As he was no longer tracking a man, Copper felt himself justified in giving tongue, and his deep bay rolled out, first in a long howl and then in short, gasping cries. Instantly the Master was by his side. Copper showed him where the line was; but the Master, instead of instantly winding the scent, went back and forth in an exasperating way until he found something to look at on the soft earth. The Master's inability to scent a perfectly clear line, as well as his tendency to stand for a long time staring at pointless marks on the ground, was his most irritating quality, and Copper had never grown entirely reconciled to it. The Master called over the leather-smelling man and they both looked at the ground and talked, while Copper went nearly mad with impatience. Finally the tracking leash was snapped on and he was told to go ahead.
It was no use. The bear had traveled much faster than the man and hadn't dragged his feet as the man had. Copper could only just own the line. After a short time, the Master pulled him off, and even Copper had to admit it was a wise decision. That bear was gone. By the time Copper could have puzzled out the faint trail, the bear would have been too far away to make the hunt worthwhile; besides, neither man had a gun. Copper knew that men always carried guns when they went bear hunting.
After a long, dull journey they returned to the cabin and the cars. While the men, as they always did, talked and talked interminably, Copper slept, licked the cuts on his paws, and slept again. He was intensely relieved when he was ordered back to the car and they started home.
For the next few days nothing happened. Copper, like the other dogs, was bored and restless. He amused himself by lying in front of his barrel and checking the various odors that the breeze brought him. He could just make out the cabin at the foot of the little rise where the kennels were, but beyond that the world fuzzied into a black-and-white haze, although he could barely distinguish a moving figure if it wasn't too far away. Everything looked black and white to Copper even though he could tell a considerable number of shades of gray by their comparative brightness. Copper did not depend much on his eyes, which he knew were unreliable and which had often caused him to make shameful errors. If the Master changed his clothes, Copper would often bark at him until the Master spoke so he could recognize the voice. This was very humiliating, but even while Copper was cringing in disgrace, he liked to get a good sniff in to make quite sure the figure standing over him was indeed the Master.
If his eyes were weak, his nose was quite another thing. Lying on the hill, Copper could tell fairly well what was going on in the world about him. At every moment dozens of distinct odors were pouring into his nostrils; the great majority of them the hound ignored as meaningless. Flowers, grass, trees, the other dogs, activities in the cabin - these meant nothing to him. A distant herd of deer passing through the woods, a stray dog, a human stranger, even a pheasant, goose, rabbit, or raccoon caused his nostrils to twitch as he took pains to separate the important scent from the mass of other odors. He could also tell when it was going to rain by the moisture in the wind, and distinguished between day and night by the different quality in the air almost as much as he did by eyesight.
A few mornings later, he was awakened by the ringing of the telephone in the cabin. It was still pitch black even though Copper could smell the dawn not too far away; it always began to cool slightly before dawn. The other dogs moved restlessly and mumbled annoyance at the insistent ringing, but Copper lay awake listening. When the phone rang at night it usually meant a job to do. Perhaps he would be called on again to the further humiliation of the Trigg,
The phone stopped ringing. Then lights went on in the cabin. Even the other dogs knew what that meant, and their chains rattled as they shook themselves and came out of their kennels to stretch, yawn, and relieve themselves. Copper smelled coffee, and was almost sure there was a job on. The Master never made that coffee smell this early unless he was going out.
The cabin door opened, emitting a flood of light, and the Master came out. The wind was blowing to the dogs and Copper could smell his leather hunting boots and the heavy jacket he wore when he started on jobs. Alas, there was no scent of the tracking belt that meant Copper alone was going. But there would be tracking.
The rest of the pack were beginning to leap at the ends of the chains and scream with excitement. The chorus varied from the hard chop of the two gray-and-white treeing Walkers to the deep, sonorous bay of the trail hounds. The Master shouted, "You, Chief! Strike! Ranger! Hold that noise!" The dogs sub- sided.
