The Fox and the Hound (29 page)

Then one day a group of these new people had come to the cabin. With them were two of the leather-smelling men, and Copper had cheerfully wagged his tail when he smelled their leggings, for always before this had meant his powers would be called upon for tracking. But these were not the interested, admiring leather-smelling men of old; they did not like him or the Master. With the crowd was a lean, nasty-voiced man who smelled of antiseptics. He had intoned what had seemed to Copper like an endless speech while looking at a piece of paper. The Master had protested, and Nasty had appealed to the leather-smelling men, who seemed to support him. At last Copper and the Master had gotten into a car and been driven many, many miles to a place Copper disliked at first smell. It was composed of big, barren buildings inhabited by men and women reeking with the sour odor of old age. Nasty had pointed at Copper and ordered him back in the car, and Copper realized dogs were not allowed here. Then the Master had yelled and shouted until even the leather-smelling men gave off a faint whiff of fear. The upshot of the affair was that they had been driven back to the cabin and allowed to stay there, to Copper's great relief. In the most terrible of his nightmares, Copper dreamed of that dark, gloomy place where no dogs were allowed and he would be separated from the Master.

Everyone had avoided them after that, to Copper's intense relief. Then an inexplicable change had occurred. The Master suddenly came into great demand, The leather-smelling men had brought in a dead fox, still smelling of powder where it had been shot and of some new, frightening scent that Copper could not identify. They and the Master had talked a long time. Then dozens of people had arrived, pleading with the Master and all talking at once.

That evening, the Master had taken down his old traps and boiled them in hemlock chips over the fire, whistling to himself. Copper was sorry to see the traps, for it meant he could be of use only as a trap-dog, but he was happy to see the Master happy. Once again they had run a trapline, and in the morning Copper had tracked the captured animals to where the drags had brought them to a halt. Strangely, the Master did not let him go near the captives even after they were dead; still, Copper felt needed and he and the Master were working together.

Later, the Master had taken to melting balls of fat by the fire and carefully putting little kernels of an acid-smelling substance into each one. Copper had been sternly ordered to keep back when he had come over to sniff inquisitively. He was not allowed to go out anymore with the Master on his rounds; but at least the Master was always cheerful now, shouting and talking to the new people, who all were eager to talk to him and often arrived bringing baskets of' foods, snacks for Copper, and sometimes bottles that smelled of alcohol, though the Master seldom bothered to open the bottles now, and when he did, never staggered or became unwell, It was nice to be liked; and although Copper did not know what had happened, he knew they were surrounded by friends, and he dreamed no more of the dark duster of buildings where dogs were not allowed.

Copper had been allowed to go on the great drive where hundreds of people had beaten the countryside so that no fox would be left alive. Copper's work had been to check drains, holes, and thick clumps of greenbrier to make sure there were no fugitives lurking inside. As always he had done a conscientious job, and when the day was over he was sure he had not missed a fox.

During the next few days everyone was happy, and there was a glow around the Master that Copper could almost smell. Then people came in at all hours of the day and night to talk seriously. The Master listened to them. One evening he - oh, glories of glories! - got down his old shotgun. Copper went mad with joy and the Master fondled him just as he had in the good old days. They slept together that night on the bed of the Master, his arm around the old hound and Copper's head resting on his shoulder. Even so, when the Master rose as the first scent of morning came into the air, took the gun, and whistled to Copper to follow him, the hound could hardly believe the wonderful truth. Once again they were going fox hunting.

They walked until they were out of the poisonous miasma that overhung the district and into the good clean air of open country. Copper drank in the breeze in eager gulps. He had almost forgotten there was air like this, for the world came alive when the wind blew. It was a perfect scenting day, moist but not wet with a light breeze. The ground felt warm under Copper's pads, but the air in his nostrils was deliciously cool. Joyfully he plunged into the white mist that rolled toward them as they entered the hollows, zigzagging to pick up the grand odors that told of rabbit, pheasant, mouse, and woodchuck. He was no longer old and tired and unneeded. Copper was young again, going hunting with the Master, and all he needed was the trace of a fox to make him completely happy.

But he could not find a single fox trail. They checked the old runs, once well padded but now without a trace of scent. Copper squirmed hopefully under the overhung tendrils of the multiflora rose hedgerow. The bushes closed over his head as he worked his way down the long tunnel over roots covered with moss and splashed with blobs and patches of sunlight. The foxes had been here for many a week. They went from crossing to crossing, and still Copper never so much as feathered his whiplike tail. All the foxes were gone.

Then the Master called him and together they went along the railroad tracks, turned off by the juniper tangle and, passing over the culvert under the road, started up the hill where they had first tracked that fox who killed Chief many years ago. Up they went toward the top of the knoll, when suddenly the Master shouted, his voice shrill with excitement. Copper dashed forward and, under the rotten remains of an old fallen pine, hit the well-known scent. It was The Fox he had hunted so often before - the last fox left in the whole area.

Copper's great voice boomed out, and they were off. The scent leaped from the ground and rushed at him. There was no need for him to lower his head as he ran shouting for the Master to follow. Ahead he could just make out the white tip of the brush drifting over the fields while he plunged after it, more slowly than the fugitive but with a powerful drive. He pressed hard, for the sun was rising fast and it would burn out the scent.

