by Peter Howe
“Okay,” said Tazar, in his busiest organizing tones, “who’s got the best eyes?”
Lowdown chuckled a wheezing laugh. “Not me, boss, that’s fer sure. Mine are getting so bad that pretty soon I’m going to need my own petulant to guide me.”
“Well, I guess it’s down to Raz and Waggit. Raz, you take the nose and Waggit the tail.”
What this meant, Tazar explained, was that Raz would be the lead dog, going ahead to scout out each section of the route, while Waggit would stay at the rear to make sure there was no attack from behind.
The going was hard because of the route they were forced to take, the brush catching in coats already thickening with the onset of winter, and briars scratching the soft skin of the dogs’ stomachs. Waggit was filled with a strange mixture of apprehension, pride, and fear. It felt very good to have been given such an important job, but the lives of the dogs might very well depend on him doing it properly, and this was frightening. No less frightening was the realization that, if there were an attack from behind, he would be the first one the attackers would hit.
In fact it turned out that the greatest danger came from his own determination to do the job properly. He spent so much time looking over his shoulder that he was almost left behind on several occasions. The sound of him crashing through the undergrowth in a panicky attempt to catch up should have alerted every ranger in the park, but all it actually did was scare a lot of small animals and earn him disapproving looks from Tazar.
The most difficult part of the journey was by the side of the Bigwater. The deeply wooded area they were in came to an end, and the dogs needed to cross a grassy meadow and the horse path before they would reach the safety of another thin line of trees. Then more open ground would have to be faced before they reached the woods again.
Raz went first, walking determinedly toward the tree line. He made it without incident, and his body all but disappeared in the thickest part of the undergrowth. They gave him a few more minutes before Cal, flanked by Tazar on one side and Lowdown on the other, set off on the same route, trying to conceal the fact that Cal was injured as much as possible.
Waggit was alone now and just plain scared. He knew that he mustn’t start out too soon, but the waiting was agony. Every sound of the woods caused him to start, and the sighing of the wind in the branches seemed to be the whispering of hidden enemies. He could stand it no longer and moved out.
Halfway between the woods and the tree line he saw it: a ranger on a horse, by Lowdown’s estimation the most dangerous kind of human. The ranger appeared not to have seen him yet. Waggit knew that he should keep to the rules and walk, but he seemed to have lost control of his legs as they broke into a run by themselves. When he got to the tree line he kept to the far side so that it was between him and the ranger, who passed by without realizing the terror he was striking into the puppy’s heart.
At the end of the tree line Waggit paused for a moment. It was open ground from there to the safety of the woods some distance away. There was no choice but to gather up the last remaining shreds of courage and go forward. His path took him past a large old tree, and as he rounded its far side an equally large old man came out from behind it. The two nearly bumped into each other. The man looked at him, bent down, and held out his hand.
“Hello little doggie, doggie. Where are you going?” he said.
Waggit looked straight ahead and walked firmly toward his destination. The man, his friendship rejected, lost interest and went off in the other direction. Only a day before, the young dog would have sniffed the offered hand, wagged his tail, and been eager to please this stranger, but now he remembered the angry men with their sticks and kept his distance. He was learning the difficult lessons of survival.
The others were waiting for him when he got to the woods. From now on the journey was much safer, which was fortunate, because the loss of blood and the pain had drained Cal of his energy, and this last part was much more difficult for him than the others. It was a great relief for all of them when their sanctuary was in sight.
Waggit was surprised at how glad he was to be home, surprised that he felt he was home, even more surprised when he realized that he hadn’t thought of his master once since the events at the Skyline End.
Only the Lady Alicia was in the tunnel as they filed in. She had obviously been asleep. She got up and shook herself, and noticed that everyone’s attention was directed toward Cal.
“What’s the matter with him?” she said sulkily.
Nobody answered her. They weren’t deliberately ignoring her, but everyone was so busy helping Cal to lie down in his box, and covering him in newspaper and cardboard, that they all assumed somebody else would reply. This assumption was shattered into a thousand pieces by her shriek of anger.
“Don’t anyone around here talk to me no more? What am I, just decoration?”
Although she was closer to the truth than she knew, Tazar tried to calm her down with his most soothing voice.
“It’s nothing to worry about, my lady. Brother Cal’s just become the latest victim of the Upright’s inability to live with any creature he can’t lord it over. Cal’s cut his paw. It’s bad, but it’s not serious.”
“Oh yeah?” she said with little interest. “What was he doing?”
“He was trying to get us a nice, fat sausage for our supper.”
“Oh, great!” She yawned again. “I’m starved.”
“Well, unfortunately, dear princess, the sausage remains with its original owner,” muttered Tazar, “probably at this moment in his great fat stomach.”
“No sausage! Oh dear, Tazie! Well, what else didja get?” She rubbed her body up against his.
“As of now, not a lot. We spent the whole time getting Cal back here safely.”
“And what food did you manage to get, Alicia?” asked Raz, who was offended by her indifference to his best friend’s injury.
“Nothing yet. I was just going out as you came in.”
“So early in the day!” Raz said sarcastically. “Don’t overtire yourself, honey.”
