The Fox and the Hound (22 page)

Now a hound was calling excitedly that he had found a trace of scent. Only a puppy though, judging by the shrill tones. Still, he sounded sure of himself. Now came the positive voice of an old hound who had run over to confirm the find. The huntsman was shouting, and hounds were running through the trees from all directions to the two finders. A tense wait. Then another hound called from a spot farther along the line. More crashings as the pack hurried to the new spot. Two more spoke, then a dozen, then came the full cry of the pack as they streamed away. The huntsman's horn gave a series of shrill toots and the riders leaned forward on their horses and galloped toward the logging paths through the woods. As there were few paths and plenty of riders, Copper was glad to be out of the jam.

The pack had broken out on the other side of the cover and were flooding down a hillside in full cry. Even though he could not see them, Copper knew they were in the open, for there were no reverberations from their cries as there had been in the woods. Apparently they were carrying a good head of scent and would run for a mile without a check, yet surprisingly the victorious voices gradually died away into total silence. Even though Copper could tell a mile away (downwind) what nearly every member of the pack was doing as long as they threw their voices, he was baffled now. They must have run completely out of scent.

An incessant tooting of the horn sounded. The Master spoke to him and together they entered the woods, following one of the paths now congested with riders smoking and talking. Once clear of the woods, Copper could see the huntsman sitting on his horse with the two whippers-in while the pack swirled around in check, tails feathering madly. The Master took Copper toward them.

Copper refused to work where the other hounds had fouled the ground, and made a quick cast on his own between the pack and the woods. The field had been planted in alfalfa, which made for good scenting, but there was no trace of fox. The fox must still be among the trees, and what those crazy hounds were doing casting about in the middle of a field Copper could not imagine. He cut back and worked the edge of the woods. Ah, there it was, faint but held by wet leaves - the fox scent. It stopped by the border of the grove and then went back. Copper followed it among the trees inch by inch, for the whole pack had so run over it, as well as the huntsman and his two whips, that the line was almost hopelessly fouled. At last he ran out of scent entirely yet still kept on, for the fox had been going in a straight line, and Copper hoped to pick up the trail eventually.

An abrupt exclamation from the Master and a quick rustle ahead of him. Knowing the Master must have seen something, Copper rushed blindly forward. Here it was! The reeking-hot track of fox! It started by the stump of an oak and led away through the trees, but Copper was not sure whether the fox had been lying on top of the stump and jumped off or whether he had run to the stump and was now on top of it. Standing on his hind legs, he smelled the top of the stump. No doubt about it now, the fox had been lying there for some time, but he was not there now. Whirling around, Copper set off on the line in full cry. He knew what had happened. The fox had run to the edge of the grove, stopped, backtracked, and jumped on the stump, where he had curled himself into a ball. The hounds, following the steaming-hot track, had rushed past him, going within a few feet of the motionless animal, yet not winding him, so concentrated were they on the line ahead. The huntsman and the whippers-in had followed the pack; and although, being mounted, they looked down on the stump and passed so close to it they could have touched the fox with their whips, the men had used their eyes no more than the hounds had used their noses, and had tom on, looking ahead. When the hounds had come to the edge of the wood, they had rushed blindly on into the open, carried by their own momentum and each hound's conviction that even though he himself could smell nothing, the rest were making such a hubbub that surely they must be hot on the trail. When they at last discovered their mistake, they were in the middle of the field, several hundred yards from the woods, and hopelessly lost. It was all very well to be fast, Copper reflected bitterly, as long as you did not overrun the line.

Copper started off on the new line as hard as he could go, hoping to keep pressing the fox and prevent the scent going stale. For once, he ran mute, although the line was strong, for he had no wish to bring up the hounds and horses until he was well away from the area fouled by their various odors. Scent was better in the woods than outside, for in the open a warm sun was making it rise higher than a hound's nose. Even so, when he came to a dead spot in the trail, Copper jumped on a log to check if even under the sheltering trees the scent might be rising. He found nothing, and therefore stayed on the ground from then on.

