6
MESSENGER DOG
In the gathering gloom of the beech woods, a silver-throated thrush sangits evening song. Then, starting where it had ended, the thrush repeatedthe same notes backwards. Ted paused to listen and Tammie halted besidehim. The boy grinned faintly. Because it first seemed to wind itself upand then to unwind, Al had always insisted on calling this thrush the"winder bird." It was, Ted supposed, as good a name as any.
Tammie sat down and turned a quizzical head to look at the harness hewas wearing and, for excellent reasons, could wear only at night. Tedhimself had made the harness from a discarded pack sack. It had a cheststrap to keep it from sliding backwards, a belly strap to prevent itfrom falling off, and on either side was a spacious pocket with a flapthat could be fastened. Right now, the pack was laden with thirty poundsof junk that Ted had picked up around the house.
Tammie tried to scrape the harness off with his right hind paw. Tedstooped to pet and coax him.
"Come on, Tammie. Come on. That's a good boy!"
Tammie sighed and got to his feet. He didn't know why he was thusburdened and he had no aspirations whatever to become a pack dog. But ifTed wanted it, he would try to do it. He followed to the end of thedrive and stood expectantly while Ted opened the mailbox.
The metropolitan daily in which Ted had placed his ad, and that wasalways delivered to the Harknesses a day late, lay on top. Beneath werethirteen letters.
Ted's heart began to pound. He'd watched the mail every day, but exceptfor the paper, the usual hopeful bulletins addressed to "occupant," anda few miscellaneous items, there had been nothing interesting. Ted hadalmost despaired of getting anything, but he realized, as he stood withthe letters in his hand, that he hadn't allowed hunters enough time toanswer his ad.
The thirteen letters represented more first-class mail than theHarknesses usually received in three months, and Ted held them as thoughthey burned his fingers. They were important, perhaps the most importantletters he had ever had or ever would have, for the future of theHarknesses could depend on what was in them.
Ted ran back up the drive. Running with him, Tammie was too busy to payattention to the obnoxious pack. Ted burst into the house, slammed thedoor behind him, laid the letters and papers on the table and knelt totake the pack from Tammie. He thrust it, still laden, into the darkestcorner of a dark closet and turned excitedly back to the mail.
Sighing with relief, Tammie curled up on his bearskin. Ted looked at thesheaf of letters. Except for two, they were addressed in longhand. Hepicked one up, made as though to open it then put it back down. If thenews was good, it would be very good. If bad, it would be very bad. Hiseye fell on a box on the paper's front page.
GUNMAN STILL AT LARGE
After a week's intensive manhunt, Albert, "Al" Harkness is still at large in the wild Mahela. Harkness, named by Clarence Delbert as the man who shot him from ambush, escaped from two officers the same night he was apprehended. Delbert, still in critical condition, has supplied no additional details. Corporal Paul Hausler, of the State Police, has expressed confidence that Harkness will be captured.
Ted pushed the paper aside and stared across the table. For three daysthe hunt had been pressed with unflagging zeal. Only Pete Tooms and theduly deputized Delberts had gone out for two days after that and now,Ted understood, even they were staying home. They had discovered forthemselves what Ted and Loring Blade had known from the start: if Alchose to hide in the Mahela, he couldn't be found. But the item in thepaper cast a shadow of things to come.
Al could hide for a while, perhaps for a long while, but without properequipment or a place to stay, even he couldn't live in the wildernesswhen winter struck with all its fury. Sooner or later, he would have tocome out, and what happened when he came was so terribly dependent onwhat was in the letters! Ted slit the first one open and read,
Dear Mr. Harkness:
I saw your letter in the _Courier_ and we would like to rent your camp for the first two weeks of deer season. Can you let me know at once if it is available? There will be ten of us.
Ted put the letter aside and picked up the next one. That likewisewanted the camp for the first two weeks of deer season. There would beeight in the party. But there was a very welcome, "I enclose an advanceto hold our reservation," with a twenty-dollar check made out to Ted. Hefolded the note over the check and took up the third letter. That alsowanted the camp for the first two weeks of deer season. Ted turned toTammie.
"Doesn't anybody hunt anything except deer?"
