Sean ate the hare, then followed the trap line. He came across a trapped red fox that fluffed its fur, crouched low to the ground, and snarled at him. Curious about the fox, Sean stopped to look it over and trotted on. The big Setter would chase and if necessary kill a fox, but only desperate hunger could prod him into eating one.
As he went on, Sean found out more about traps. Coming to a trapped weasel that raged at him, Sean turned and contemptuously scratched frozen chunks of snow over the little animal. Its hair-trigger pan sprung by an ice lump, another trap clicked viciously into the air as its jaws closed on nothing. There was, then, a way to render traps harmless.
For three days Sean stayed on the trap line and fattened himself on trapped snowshoes. At the end of that time, Crosby Marlett ran his lines and Sean quietly faded away.
He was back in familiar territory now, and knew the best routes to go wherever he wished in that section of back country. Not necessarily the easiest ways, the paths he chose had plenty of cover and most of them led through game country where there was a good chance of getting food.
Sean pushed through a fringe of dwarf hemlocks and looked down upon a little stream that leaped between snowy banks. Some of the more sluggish waters were already frozen. Some, like the little stream before him, were so swift that they never froze completely and were only partially ice-locked in the coldest weather.
Where the stream split around a big boulder, Sean sprang from the bank to land squarely on that boulder. At once he gathered himself for the leap that carried him to the crest of the opposite bank. He disappeared into the hemlocks.
This was one of his regular crossings and he used it often. Always he employed the big boulder as a steppingstone. Not afraid of getting wet, he had no wish to wade or swim in frigid water when there was no need to do so. Sean struck through the hemlocks on a course that would bring him to the sucker-infested creek.
That night he slept again in the little pines. High in one of the bigger trees, the black squirrel rested snugly in a leafy nest of his own making. Silverwing and his mate, side by side, tucked their black heads under their black wings and slept while the night crackled with cold. Gaunt and cold, the renegade heifer stood with her back to the lashing wind and, in her own way, pondered the truth that freedom is a hard-bought thing. The heifer could have been warm, safe, and well-fed, in Tobe Miller’s barn, but she preferred this wild life of her own choosing.
Dawn had not yet come when Sean left the little pines to set out in the darkness. Hunger, as usual was the force that drove him. Nor was Sean alone. From now until the spring sun shone warm again, hunger would be the specter that, awake or asleep, would haunt every creature that had to make its own way in the wilds.
Coming to the creek where he had fished so often, Sean found it sheathed in an impenetrable armor of ice. He sniffed hopefully but to no avail. There was no way that an animal as big as he could get beneath the ice, though the tracks of a hunting mink proved that he had found entrance through an air hole at one side of a pool. Sean shoved his muzzle deep into the hole and drank deeply of the mink’s scent. He scraped the ice with both front paws.
A sudden squalling screech like that of an angered cat split the near-zero air. The mink had indeed dived into the air hole and tried to go under the ice, but he had found the slippery top surface anchored fast to the bottom. The pool was frozen all the way down and there were no fish that any hunter could get.
His brain on fire because he had failed, the mink hopped across the ice in short little jerks and flung himself at Sean. A tiny thing, weighing no more than a couple of pounds, even in his normal moments the mink was all bloodthirsty fury. Angered, he was a demon. He reached for and sank his teeth into Sean’s cheek.
Sean whipped his head, flung his tiny tormentor into the air and caught him with strong jaws before he fell back to the ice. Sean’s teeth ground through the mink, then he cast the limp body aside. Sean rather liked the powerful scent that the dying mink emitted from his musk glands, but the mink himself was as thin and tough as a rawhide whip. He would be poor fare on a night as cold as this.
Sean padded up the frozen creek, staying on the ice and snuffling both banks. His nose twitched, and, as though pulled by an invisible string, his head turned suddenly side wise. A hundred yards up the slope, the same lynx that he had chased out of the rabbit patch had caught and killed a little raccoon. Sean bounded toward the cat.