With the swift efficiency of long practice, the Master hitched 'up the dogs' trailer to his battered car while the pack watched anxiously. Then he came up the hill. The dogs groveled, barked, whined, and stood on their hind legs in an agony of anticipation while he made his choice. To Copper's inexpressible delight, he was selected. The Master also took Red, a young heavy-coated July hound, and Ranger, a buckskin Plott who was known as a fighter. Then he took that damned chief. Chief was a big hound weighing nearly as much as Copper. He was more catfooted than the bloodhound, faster and more belligerent. He was black-and-tan with a white-tipped tail. Because of his habit of skirting, he not infrequently hit by chance on the line that Copper was patiently working out, gave tongue, and took the pack away on it. This was one of the reasons the bloodhound hated him.
Lastly, the Master selected Buck, a long-legged Airedale, and Scrapper. Scrapper's ancestry was uncertain. He had some bull- dog, some Doberman, and perhaps a little Alsatian. The inclusion of these two catch dogs meant they were going after dangerous game. Like all the hounds, Copper feared and disliked the catch dogs. He had discovered from painful experience that the catch dogs when excited were more likely to attack the hounds than the quarry. The hounds were put together in the trailer, but the catch dogs were kept in separate compartments.
The white sun was rising in the grayish-black sky as they started. Copper didn't like riding in the trailer; it swayed too much and made him sick, so he lay down and tried to sleep, only growling a little when the other hounds fell across him in their excitement at going out on a job. The ride was not too long, and they made good time because the highway was almost deserted at this hour except for a few night-running trucks that gave off a stench of diesel oil as they passed. They reached a small town, and the car slowed down. A car was parked in the silent street, and the headlights were rapidly switched on and off as they approached it. Though Copper could see the car through the trailer's wire mesh, he could not identify it even after the Master pulled up alongside and stopped. He did know the man who got out - not immediately, but after he had talked to the Master for a few seconds Copper could smell him. This man always smelled of a special grease he used on his gun. There was no doubt about it now: they were going after some potentially dangerous animal. The grease-smelling man appeared only before such hunts.
The two men finished talking and, getting back in the cars, started off. Again Copper dozed. When he awoke, the cars were climbing up a steep grade. The air was fresher, colder, and thinner. Scenting conditions were so good that in spite of the stink of the exhaust Copper could smell pines and even some animal scents, especially deer. The cold air of the mountains made him feel better, and he stood up, swaying in rhythm with the motion of the car.
The cars pulled off on grass and stopped, while the Master came around to let them out. The captives went crazy with excitement, ricocheting off the sides of the van and throwing themselves against the door. The Master had to press the door in with the full weight of his body to get enough play to release the catch. The hounds poured out in an excited stream, and the Master waited while they relieved themselves and checked the new scents. Then he let out the catch dogs, one after another. There was a little trouble between the fighting dogs and the hounds, but the Master was watching closely and at the first growl he spoke so sharply that the dogs avoided each other,
Ahead of them rose a great cliff, painted dead black by the light of the white sun on it. Sheltered beneath the cliff stood a small farmhouse, flanked by
a rambling apple orchard and a sheepfold. The air was supercharged with scents here. In addition to the smell of mice, squirrels, rabbits, and grouse on the grass, which interested him, Copper was also conscious of the odor of chickens, cattle, sheep, humans, a dog, and the aroma of food cooking. He also scented water, and hoped they could drink before starting out.
A man came from the house with a dog at his heels. Though the pack paid no attention to the man, they were all instantly fascinated by the dog. Copper could not see the dog plainly, but was quite sure he was a male, frightened, and fairly young. The man ordered him back to the house, and Copper with the rest of the pack went after him to investigate until the Master called them off.