But the fourth letter, containing a deposit of ten dollars, was from aparty of grouse hunters who wanted the camp during the first two weeksof grouse season, and the fifth had been written by a man representing agroup of hunters who obviously liked to do things the hard way. Scorninganything as easy as deer, grouse, squirrels, or cottontails, they wantedthe camp for bear season. There was no deposit enclosed, but if theycould be persuaded to send one, the camp would be rented for anotherweek. The next five letters, two of which contained deposits of twentydollars each, were all from deer hunters who wanted to come the firsttwo weeks of the season and the one after that was from a confirmedgrouse hunter who wished to come the first week. Ted picked up the lastletter, one of two that were typewritten, and read:
Dear Ted Harkness:
For lo, these many years, my silent feet have carried me into the haunts of big game and my unerring rifle has laid them low. I have moose, elk, grizzlies, caribou, sheep and goats to my credit. Honesty compels me to admit that I also have several head of big game to my discredit, but that happened in the days of my callow youth, when I thought hunting and killing were synonymous.
Presently, in my mellow old age, I still love to hunt. But I have become--heaven help me!--a head hunter. In short, I want 'em big or I don't want 'em. I do not have a whitetail buck to which I can point with pride. Living in the Mahela, and I envy you your dwelling place!, you must know the whereabouts of such a beastie.
The simplicity of your ad was most impressive and I always did admire people who sign themselves "Ted" rather than "Theodore." I do not want your camp, but do you want to guide a doddering old man? Find me a room, any old room at all as long as it's warm and dry, and I'm yours for three weeks. Find me a buck that satisfies me and, in addition to your guiding fee, I'll give you a bonus of twenty-five dollars for every inch in the longest tine on either antler.
Humbly yours, John L. Wilson
Ted re-read the letter, so friendly and so obviously written by a hunterwho had experience, time and--Ted tried not to think it and couldn'thelp himself because his need was desperate--money. The Harkness housewas very large and, now that Al was not in it, very empty. There was noreason whatsoever why John L. Wilson, whoever he was, should not stayhere. Twelve dollars a day was not too much to ask for board, room andguide services. As for the twenty-five dollars an inch--there were somebig bucks in the Mahela!
Ted sat down to write, "Dear Mr. Wilson: Thanks very much for yourletter--" He crumpled the sheet of paper and started over, "Dear Mr.Wilson: There are some big bucks--" Then he crumpled that sheet and didthe only thing he could do. "Dear Mr. Wilson: I am going to tell youabout Damon and Pythias."
Ted told, and he was scrupulously honest. His father, born in the Mahelaalmost fifty years ago, had never seen bigger bucks. Certainly they werethe biggest Ted had ever seen. In their prime now, royal trophies, acouple of years would see them in their decline. Ted gave it as hispersonal opinion that both were at their best this year. Next season,they would not be quite as good and the year after, Ted thought, bothwould bear the misshapen antlers that are so often the marks of oldbucks. But just getting a shot at either would involve more than aroutine hunt. The two bucks were very wise; many hunters had tried forthem and nobody had come near to getting either. It might very well takethree weeks just to hunt them, and Ted cou
ld not guarantee success.However, though they were far and away the biggest, by no means wereDamon and Pythias the only big bucks in the Mahela. He concluded bywriting that Mr. Wilson could stay with him, and that his fee for board,room and guide service would be twelve dollars a day.
Ted sealed the letter, addressed it, put two stamps on, marked it airmail and turned to the others. He shook a bewildered head. The way CarlThornton ran Crestwood, catering to guests had always seemed the essenceof simplicity. Obviously, it had its headaches.
Of the dozen applicants for his camp, eight wanted it in deer seasononly and all wanted the first two weeks. Ted screened the letters again,then narrowed them down to the three who had sent advances. They'doffered earnest intent of coming, the rest might and might not appear.But which of the three should he accept?
Ted solved it by consulting the postmarks on the letters. All had beenmailed the same day, but one had been stamped at ten A.M. and the othertwo at two P.M. Ted wrote to the author of the letter with the earliesttime mark, a Mr. Allen Thomas, and told him that the camp was his forthe first two weeks of deer season. The other two checks--if only he hadthree camps!--he put in envelopes with letters saying that, he was verysorry, but the camp had already been reserved for the time they wanted.