Until he was within one bound, the lynx stood over its quarry and snarled, hoping to bluff the big dog. Then, as usual, the cat’s nerve broke. It raced toward the nearest tree, sprang into it, and came down only when it discovered that there was no pursuit. The lynx stalked angrily away to hunt again.
Sean stood over the little raccoon, a yearling that should have been asleep in some secluded den. But this raccoon had wakened from its winter’s sleep for one more hunt that had been its last. Sean gorged himself on fat, juicy flesh and retired to a thicket to sleep.
There was no thaw, no warmth, and the north wind blew almost steadily while the cold became more intense. Already, with the season not yet into its hardest stage, some deer lay frozen in their beds; the hurt or ailing had no chance. Given a touch of summer sun they might have survived. As it was, they died swiftly. Only the strongest and most cunning would be alive when spring came.
Sean remained strong and, as he ranged, his cunning grew. Born with the native intelligence of a dog, the necessity for just surviving had given him the craft of a wild thing. Thus, with no danger to himself, because he knew how to do it, he robbed Crosby Marlett’s traps, took kills from the lynx, teased the renegade heifer, and lost only a little weight when many creatures that shared his wild range were gaunt with winter hunger.
But there was one blessing enjoyed by the black squirrel, the deer, the snowshoe rabbits, and even the mice, that Sean lacked completely. Although they might be hungry, they knew none of the heartaches and the vain, wild yearnings that tortured the dog. They had been born to lead the lives they were living. Sean was tormented because he had not. He needed something that he did not have: companionship.
Thus, often when he was not hungry, he prowled the ridges and valleys in the hope that he would run across something to fulfill his greatest need. Secretly he followed Crosby Marlett when the trapper came to run his trap lines. Without going near the houses, he even prowled around Tobe Miller’s and Jake Busher’s farms. At the Carter place he became bold enough to sniff noses with the two big hounds that had slept with him on the rocky knob.
The answer lay in nothing he could find. Though he was able to take care of himself, Sean was not sufficient unto himself. He needed more than the wilderness could offer.
The sky was dark with heavy banks of clouds when, with an unswerving purpose, Sean started off one day across a mountaintop. Driven to desperation by the fact that there was nothing to share his life, he was setting off again for Jordan Acres.
Twenty minutes after he started, snow began to fall. It did not come as cottony fluff, but as hard, wind-driven pellets with almost the consistency of hail. The beech forest came alive as crisp snow rattied against the big trees’ trunks and hissed down through the twigs. Here and there a twig or branch broke and fell. Ice-hard, wind-whipped snow stripped bark from some branches, leaving them scarred and naked.
Sean bent his head to the wind and padded onward. Underfoot, sand-like snow bunched in his paws, so that every now and then he had to stop and nibble out the miniature snowballs that clung to his ragged fetlocks and froze between his toes. He continued to trot on, and then was slowed to a walk by the storm’s very fury. But not once did he flinch or turn aside. He had a definite destination in mind and nothing could swerve him from it.
Toward evening the bitter north wind died and for a little while there was a lull in the storm. With nightfall the wind shifted to the southwest. For the first time in days there were temperate breezes instead of frigid ones. The weather warmed to well above the freezing point, and still snow
continued to fall.
It descended now in tumbling curtains that twisted and blew like ghost draperies as the winds tumbled them about. Falling on top of the near-sleet that already covered the ground, the snow heaped itself into feathery drifts and soft windrows. Had it been daylight, visibility would have been cut to ten yards and even that would have been blotted out when an especially powerful gust of wind whipped the snow about. It was the hardest fall of early winter.
Plowing through drifts as deep as his breast, going around when he could not go through, Sean continued to plod onward. He did not trot now; just to walk was exhausting labor. But he did not stop. Rabbits lay in their burrows, deer huddled together and let falling snow cover them, grouse gathered in thickets. In such a storm no animal except a dog with a purpose would have been abroad.