The man took them to the sheepfold. The sheep were bleating, and Copper knew by their scent that they had been badly frightened during the night. They had urinated in their terror, and the pen smelled heavily of the urine charged with the special odor of fear that all animals quickly recognize. Although ordinarily the pack would have been indifferent to the flock, the fear smell made them prick up their hackles and move toward the fold stiff-legged. Even Copper, well broken to all domestic stock, felt a charge of gloating cruelty surge through him. (That odor meant the quarry would put up no resistance, but would lie writhing helplessly while Copper buried his teeth in the soft flesh and felt the ecstasy of the victim's death struggles through clenched jaws that odor maddened him almost like the scent of a bitch in heat. The Master ordered them off, and when the catch dogs seemed inclined to ignore him he took a stick to them.
The man who lived at the farm was pointing to the ground; the Master and the grease-smelling man bent over to examine it. Then the Master called Copper over. As the hound leaped forward, the others tried to follow but were ordered back, to Copper's great satisfaction. The instant he applied his trained nose to the spot where the Master was pointing, Copper burst into a long, sobbing cry. It was bear. It was the same bear he had scented beside the dead man. With his tail wagging frantically, he began to work out the line.
To his surprise, the Master called him off. The grease- smelling man went to the cars and came back with his rifle. Then they started toward the apple orchard, the hounds trotting over the soft gray grass under the dark leaves. By a twisted old tree stood a pile of crates, filled with apples. The heavy boxes had been scattered in all directions, and the round black fruit littered the ground. Copper sniffed at some of the apples. The smell told him nothing.
"Here, boy, here!" called the Master. Copper hurried over. Even before he reached the Master, he smelled the bear scent. Leaping forward, he began to cast about, his tail going madly as he tried to pin down the line. Red, Ranger, and Chief hurried up and also began to cast around. Ranger and Chief had the scent, but young Red was still trying to find out what the excitement was all about.
Then, then it came! Full, strong, and fresh. Copper knew he was on the line and smelled the tracks themselves; not scent blown out of them by the morning breeze. He went a few feet to make sure and then broke into his deep, bell-like bay. Instantly every dog in the pack - even the catch dogs - left whatever he was doing and ran to Copper. Ranger and Chief sniffed desperately and then simultaneously broke into the steady cry of hounds on a scent. Red had more trouble, and then he too gave tongue.
"Go get 'em, boys. Woo-whoop!" shouted the Master. The pack was streaming across the orchard now, swept along by the sound of their own music as much as by the scent that floated in front of them. Copper was following the trail itself, while Ranger and Chief, running on either side of him, were picking up the scent swirls, for the warmth of the rising sun was making the scent rise from the tracks, and a slight breeze distributed it. Red was following Copper to be quite sure of the line. The catch dogs were at the tail, only occasionally getting wisps of scent that made them yelp with eagerness.
The scent held well in the forest, and the pack pressed on, reassuring one another by their rhythmical baying that they were all still on the line. Where the woods were open, the scent lay breast-high and the hounds were able to follow it without dropping their heads - a great advantage. In the deeper woods where the sun had not as yet penetrated, the air was cold and the scent still lay on the ground. Here the hounds were forced to drop their heads, and this slowed them. At times the scent failed completely. At such times the pack stopped their baying and anxiously fanned out, each hound working on his own to find the line. Copper usually found it. He knew all the best places to check the hollow formed by two roots at the base of a tree, a clamp spot where the scent might cling, a protected hollow where the scent might have drifted and could not rise again. Often he was able to take it from bushes that had touched the bear's sides. The scent particles clung to the oily surface of the leaves, while it would not adhere to dead leaves on the ground or to the bare earth. When he was sure, he would speak and the rest would run over and cast out ahead of him. Occasionally one of the other hounds would strike something and speak to it doubtfully. Copper would hurry over to check the spot. The rest would wait until they heard his affirmative deep bay.
Once when the whole pack had been at fault for several minutes, Red, the young July hound, shouted eagerly. No one paid any attention to him, for Red had never opened on a line before. But the puppy kept pleading, until finally Copper went over to investigate, fully expecting to find nothing. Red indicated the spot and stood back anxiously while Copper applied his expert nose. To his surprise, there was the scent. A lesser hound would have gone on and opened on the line farther ahead, as though he had discovered it himself, but Copper would not stoop to such acts. He instantly opened on the line, confirming the pup's yelps. The Pack rushed over and soon were in full cry again. After that, whenever Red spoke on a lost line he was awarded the same respectful attention as the older hounds
Then they came to a blowdown where the wind had knocked down a stand of sharply scented hemlocks. The packs slithered over the trunks until they reached the other side. Here they checked. Somewhere in the blowdown they had lost the scent. Either the bear had turned sharply at right angles and come out at a different spot or the scent would not lie on the sun-baited ground on the far side of the blowdown.