Then, in a flash of inspiration, he opened both letters and added apostscript, saying that the camp was still available for the last weekof the season. He grinned ruefully as he did so and seemed to hear Alsaying, "'Most missed a pelt there, Ted."
Ted assured the other deer hunters that his camp was reserved for thefirst two weeks but open the third. He contemplated bringing his pricedown to forty-five dollars for that week. Then he reconsidered. Mosthunters thought that hunting would be much better the first of theseason than it ever could be the last, and, in part, they were right.Unmolested for almost a year, during the first days of the season gamewas apt to be less wary. As compensation, during the latter part of anyseason there were seldom as many hunters afield. Anyhow, deer hunterswho really wanted a camp would not let an extra fifteen dollars stand inthe way of getting one.
Writing to the bear hunters, Ted accepted a tentative reservation thatwould be confirmed as soon as he received a deposit of ten dollars. Toomany people made reservations with no deposit; then, if something arosethat prevented their honoring their reservations, they simply didn'tcome. Anyone who paid money in advance would be there or cancel inplenty of time to get their money back.
Ted told the grouse hunters who'd sent a ten-dollar deposit that thecamp was theirs for the first two weeks of the season and he ponderedover the other grouse hunter's letter.
Nobody at all had applied for woodcock season because, Ted decided,woodcock are so uncertain. One of the finest of game birds, they arealso migratory. A few nested in the Mahela, but they were too few toattract sportsmen. Depending on conditions, flight birds might and mightnot be in the Mahela during the season and some years they by-passed itcompletely. But when they came, they offered marvelous shooting.
Ted wrote the second grouse hunter, a Mr. George Beaulieu, that the onlyvacancy he had left was for the third week of grouse season. But was heinterested in woodcock? If he was, and if he would advise Ted to thateffect, Ted would be happy to call him long distance in the event of aworthwhile flight.
Tammie rose, yawned prodigiously and lay down to sleep on his other sidefor a while. Ted shuffled the pile of letters, which he needn't put inthe mailbox because he was definitely going into Lorton in the morning,and pondered.
It hadn't worked out quite as he'd hoped it would, with the camp rentedcontinuously throughout six weeks of small game hunting and three ofdeer. He figured with his pen on a discarded piece of paper. The campwas definitely rented for two weeks of grouse and one of bear hunting atforty-five dollars a week. That added up to a hundred and thirty-fivedollars. It was certainly rented for two weeks of deer hunting at sixtya week, thus he would have a hundred and twenty dollars more.
Ted sighed wistfully. Two hundred and fifty-five dollars was by no meansan insignificant return on their investment, even if they had put aprice on their labor, and they could look forward to the next huntingand fishing seasons. If Al were here, they'd be happy about it andeagerly planning more camps.
But Al wasn't here, and all that mattered now was that, by the end ofdeer season, Ted could be certain of having at least two hundred andfifty-five dollars in cash. If John Wilson came, stayed with Ted fortwenty-one days, and paid him twelve dollars a day, that would be twohundred and fifty-two dollars more. If Mr. Wilson got a buck thatsatisfied him, and the buck's antlers had one tine nine inches long--
"Cut it out!" Ted advised himself. "Cut it out, Harkness! Count on whatyou know you'll have, and that's two hundred and fifty-five dollars."
Tammie, hearing Ted's voice and thinking he was called, came over to sitbeside his master. He raised a dainty paw to Ted's hand and smiled withhis eyes when the boy took it. Ted glanced at the clock.
"Great guns! Twenty past one! We'd better hit the hay!"
He shucked off his clothes, put on his pajamas and crawled into bed. Buteven though he was tired, sleep would not come because he was thinkingof Al. How was his father spending this chilly night--and where? In somecave perhaps, or some thicket. Ted tried to put such thoughts behindhim. Wherever Al might be, that outdoorsman was warm, dry and evencomfortable. But Ted's mind insisted on seeking the gloomy side, and hewas brought out of it only when Tammie whined.