Finally exhausted from his battle with the storm, Sean halted on a beech-grown ridge. He scraped a hole in the snow, lay down in it, and let falling snow cover him while his own breath melted a hole through the covering. Sean slept the sleep of the utterly weary, paying attention to nothing and knowing that nothing would bother him.
In the morning he awakened, burst out of his hole, and shook clinging snow from his fur. He was fresh and rested, with no lingering stiffness and no sore muscles. Again Sean had proven his abundant vitality and health.
Hungry, he stumbled through the drifts, looking for a likely place to hunt. While he had slept, the weather had again changed. The wind, shifting back to the north, was now raw and biting. The temperature was dropping fast, and renewed cold froze a hard crust on the wet snow. But the crust was not yet hard enough to bear Sean’s weight. At every step he broke through.
The big Setter stopped suddenly, snuffled about, and began to paw. Snow flew rapidly on both sides as he scraped vigorously with his front paws. A moment later he exposed the half-frozen flank of a dead buck that had been too old and feeble to survive the storm.
Carefully, remembering the strychnine-poisoned carcass of the doe, Sean ate his fill. He marked the place for future reference. By now he had been in the wilds long enough to know that hunting for a living was always uncertain. It would not come amiss in the future to know where there was an ample store of venison.
Though he had slept for hours, he curled up beside the dead buck and slept again. His was the inborn sense of a wild thing, that might have to move for days on end and that rests when it can. In addition, he had come here on a mission. He was wise enough to know that any hasty or ill-timed act on his part could not only defeat his purpose but might result in disaster. Not until night had fallen did he venture out of his bed.
The wind had died, but piercing, savage cold had clamped like a vise over the wilderness, and had made the snow’s crust strong enough to bear Sean’s weight. There was no moon, only an eerie half-light that peopled the forest with grotesque shadows. Frost rimed every trunk and glittered in the air. Cold-tortured trees snapped like rifle shots.
Paying no attention to the frost that clung to his whiskers, or to the fact that every breath congealed in a short little puff of cold mist, Sean raced happily along. It had been a long and hard journey, but he was nearing its end. Gone was his great sense of loneliness and his ache for companionship, for he knew that very soon he would have what he craved.
Yesterday it had been a struggle just to travel. Tonight, on the crusted snow, Sean flew along as effortlessly as he would have raced over a concrete highway. He broke out of the forest into the Jordan clearing and stood a moment to reconnoiter. From the tenant houses lights glowed through frosted windows. The big house was alight and the heavy smell of smoke from wood-burning fireplaces scented the night air.
Half-visible in the faint light, Sean trotted unhesitatingly toward the kennels. He made no at tempt to slink or hide, for he knew that the night hid him anyway. Taut as a strung bow, he came to Penny’s kennel run.
She slid out the kennel door, hesitant and nervous. Then she recognized him. A glad little whine of welcome escaped her and she flung herself forward to meet him. Sean stretched full length on the snow, and licked her extended cheek tenderly.
Beneath the crust on which he lay, three wolf traps were ready to seize his paws with toothed jaws. Sean was wholly unaware of their presence, and the traps were harmless anyway. Hidden beneath the hard crust, they might just as well have been under a layer of solid concrete.
Penny enticed him into a romp, and they raced back and forth across the kennel run. They reared, sniffing each other, and again lay side by side just so they could be close. Sean whimpered happily. Until now, he had lacked something as important as life itself. Now he had what he needed, and he was happy.
Penny leaped halfway up a long, sloping drift that lay in one corner of her kennel run and that reached nearly to the top of the wire fence. She sprang down again to land near Sean. He leaped beside her and they touched noses through the fence.
It was a delightful game. Again Penny leaped up the frozen drift, clawed in the slippery surface to get farther up, and jumped down. On the other side of the wire, Sean crouched in the snow like a puppy, front quarters spread and rear end elevated as he welcomed her. A half-dozen times Penny leaped at him while they played their own version of king-of-the-hill.
The night hours wasted all too swiftly, and Sean looked worriedly around when an early riser in one of the tenant cabins lifted a stove lid. There was a metallic thud as the lid was replaced, then the smell of fresh wood smoke rose on the air.