Away they went, and soon Copper stopped baying to save his breath; furthermore, the scent was so strong there was no need to tell that he was carrying it. Once he was sure of the fox's drift, he even avoided using his nose, taking only an occasional sniff, as the scent was so strong it would fill his nasal passages and tire them. The fox followed a line of bluffs to a river, turned and ran along the bank. Then he made a sharp turn into a cornfield. Copper was forced to drop his head, and as he worked out the line he heard the raging cries of crows as they dived into the corn ahead. Copper knew they were screaming at the fox, and he raced ahead, picking an occasional wisp of scent from the cornstalks as he passed.

Outside the field, the fox had doubled and run back on his own trail. As Copper followed, he heard the blast of the Master's shotgun. Wild with hope, Copper dashed on. He found the Master staring into some woods, and as soon as the hound appeared the man pointed and cheered him on. Copper swerved and hit the scent almost immediately; it was stained with the odor of panic, but there was no blood. While backtracking, the fox had run into the Man following the hound, but the Master had missed. Ah, well, it was still early.

Ahead was a little field entirely surrounded by a stone wall. Copper knew the place well. Inside were a number of thin, flat polished stones standing erect, each with a small mound before it on which were often vases with flowers. The upright stones made excellent scent posts, and Copper had often used them for this purpose. His nose told him the fox had jumped on the wall and run along it. A common trick. Copper sprang heavily to the top of the wall and followed him, watching for the spot where the fox had jumped off. He went completely around the field and back to his original starting point; being hot on the line, he continued to run around another time before he realized what he was doing.

Annoyed, Copper jumped off and tried the ground both inside and outside the graveyard. The Master came up and spoke to him in low, encouraging tones, but Copper was baffled. The fox had clearly sprung on the wall and run around it several times, jumping over the small entrance opening as he passed it, but how had he gotten off the wall again? The most scrupulous checking gave him no trace of scent on either side of the wall, and finally Copper was forced to give up.

There was a halloo from the road. A farmer came up and talked to the Master, making motions with his hands, and pointing. The Master listened, then called Copper and took him to where the fox had first run into the wall and ordered him to backtrack the animal. Copper looked up reproachfully - all his training was against running heel, but he reluctantly obeyed. He had gone only a few feet along the old trail when the suspicion grew in him that there was a fresh trail laid over the old - and the fresh trail was not going to the wall but away from it. Yes, that was it. The fox had run to the wall, jumped on top of it, run around it a few times, and then jumped off on his old line and backtracked it. Furious, Copper gave tongue in indignation. Another few feet and he found where the fox had turned off from his old line. They were off again.

The fox had swum a pond, but Copper was able to pick up the scent along the edge where it had been blown in From the surface of the water by the fresh breeze, and followed it around the pond to the place where the dripping fox had emerged. The shock of the cold water kept the scent glands in the fox's pads from functioning for a while, so Copper followed the wet trail across the grass, guided by the dampness rather than by an odor until the glands began giving off scent again. Being cold and faint, it was quite different from the fox's former scent, and the hound was forced to stop and sniff loudly to adjust his sense of smell to the altered odor before going on.

The sun was high now, cooking out the scent in the open, but vestiges still clung to the sides of mounds or in the shade of hollows. The scent was no longer rising, but among the dead leaves and damp grass it was holding well. Copper's long, bagging lips sucked it up from the earth; he could not have told if he were scenting or tasting it.

Only twice during that long afternoon was Copper seriously at fault. Once was when the fox crossed a burned field where no scent would lie and the ashes got into Copper's nose, making him sneeze and gag. Even so the hound was able to follow by catching traces of scent from tufts of dried grass that the fox had touched in crossing. The second was in a firelane where the trees had been felled, and there Copper had a hard time, for the fox had jumped from one to the other of the trunks as lightly as a cat, while the heavy hound had to blunder through them. He might have lost the fox for good that time had not the Master come up and, by staring at the soft ground along the borders of the flashing, been able to put him on the line again. Shortly before sunset a thunderstorm had come up, and at the first peal the scent had dropped so sharply that Copper thought it was gone for good. But the storm had passed away to the west, and the scent had come back.

When night came, Copper was still on the trail. It mattered little to him whether it was dark or light, for he put small reliance on his shortsighted eyes. It was the scent that mattered to the half-bloodhound: how it grew faint or clear, rose above the ground or clung to it, the quality of its texture - if it showed fright, weakening, or strength - if it were consistent or spotty. During the day, Copper knew from the scent that the fox was suffering more than he from the heat of the sun. Now that it was cool, the quarry's odor did not have the hot, thick quality of an overheated, exhausted animal. On the other hand, in the cool of the night the scent was stronger, and Copper could follow it more easily.

Several times the fox had tried to double back toward his old range, but each time something had frustrated him. Copper came to one place where he had tried four times to cross a highway, each time to be turned back by the traffic. Another time he had found himself in a new development and been chased by dogs. The shock had killed his scent, and it was more by sheer good luck than skill that Copper had been able to pick up the trail again. The quarry had tried to cross a bridge over the river, only to find people parked there in cars. At last the fox had given up trying to return to his home range, and cut straight across country.

Copper could soon tell that the fox was now in unfamiliar territory, and running aimlessly, Before, the fox had always had some definite goal - a certain crossing, a fence or wall he could run, or as a last resource a hole where he could hide. Now the fox was plunging blindly ahead through brambles, across streams, over walls, and forcing his way through fields of tall grass that delayed him far more than the long-legged hound. When dawn came, Copper was still doggedly following, while the fox was noticeably weakening every hour.