“Listen, wise guy, dogs who are as highly bred as me are very delicate and need more rest, which probably accounts for your endless energy.”
The prospect of a whole day without a meal worried Tazar. If the dogs didn’t eat they got irritable, often fighting with one another, and their general morale went down. Worse, if they weren’t eating as a group, it encouraged the younger dogs to go off to fend for themselves, which weakened the idea of acting as a team.
“Where’s everyone else?” Tazar demanded. “What’s happened to Magica and Gordo?”
“You know those two,” answered Alicia, “probably cavorting in the woods, getting all messed up.”
“And Gruff?” Tazar asked.
“He’s on the bridge. He said he’d be eyes and ears for a while so’s I wouldn’t be disturbed. I’m surprised you didn’t see him when you came in,” said Alicia.
“So’m I,” said Tazar. “We could’ve been Tashi’s team and a mob of Stoners for all the warning he gave.”
“You’re right!” Gruff’s lack of protection of her person was gradually dawning on Alicia. “I could’ve been attacked in my own home.”
“What’re we going to do, boss? We should eat today.” Lowdown knew and shared Tazar’s worries. “It’s getting late. What with the Skurdies and loners, there ain’t going to be much left in the trash cans.”
The small dog was right, and the leader knew it. One of the disadvantages of living on the Risingside, with its greater space that provided more hiding places and safe spots, was the presence of loners, dogs who depleted the area’s already sparse and scattered food supply. It seemed to Tazar that there was only one thing to do.
“We have no choice. As soon as it gets dark, we nighthunt!”
4
The Nighthunt
It promised to be a good night for hunting. The early autumn evening was clear and crisp, and even though sound and smell are in
many ways more important to dogs than sight, the bright moonlight would help them see any animal that broke cover and tried to make a run for it. There was an air of excitement in the tunnel as each dog anticipated the night’s adventures. Gordo and Raz were discussing whether they preferred to eat mice, rats, squirrels, or rabbits, or, in team language, nibblers, scurries, curlytails, and hoppers.
Gordo, whose favorite subject was food, was of the opinion that hoppers were the best, but that you hardly ever got one. He thought curlytails were sweeter eating than scurries, while Raz felt that nibblers were too small and too bony to be worth the bother. Gruff, overhearing the conversation, said, “Personally I don’t like fresh meat. I find it hard to digest, and it gives me gas. I’ll take a nice ham sandwich any day.”
“Not this day, you won’t,” said Tazar. “There’ll be nothing to eat if we don’t hunt.”
Waggit had never eaten raw meat in his short life, and had no idea what would taste best. Up until two days ago his food had come from a can opened by his owner and scooped into a bowl. He had never had a problem with this system and was worried about adapting to the new situation. Furthermore he wasn’t quite sure what he would be expected to do, and more than ever he wished that his owner would come to rescue him and take him back to where the meals were regular and the demands put upon a puppy were few.
Tazar began to organize the team prior to their departure.
“Lady Alicia, Cal, Gordo, and Lowdown, you’ll all stay here and guard the tunnel.”
“Aw, boss!” Lowdown said in protest. This was the second time today that he had been left behind to be a caretaker. “Why can’t I come with the hunting party?”
“I need you here,” Tazar said in his most serious and important voice. “This is our home, the most valuable thing we have, and someone of your intelligence must guard it. If Tashi’s mob has a spy out there who sees us all leave, they may very well try to take it over.”
“So it’s got nothing to do with my short legs and lack of speed?”
“Absolutely not. That’s the furthest thing from my mind,” said Tazar.
“You think they’d attack?” asked Gordo, nervous of having to fight for the right to stay in his own cozy bed.
“Don’t worry,” retorted Lowdown. “If they do you just have to lie on ’em and they’ll soon give in. Fortunately it don’t take a whole lot of brains.” His last remark was directed more toward Tazar than Gordo. He was still upset at being left behind.
Tazar ignored this and lined up the remaining dogs. “Lady Magica, you hunt with Raz, and Waggit and I will work together. If we see a likely target we’ll split up, you two attacking from one side and we’ll attack from the other. Because Waggit and Magica are the fastest they should try and get ahead of any prey and drive it toward Raz and me for the kill. If it’s a curlytail make sure it doesn’t get up a tree. That’s how we always lose them.”
While Waggit was glad to hear from these instructions that he wasn’t expected to actually kill anything, they still sounded complicated to his puppy brain. Which side would they attack from, and how would he get ahead of whatever it was they were attacking? How did you drive something in a direction it didn’t want to go, anyway?
“Waggit, you’ll do just fine.” Lady Magica had been watching the frown on his face. “We work as a team, so if you make a mistake we cover it for you. Nobody expects you to be a hero the first time out.”
While her kindness gave him some comfort, he was anxious as they prepared to move out into the stillness of the park at night. Before they left, Tazar stood in front of an old movie poster that was stuck to the wall. It had been there longer than any of them could remember, and showed a fierce-looking dog with its fangs bared, staring directly and menacingly out. It had faded to muted colors, with long streaks from where water had run down it, but it was still a powerful image. Tazar looked up at it with reverence, for team legend had it that it was the face of Vinda the Powerful, a mystical being upon whose favor success depended.