Sean backed reluctantly away, and was instantly recalled by Penny’s anguished wail. He returned to sniff noses with her, and again looked anxiously at the tenant cabins. Not forgotten were the bitter lessons taught him by the hill men. He must not be caught here by anyone. Again he started away.
Penny’s thin wail of protest floated into the winter darkness, and Sean returned to her once more. He stood with all four feet braced while he stared in amazement. For Penny’s fertile brain had given birth to an idea.
There was no way to go through the wire, but there might be a way over it. The crusted drift reached two-thirds of the way to the top of the fence, and Penny was halfway up the drift. She clawed furiously for a better foothold, almost fell off, then resumed her unsteady progress. Again she slipped, lost all she had gained, and only stopped her downward descent by a previously clawed paw hold.
Slowly she resumed her climb. Very careful, maintaining a slippery balance, she reached the top of the fence, sprang from it and landed on all four feet at Sean’s side. They raced away on the snow’s crust.
The early-rising tenant, looking through a hand-warmed hole in a frosted windowpane, saw the two dim figures in the morning’s half light and decided that they were two prowling foxes come to snoop around the clearing.
8. Fugitives
Billy Dash’s trip had been neither long nor dangerous. It had merely been monotonous. Traveling by night and lying up by day, he had never gone near a trail or road and he had met no one. Nor, of course, had he been seen by anyone.
Although Billy did not know it, the State Troopers had dropped their active search and placed his case in their files. Billy would not be forgotten, nor would the hunt for him ever be entirely dropped. Sometime and somewhere he would turn up. When he did, the ponderous machinery of the law would begin to grind and Billy would be brought back to face his punishment.
The specter of such a thing haunted Billy Dash day and night, but he did not allow it to dominate him. He had seen too much uncertain living to be unduly worried. The present mattered, and for the present he was free. He had better act accordingly.
Ever since he had left his own cabin, his goal had been an abandoned shack near an old coal mine. Before Billy was born, mining the vein of coal had proven so unprofitable that all working operations had been halted. Now trees four inches thick grew in the road down which teamsters had taken their coal. The place was so forsaken and so far back in the wilderness that almost nobody went near it, and few even remembered it. There was
no timber here to attract a sawmill, no startling natural beauty that would bring sight-seers, and hunters did not have to come so far in order to find good hunting.
Five years ago, just rambling through the mountains, Billy Dash had come upon the place and had at the time fixed in his mind its natural advantages as a hideout should he ever find himself in need of one.
Coming back to it now, his first task was to fix it up. The walls were in disrepair, the roof leaked, and the interior had become the home of countless deer mice. Billy patched the roof with slabs of bark which he overlapped so that no rain could penetrate. From a nearby swamp he dug mud and mixed it with grass, and used this mixture to chink the cracks in the cabin’s sides. Then he cleaned the place thoroughly, hauling water in a rusty dishpan he was lucky enough to find. He also discovered some odds and ends of dishes, and a little tableware. Billy scoured them with clean sand until they shone like polished steel.
The vermin problem was a hard one to solve until, suddenly, it solved itself. A curious brown weasel came down from the ridge to look through the open door and see what was going on. The weasel saw Billy Dash, working furiously with a broom which he had fashioned out of willow wands bound to a handle with some grapevine. When Billy turned around and saw him, the weasel dived beneath the cabin. There he found such excellent hunting that he saw no reason to leave.
Aware of the value of such a companion, Billy never molested him. Within a week the weasel had overcome his fear of the man to such an extent that he did not hesitate to slip into the shack through a crack between two floor boards even while Billy was present. With tireless energy the weasel pursued the myriad deer mice to the farthest nooks and crannies. Watching him, Billy realized that before long both he and the weasel would be exhausting their food supplies in the cabin. That did not worry him unduly. They had both lived off the country before and they could do it again. If sometimes it was a poor or a monotonous living, that could not be helped.
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