The pack started casting - working out in ever-increasing circles, trying to pick up the trail again. They were still at it when the men caught up with them. The Master tried casting them himself , putting them on at various places where the bear might have come out of the blowdown, but although the hounds worked hard they could find nothing.
Copper left the rest and crawled back through the blowdown to the last spot where he could positively identify the scent. He gave tongue on the old track and then came slowly back toward the blowdown. There was still some dew under the forest timber that held the scent, but the fallen trees in the blowdown were exposed to the full rays of the sun. It was noticeably warmer here, and the heat gave Copper an idea. He stood up on his hind legs. Ah, there it was! Very faint, but detectable. The scent was floating just above his head when he reared up. As the hound could not walk on his hind legs, he would stand up to get the scent, drop back on all fours, take a few steps, stand up again, and so on. Each time he raised himself and caught the ghost of the scent, he would give a low cry. The cries came in a slow, well-spaced Bow . . . bow . . . bow, as he advanced. With nose still strained upward he started across the blowdown. His feet slipped and plunged in between the trunks, but he was higher now and his straining nose could barely touch the floating line. His cries slowed yet he kept on. When he reached the hard ground on the other side, he had to stand up again to reach the odor, but he kept on through the still questing pack.
Now the other hounds began to understand what he was doing. They also stood up on their hind legs to test the upper air, some straining up so far they fell over backward. Chief caught the scent and gave tongue. He followed Copper, and they worked their way into the pine forest. Then Ranger began to speak, and finally Red. Under the trees, the scent dropped to the ground again. Here the hounds were able to f
ollow it easily, and burst into full cry.
They quickly outdistanced the men. Now the other hounds had moved into the lead, for the scent was good, and Copper, never a fast dog with his heavy, bloodhound build, was slower. Red was in front, going at such a rate that if the bear had turned off sharply he would be sure to overrun the line. Behind him came Ranger and then Chief. The catch dogs were in the rear, following the hounds for they could hardly own the line even now.
The scent was getting stronger. The bear was close. Copper dropped back more and more. His legs were stiff, his lungs burned, and in addition he had no desire to come up with an infuriated bear. He knew bears by experience. They were dangerous, and Copper was no fighter.
Suddenly Red began to scream with excitement, and at the same moment came the sound of smashing brush. Red had sighted the bear. Now Ranger and Chief stopped giving tongue and broke into the viewing cry. In spite of himself, Copper caught the excitement and put on an extra burst of speed. The catch dogs tore past him, Scrapper snarling and slashing at him
to make the hound get out of the way. Then through the hysterical yells came a deep-throated bellowing. The bear was turning at bay. He had a system of tunnels in the blackberry bushes, and when the pack tried to follow him he turned and charged. The dogs fell over each other trying to avoid him. Copper, mad with excitement, plunged on through the tangle that clung to him and tore at his ears.
Somewhere in the bushes a fight was raging. Hazel limbs were snapping like gunshots. Then Copper heard a yelp from Red as the young hound took a blow. Now the bear growled in pain. One of the catch dogs must have taken a hold. The screaming of the dogs rose in intensity, and Copper rushed on regardless of danger. He saw the red body of the July hound go sailing over the bushes. Copper was warned and slowed down. As he broke through the last cover, he saw the bear.
The great black animal had backed against a fallen tree so the dogs could not take him from behind. He stood there swinging his head back and forth, champing his jaws as the dogs rushed at him by turns. The whole place was filled with his powerful odor, but there was no scent of fear.
The Fox and the Hound Page 2