“Great Vinda, give us good fortune on our hunt tonight, and protect our brothers and sisters,” he chanted. The dogs gave soft howls in response, and the hunting party moved out of the tunnel.
When they had cleared the bushes that surrounded the entrance and had emerged into the open, Waggit noticed the way the other dogs lowered their bodies close to the ground as they went forward, taking long, slow steps, ears pricked and noses twitching. He tried to do the same, but it seemed awkward, and he caught his foot under a tree root. He yelped in pain, breaking the silence that was so important if the hunt was to be successful, and so he resumed his normal walk. Then a strange thing happened—he’d gone only a short distance when he realized that he was moving just like the others were. The gait came naturally if you didn’t think about it, and with it you could move noiselessly through the park.
At first it seemed that they were the only animals around. They moved up to a wide path that cut across the park, which the team called the Crossway. Humans used it as a shortcut, but for the dogs it marked the boundary between the Skyline End and the Deepwoods, where the paths were narrower, the bushes thicker, and the trees much closer together. Waggit had never been in this part of the park, and he couldn’t see how you could chase anything through it, because the undergrowth was so dense. If he were somebody’s prey it would be exactly the sort of place he would choose to live. Which, of course, was why Tazar had brought the party there; he knew that it was an area full of the small rodents that were the dogs’ main food source in hard times.
The hunters followed their leader into the Deepwoods until they came upon two paths, narrow but negotiable, that ran almost parallel to each other. In silent communication Raz and Magica took the right-hand path, while Tazar veered to the left, followed by a nervous Waggit. As soon as they entered the wooded area they could hear the rustling sound of their would-be suppers escaping. Suddenly Magica leapt forward and plunged into the undergrowth, her powerful legs propelling her in great leaps over the low-growing bushes and through the clumps of trees. Without thinking Waggit ran forward down the path he and Tazar had taken, instinctively trying to get ahead of whatever it was she pursued. Suddenly she stopped dead and looked up at one of the trees. Waggit saw a squirrel scamper up its trunk and through the branches, leaping from the higher ones to the next tree until it was out of sight. By this time Tazar had caught up with him, slightly out of breath.
“Curlytails!” he said. “They’re so hard to get before they reach a tree, and once they’re up there, they’re gone.”
Magica had rejoined Raz on the other path, and all four moved on. Because of the commotion caused by the short chase it was several hundred yards before they heard any more movement. Three times in the next hour the dogs pursued various small creatures, only to have them escape into the undergrowth. By now they were near the far end of the park, where the landscape became more open.
As Waggit and Tazar rounded a corner the path opened up into a small glade. Waggit stopped and felt his hackles rising. There in front of him, no more than fifty feet away, was a fat squirrel sitting eating something. It had its back to Waggit, but every so often it would stop its nibbling, look around, and smell the air, its whiskers twitching as it tried to pick up the scent of danger. Fortunately the dogs were downwind of the animal, so it couldn’t smell them.
To the left was a large rock. If he could reach it without detection, Waggit could use it as cover to skirt around and get ahead of his prey. From that position he could drive the squirrel toward Tazar.
Waggit slowly moved forward as Tazar got into position to receive the prey. Slinking so low that he could feel his belly dragging on the ground, Waggit inched quietly forward. He was within ten feet of his target when he stepped on a small stick that broke with a sound like a rifle shot in the still of the night. The squirrel whirled around, saw the danger it was in, and ran into the open glade. Waggit bounded after it at full speed. Now in the middle of the clearing, the squirrel sta
rted to run in a zigzag pattern, constantly changing direction, hoping to confuse its attacker. Waggit, who was easily confused, stopped, mesmerized by the performance. With a quick dash it tried to escape, but made a fatal error. When it should have fled into the woods, it went toward the rock, which was too steep and too slippery for the small animal to climb. There was nowhere it could go that Waggit couldn’t grab it, and the squirrel knew it.
The two animals faced each other, neither quite sure what to do next. Waggit could smell the waves of fear coming off his prey, and suddenly the animal started chattering in high-pitch panic. The dog looked into its eyes and realized that, although it was fat in preparation for the long, lean winter months ahead, it was young, like him, barely fully grown—another puppy, or whatever you called a young squirrel. He sat down, unable to make the final kill.
The squirrel grabbed its chance and ran along the foot of the rock and into the woods beyond. The whole drama had only taken a few seconds, but to Waggit it seemed like hours. He heard Tazar behind him and felt the leader’s breath on the back of his neck.
With quiet anger the older dog said, “You let it go. You had it cornered and you let it go.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never done this before.” A whimper came into the puppy’s voice.
“What you do is kill it,” Tazar said sternly. “The rules are different now. These are the rules of survival; not just your survival, but that of your brothers and sisters.”
“I don’t have brothers and sisters. You’re all just a bunch of dogs I ran into when I got lost,” Waggit whined.
“They are your brothers and sisters in more ways than you know right now. That you will soon discover.”