Instantly Ted became alert. Taught to whine but never to bark when astranger came near the house, Tammie was warning him now. The boyslipped out of bed, and, in the darkness, he felt for his shoes andpulled them on. He laced them so there would be no danger of trippingover the shoelaces and soft-footed across the floor to take a five-cellflashlight from its drawer and his twelve-gauge shotgun from its rack.
Out of the night came a sound that has been familiar since the firstancient man domesticated the first chickens. It was the sleepy squawk ofa hen protesting removal from its warm roost. Ted opened the doorsoftly, stabbed the darkness with his light and trapped within its beama figure that ran from the chicken coop toward the forest.
"Get him, Tammie!"
Tammie rippled forward, and the light magnified his bobbing shadowtwenty times over. He was not a dog but a monster, a nightmare from someantediluvian swamp, bearing down on the fleeing man. He rose into theair, struck the runner's back with his full weight, knocked himsprawling and snarled over him. It was what he'd been trained to do andit was all he'd do unless his captive tried too hard to get up. Then alittle fang-work might be necessary, but this prisoner wasn't evenmoving.
Ted shined his light into the terrified face of a young ne'er-do-wellknown to his parents as Sammy Allen Stacey, to himself and a few of hisintimates as S.A., and to too many others as Silly Ass.
His captor asked sternly, "What are you doing here?"
"Uh--Nothin'."
"What's in the sack?"
"I--I just borrowed three of your hens!" Sammy started to sniffle. "Iwas goin' to bring 'em back tomorrow! Honest!"
"Guess I'll go back to the house," Ted said meaningfully. "When I hearyou scream, I'll know Tammie's working on you."
"No! Don't! Please don't!"
"Think you can stay out of other people's chicken coops?"
"Yes! Yes!"
Ted ordered, "All right, Tammie." The collie moved back and Tedaddressed the prostrate youth. "Get up and get out of here. If ever youcome back again, I'll just turn you over to the dog."
Sammy rose and ran into the woods. Ted returned the three indignant hensto their roost and addressed Tammie, "I'll bet that, if ever he is foundin another chicken coop, it won't be ours. You must have scared somesense into him."
Back in the house, Tammie sought his bearskin. Ted replaced theflashlight and shotgun, took his shoes off and went back to bed.Tomorrow he must go to Lorton but it needn't be bright and earlybecause, by Mahela standards, Lorton just didn't get up bright andearly.
Ted slept until a quarter to seven. An hour later, with Tammie on thepickup's seat beside him, he started down the road.
He drove slowly because the business and professional offices in Lortonwouldn't open for another hour. Coming opposite Crestwood, he saw NelsAnderson, his former partner, working with a pick and shovel beside thedriveway. Ted eased his truck over and stopped.
"Hello, Nels."
"Py golly, Ted!" Nels' face could never reflect anything he did notfeel. "Is goot to see you!"
"It's good to see you, too. How are things?"
"We must not holler. Yah?"
"Guess it never does any good. How's the boss?"
Nels smiled sadly. "Mad."
"What's he mad at?"
"Me. I go to fix the freezer and he say, 'Get out of there, you crazyScandahoovian! From now on you work only outside and joost three days aweek!"
"For Pete's sake! Why?"
"He's mad."
"Why don't you get a different job, Nels? One you can depend on?"
"Yah, I like to. I do not like Mr. Thornton no more."
"Why not?"
"He gets mad. You hear from your pa, Ted?"
"No."
"I'm awful sorry," Nels said gravely. "I do not believe your pa, heshoot this man like they say he did. If I could help him, I would."
"Thanks, Nels. Be seeing you."
"So long, Ted."
Ted drove on, wondering. He'd had only two personal contacts with CarlThornton--the day he was hired and the day he was fired. He couldn'treally say that Thornton was not an unpredictable individual, given tosudden rages, because he didn't know him that well. He had impressed Tedas somewhat cold and carefully calculating. The boy shrugged. Nels was anice person. But an idea soaked into his head about as easily assunbeams penetrate mud. Probably he'd broken some rule which he had notunderstood and still didn't understand, and Thornton was punishing him.But putting him on halftime, and Nels with five children to support,seemed like extreme punishment.
