The Fox and the Hound (30 page)

The old hound was near the point of exhaustion himself. His pads were worn off his feet, and he left dabs of blood. His hindquarters wavered as he ran. But now he was getting scent from the fox's breath as well as from his pads and body odor. As the fox gasped for air the hound could smell the spots where his breath had caught among the vines and bushes. The fox could not be far ahead now. The hound raised his tired head to look, but there was still no sign of the white-tipped brush.

Far away, he heard the sound of the Master blowing across the opened barrels of the shotgun. Copper bayed in reply, tired as he was. The call was repeated, closer this time. Again Copper summoned up enough breath for a feeble call that was more howl than bay, for not only his feet but his lungs were torturing him.

The trail led through a mass of briers, and Copper could hear the fox ahead of him. He struggled on. Still again came the call on the shotgun barrels, and Copper managed to give a weak and faltering reply. Then he broke out of the briers and saw the fox ahead of him.

The fox's head was down, his back arched; he was panting and his tongue hung out, greatly swollen and almost black. His brush was covered with mud, and dragged. Ahead of him was a fallen tree trunk. The dying animal made an effort to climb over it, and fell back. At the sight, Copper gave a clear, long-drawn out cry of triumph, and staggered toward him. The fox made a last effort to mount the log, and then fell to the ground, limp and motionless. Copper reeled forward, fell, got up, and managed to reach the fox. He gave the body a feeble shake and then collapsed on top of the corpse.

Copper was scarcely conscious of hearing the Master's call or of being lifted and carried to the car. Back in the cabin, he felt a sting of alcohol in his lips that made him choke, strangle, and struggle feebly. Only vaguely he knew that people were crowding into the tiny room, shouting and laughing. He felt the Master massaging his legs and chest. Then came the sting of the alcohol again, and more massaging. At long last, he was able to lift his head, although his vision was still blurred.

He was shown the dead fox, but Copper was too tired even to sniff at it. While the Master held the fox, men pointed boxes at him and lights flashed again and again. When they finally left him in peace, Copper sank back and slept as though he were dead.

Slowly the Master nursed him back to health, Many times a day people came to pat and talk to him, and there were more of the Hashing boxes. The fox was skinned and the pelt hung with a skinning board in it, just as in the old days. Gradually Copper regained his strength until he could walk again with the Master.

He was blissfully happy now. Everyone liked him and liked the Master. The Master's voice was always cheerful, and when he was cheerful, Copper was cheerful. He even learned to tolerate the strangers with their never-ending pawings and strange talk.

Gradually Copper was conscious of a change. Fewer and fewer people came. The Master grew increasingly silent and began to drink again, more heavily than ever. He seldom took Copper for walks now, and the old hound lay on his pile of sacks, puzzled and disappointed. He tried his poor best to make the Master happy again, clumsily trying to play, licking his hand, running to the door to show he was all ready to go hunting again - if there was anything left to hunt. Nothing he did won even a smile or a caress from the Master.

Then one day the nasty sour-smelling men from the great, somber place where dogs were not allowed came back. With him were the leather-smelling men, but now they were not friendly. There were some other people too, people who had exclaimed over Copper and patted him when he and the Master came back with the last fox, but now their voices were angry and they pushed him aside. They talked and talked to the Master, while Copper listened in dumb misery.

He heard a sound he had never heard before. The Master was crying. He sat on the edge of the bed, sobbing, and tears came through his fingers. Copper forced his way through the people and anxiously licked the Master's hands, asking to help. The Master stroked his head just as he had in the old days, and Copper wriggled joyfully.

The Master went to the wall, took down the gun, and loaded it. Copper barked and cavorted happily. They were going hunting again, and surely the Master would take him? Yes, the Master called to him and, leaving the people, they went outside.

The Master led him a little way from the cabin and, sitting down beside him, stroked his head. Copper licked his face, and whined. They had killed the great fox, the fox that had eluded them for so many years. Now they were together again, and happy, for nothing could separate them.

The Master made him lie down, and then held one hand over his eyes. Copper lay trustingly and contentedly. The Master knew best. Did he recall the many good times they had had together and this last great run - a day and a night and part of another day? Of course he did. Copper gave the Master's hand one last lick. He did not care what happened as long as he would never be separated from the Master, for he had killed the great fox, and in this miserable, fouled land there was no longer any place for fox, hound, or human being.