ditch and continued on. He heard no more from them that night.

Shortly before dawn, Tod recovered from his fright sufficiently to double back and start tracking the hounds. Although he seldom bothered to track quarry - there were far easier ways of obtaining a meal than that - he had often tracked other foxes and even humans merely to see what they had been doing. As these animals had given him such a fright, he was curious to find out where they had gone and what they had been doing on his range.

He found where they had chased another fox, and followed the dual lines until the sun was up and it was time to go to his lying-up spot. By now, Tod vaguely realized that the hounds must have tracked him and the other fox by scent; after all, he was using exactly the same technique himself. He still did not know quite what to do about it; but when a few nights later he heard the pack on his Pail again, he promptly headed for the gate, ducked under it, ran to the road, turned, made his jump across the ditch, and then, after running a few yards, stopped to listen. Again the hounds were baffled. Exactly how Tod did not fully understand. He only knew that as this device had worked before, he had duplicated it - just as in the house he had duplicated whatever technique had kept him from being caught and put to bed.

Tod, however, was quite capable of associating certain ideas, and after several hunts he learned that the hounds could not follow him when he broke contact with the ground, regardless of whether he ran a fence line, ran along a stone wall, or climbed a sloping tree, went out along a branch and then dropped down. Backtracking also puzzled them, and this was generally the first trick he tried because it was the easiest. He had already learned from the cur dogs that he was safe among cattle, and if no cattle were available he could play the same trick by running among a herd of deer. The best trick of all was to foul his line with that of another fox and then jump sideways to make a break in his trail. The hounds were almost certain to take off after the other fox. Virtually every trick Tod was ever to use was based off one of these principals, although he showed such ingenuity in combining and varying these basic rules that he gave the impression of having an unlimited repertoire of techniques each more puzzling than the last.

The hunts usually took place on dark, moonless nights when there was a north wind blowing - or at least not a south wind that tended to deaden scent with its heavy humidity. While going his nightly rounds, Tod would hear the baying of three or four hounds. He quickly came to recognize the cry of each individual hound - the hornlike cry of a Travis, the chop of a Helderberg, and the turkey voice of an old Spaulding. After waiting awhile to make sure they were on his trail, Tod would start running. Before long he would catch the scent of wood-smoke from a campfire and often see the bright eye of the fire itself on some knoll. With the woodsmoke came the odor of men, cars, hounds, coffee, and a stinging sweet odor reminiscent of apples that had lain on the ground long enough to ferment. Once Tod had visited one of these camping places the next day from curiosity, and found, in addition to the smoldering remains of the fire, an empty jug broken and lying on the ground. There were a few drops of liquor in it, and Tod, always fascinated by the unusual, had lapped them. His tongue had stung so he leaped back, shaking his head and wiping the sides of his mouth between his paws. He knew well it was from these camping sites that the hounds had been released.

        Once the original three or four hounds were running strongly and throwing their voices in full chorus, he could soon expect to hear other hounds. The men held these other hounds until the first hounds had struck the line, and Tod could tell by the way these first strike-dogs followed the trail and by the confidence in their voices that they must be old, experienced animals, while from the eager but often disorganized cries of the next lot he knew that they were either young or second-rate animals without the scenting powers or know-how of the strike-dogs. When the pack came to a check and the baying ceased, it was nearly always one of the strike-dogs who found the line again.

On dark nights, Tod tended to keep to the top of ridges, for he disliked the intense shadows of the hollows, so the cry of the hounds running on the high ground, unstifled by trees or valleys, rang out strong and clear. This was an advantage to Tod, as he could tell where the pack was and how close they might be. Tod hated to be run by a silent dog, as occasionally had happened, for then he had no idea where the animal was. He could not smell it because he always ran upwind if possible so he could tell what was ahead of him, and naturally the dog was behind. Tod never ran faster than was absolutely necessary to keep ahead of his pursuers and save his strength; so a hound that ran mute was a real menace to him and he got rid of the brute as quickly as possible. With baying hounds, as long as there were no men involved, Tod had no worries. In fact, on a good clear night when he was bored and had finished his hunting, he even rather enjoyed the hunt. He liked making fools out of the pack, and regarded the affair more in the light of a game than that of a danger. Of course, if he were hungry or tired, the whole business was an exasperating nuisance; and Tod would fence-run at once, as this usually left the pack so confused that by the time they picked up the line the scent was cold. If there was no fence handy, he would run to a little covert he knew and bolt a couple of gray foxes who lived there. The grays always ran from him on these occasions, and the pack were almost sure to take out after one or the other of them. Tod had learned this trick by accident while cutting through the covert one night, and never forget it.