Ted drove on to Lorton, where, even though most of the town's residentswere his friends, he could not help feeling self-conscious. SmokyDelbert's shooting had brought Lorton more fame, or notoriety, than ithad known since its founding. The story had been in most of the State'spapers and gained wide distribution through a couple of news services.Parking in front of the First National Bank, Ted left Tammie in thetruck, dropped his stamped letters in a mailbox and walked up the dimlylighted stairs that led to the law offices of John McLean. EdithBrewman, McLean's ageless secretary, had not yet come in but John McLeanwas rummaging through her desk.
He looked up and said, "Howdy, boy."
"Good morning, Mr. McLean."
Ted stood awkwardly, a little embarrassed and a little lost. Just howdid one approach an attorney and what did one say to him? John McLeancontinued to paw through the desk and Ted studied him covertly.
A huge, gaunt man in an ill-fitting suit, with unkempt gray hair and ablack tie askew on his collar, John McLean looked like anything save thesuccessful attorney he was. His dress and person were part of a cleveract. Slouching into a courtroom, he was more apt to provoke snickersthan admiration. But an opposing attorney who underrated him, and mostdid, literally fell into his clutches. There was a silver tongue behindJohn McLean's rather slack lips and a razor-sharp brain beneath his grayhair. He grinned loosely now.
"Edith's too darn' orderly. When she puts something away, I can neverfind it. What can I do for you?"
"I'm Ted Harkness, Mr. McLean."
"I know."
"I want to find out if you'll take care of my father."
"Judging from what I've read in the papers, your dad's taking prettygood care of himself."
Ted said hesitantly, "He can't stay in the Mahela forever. Sooner orlater, they'll get him."
"Sooner or later," John McLean said, "they get everybody. Wish peoplewould stop making a joke out of that old saw, 'Crime Doesn't Pay.' Itdoesn't."
He resumed poking through the desk while Ted stood uncomfortably, notknowing whether or not he'd been dismissed. Two minutes later, JohnMcLean whirled on him.
"Is your dad guilty?"
"No!"
"How do you know?"
"He said he isn't!"
John McLean chuckled. "Simmer down. I don't want to fight you. Justwanted to find out if you had a good reason for thinking your dadinnocent."
"Is the reason good enough for you?"
As though forgetting Ted, the attorney opened another drawer and leafedthrough its contents.... He said suddenly, "I'll take the case."
Ted sighed relievedly, "Oh, thank you!"
"Better save that until after the trial."
"But--"
"Save your worries, too."
"Then you can help him?"
"We'll figure out something. Who did shoot this Delbert?"
"I wish I knew."
"So do I."
Ted said uneasily, "I haven't any money right now, but I'll have atleast two hundred and fifty-five dollars, and perhaps a great deal more,right after deer season."
John McLean murmured, "It'll help. The price of justice is too often tooblasted high."
"Do--Do you want to talk with Dad soon?"
"Where is he?"
"Laying out in the Mahela."
"The Mahela's a big place."
Ted said honestly, "I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him sincehe left but--I could get a message to him."
"I won't ask you how. Does your dad mind laying out?"
"No."
"Then leave him until the time's right. It would have been better ifhe'd given himself up right away; but staying out now will do more goodthan harm. People, even prosecuting attorneys, can forget quite a bit ina short time."
"Is there anything else?"
"When he comes in, or when you bring him in, I want to be the first totalk with him. Can you arrange that?"
"I'm sure I can."
* * * * *
That night, back at the Harkness house, Ted took Tammie's harness fromthe closet and emptied it of junk. He replaced the junk with an equalweight of food, added a handful of matches, thrust a pad of paper and apencil into one of the pockets and strapped the harness on Tammie. Tedtook his dog to the back door and let him into the darkness.
"Take it to Al," he ordered. "Go to Al, Tammie."
Tammie, who hadn't been able to see any sense in the pack but who sawit now, raised his drooping ears and wagged his tail. He raced away inthe darkness. Ted had scarcely closed the back door when there was animperative knock at the front.
He opened it to admit Jack Callahan.
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