He reached a broad cut through the trees where a high-tension line had been run. Under the steel towers, tall grass and weeds had sprung up that should have been helpful, for the fox left not only the scent of his pads but also body scent rubbed off against the weeds as he went through them. However, the sun was shining full on the cut and although the trees broke the wind, the warm air caused turbulence that made the scent quiver as it rose, and formed tiny whirlwinds that were most confusing. Worse yet, a number of cars had been driven into the cut and one had its engine still running. The line led directly under this car, showing the cars had arrived after the fox had passed. The exhaust fumes clung to the damp grass and obliterated the fox scent. The Master, who had followed, shouted, and the driver shut off his engine. Copper crawled under the car and went on, but the scent had been killed.

Unable to follow by scent, Copper followed the fox's drift - he kept on in the same direction the fox had been going when last scented. He hit the line again under the trees on the far side of the high-tension cut, and this time felt confident enough to throw his tongue. The huntsman's horn called, whips cracked, and soon he saw the pack coming, the lead hounds leaping high to see over the tall weeds. Copper gave another cry to guide them and then voluntarily dropped back, as he was growing tired and was quite willing to let them do the hard running. The old hounds hit the line at once and crackled through the greenbrier with the youngsters hard on their tails. Copper followed at a distance, contenting himself with an occasional sniff just to make sure they were on the right line.

The fox had crossed to a cutting and run down it, and here Copper was nearly trampled by the following riders who belted down the cutting at full gallop and paid no attention to him or to the Master either. As far as Copper was concerned, this was the last time he was going hunting where horsemen were involved. At the bottom of the hill the trees stopped and open farming country spread out to the next ridge, which was also wooded. There were a farmhouse here, a barn, and a springhouse with a stream that widened into a broad, shallow pond full of arrowhead and sweet flag. A farm family was standing by the springhouse, shouting and pointing. The fox, caught between the people and the pack, must have swum the pond, for the hounds took to the water instantly, splashing through the shallows and churning the clay bottom until the water turned a dirty white. Even when swimming, the pack continued to give tongue, for the scent was floating on top of the water and they could follow it easily. Knowing where the fox must have come out, Copper cut around the pond, picked up the line, and started off on it, baying triumphantly, For a few glorious moments he was ahead of the pack, but they soon overhauled and passed him. Content with his victory, Copper dropped back and joined the Master again. Unlike the pack grounds who drove on to kill, tile bloodhound was more interested in the scent than in the fox. It was a good run over open grass fields and the pack streamed away with the riders after them, allowing Copper and the Master to proceed with the slow dignity befitting true fox hunters. They must have gone half a mile or so when they came to a long mound of earth, made by a construction crew digging a pipe line ditch. The ditch was on the far side of the bank and beyond that was another flat field. The pack had already crossed the mound and the ditch when Copper and the Master reached it, but their baying had ceased.
        Knowing something was wrong, Copper sprang to the top of the mound, Ahead of him in the field was the pack, again at check. Copper wasted no time in trying to find the line. He knew exactly what the fox had done, After crossing the mound, the fox had dropped into the ditch and run along it, knowing the hounds would jump both the mound and the ditch and keep going. Being hard pressed and wet, he was probably lying up in the ditch right now to rest, but which way had he run? Copper jumped into the ditch and took a quick snip. The ditch ran across the valley from ridge to ridge and the wind was blowing from the far ridge. If the fox had turned in that direction, the wind would be bringing his scent. Copper could smell nothing, so it appeared the fox had run downwind along the trench. Without a moment's hesitation, Copper turned and ran downwind. He had taken only a few strides when he hit the line. The ditch was so narrow the fox had rubbed against the sides, so there was plenty of scent. Three more bounds and he found the place, damp and reeking, from which the fox had just sprung seconds before. At   once he shouted ''Here it is! Hurry!" and had the satisfaction of hearing the pack racing toward him even before the huntsman's horn sounded. As the lead hounds plunged into the ditch they fell on top of him, But Copper did not care, for they hit off the scent at once and went tearing away, some in the ditch, Some running along the sides. Copper's nose had told him something else - that the fox was tiring rapidly. He wondered if the pack knew it, and was relieved to hear a new note of confidence in the voices of the veterans. This was the time to press the fox as hard as possible, giving him no time to rest or play other tricks. As the fox's energy faded, his scent faded with it, and soon tracking would be almost impossible, especially in the heat of the day. The kill would have to be made quickly, and these hard-driving, fast hounds were perfectly equipped to do it.

The fox had left the trench and cut across country, for Copper saw the pack make a sudden turn and spread over the meadow, still in full cry. When the leaders began to suffer from both trailing and running at top speed, they stopped giving tongue, and the other hounds, running in the rear, recognized the signal and pushed forward to take their turn at the dual task. On the side of a hill they came to a brief check, wheeling over the slope like low-flying swallows, for the wind blowing down the grade spread and twisted the scent. Although they were silent, Copper thought they were still giving tongue, for the sound of the hound music was still ringing in his head. Then they were off again, pouring over the hilltop until even the last stragglers disappeared. The field was considerably reduced by now, but a goodly number of riders still followed the pack. These were obviously more experienced than the original lot, for they did not crowd the hounds or make so much noise, and kept well away when the pack was finding. Copper felt he would not so much mind hunting with people like this. He and the Master followed slowly to the top of the hill, and paused. The pack was out of sight, and Copper could not hear them, listen as he would. The only sounds that came to him were the angry scolding of a jay and the distant barking of a house dog at some farm.

They plodded on and came up with a little knot of horsemen standing near the edge of a cornfield. The corn had not turned out well, and the farmer had left it standing, to the huge delight of the local wildlife. Copper could smell the pack in the corn, as well as the odor of pheasants, rabbits, and a small covey of quail. Occasionally some of the hounds would come out of the field and trot over to the horsemen with cheerfully wagging tails, only to be sternly ordered back by the whips. Copper hoped he would not have to find the line in that cornfield. With all those trash scent of birds and animals, it would be a confusing place to work.

He heard the high-pitched, staccato cry of a puppy, the same one who had found the line among the hardwoods. Clearly a pup with promise. It was immediately followed by crackling as the rest of the pack sprang through the dead stalks to the spot. Soon some of the older hounds were also speaking, but plainly it was a difficult trail to work out. When the pack finally emerged, only the lead hound was carrying the scent, working from pad mark to pad mark, while the rest followed. In the open, the other veterans were able to help, and the pack moved off at a Slow yet steady lope.

In a hollow, the scent strengthened and the pack began to run, giving   tongue again. Copper and the Master ran too, trailing far behind the horsemen. The pack vanished around some woods, but even as they did so the glorious cry slackened, and then changed to a short chop bark. Copper recognized the sound. They were barking ''treed.'' The fox had either climbed a sloping tree or gone down a hole.   When he and the Master arrived, the hounds were crowded around a drain running under a gravel road. As many as could, collected in the limited space at the mouth of the drain and had their noses pointed up it while they shouted that the fox was brought to bay. At the Master's shout and with some help from the whips, they made room for Copper. He smelled at the drain's opening. Yes, the fox had gone in there, but was he still there? Copper turned and tried to work out the trail to see if the fox had backtracked, but water was running from the drain and the whole area was so fouled by hound smell he could do nothing.

The Master rattled a stick in the drain and threw in a stone. Copper quickly jostled him aside and, sticking his nose inside, inhaled deeply. There was no scent of fox, and no fox could have helped giving out a strong odor at the noise of the stick and the reverberations of the stone. Copper backed out and, lifting one leg, urinated on the drain's side to show the quarry was gone.