There was a movement ahead of him, and a flood of warm scent rushed over Copper like a wave. This must be it, and in his excitement Copper gave tongue. A pheasant rocketed up under his nose, jerking out its alarm calls as it rose. Copper cringed for the beating he knew was coming, but the Master ignored the lapse and kept repeating softly: "Go get 'em, boy. Go get 'em." Copper did his best. There were ghosts of scent everywhere, yet none distinctive enough for him clearly to identify. Still, Copper's tail began to beat hopefully as he went from one nubben of scent to the next. The Master knew the signs, and his voice grew louder and more intense.
Little by little the conviction grew in Copper's mind that he recognized this scent. He did not dare to speak on it as yet, and sought desperately for one good spot of odor. He checked the twigs; he thrust his nose under damp logs where the scent might be lying; he scratched the earth and plunged his nose into the scratch, his great ears falling forward to make a pocket around his jowls that held every trace of odor rising from the ground. All he could get was the smell of damp earth from the recent rain, and the earth smell obliterated all other odors. He decided to trust to twigging.
Here it was! Here it was! The scent! It was, it was the odor of the fox he and the Master had sought so long! That fox was here, or had been here only a few minutes before. Now he understood why the pack had been turned away by the vixen. The mounted men, like the master, wanted only that one particular fox. Copper almost gave tongue, but the scent was still not quite strong enough, and the mistake over the pheasant still caused him to hesitate.
Step by step, he followed the line from the twigs to the edge of the cover. Here he was stopped by the plowed land. The huntsman and his pack were on the other side of the cover, and Copper could see no signs of life as he stood with his head up, hoping to catch some airborne scent. The Master shouted, and from some distance away came a man’s voice answering. Apparently the answer was not reassuring, for the Master wanted him to return to the cover and try again. Copper refused. Faint though the scent had been, it had definitely led out of the cover to this field. Following it over the furrows was impossible, and Copper knew it, yet he decided to make the attempt. He started out into the plowed field.
Away from the shelter of the trees, he felt the full force of the wind on his right jowl. The wind was cold, but the air was still so damp it kept any scent from spreading. He would have to be right on top of a fox before he could scent the animal; and a crouching fox, lying facing the wind so the breeze did not ruffle his fur, was difficult enough to scent at any time.
Crows had begun screaming somewhere over the field. At the sound, the Master suddenly gripped him by the neck and ordered him to stand still. Copper obeyed, although he could see no reason for the command. The Master was calling urgently, yet without daring to shout, to someone. Suddenly the mechanical cawing of the crows changed to shrill screams, and increased in volume. The Master cursed and relaxed his grip.
A gust of wind swept up the hill and hit Copper full in the face. There it was! The fox! And he was running. The burst of energy had thrown his scent into the wind, and he was scudding across the field, doubtless with the crows wheeling and diving around him. The strong scent was too much for Copper. Throwing his full voice, he tore away, regardless of the Master's shouts and curses.
Within a few strides Copper ran out of the scent. He knew the fox had turned and the wind was no longer carrying the body odor to him, so he ran zigzagging, hoping to pick it up again. He could get nothing and finally halted, ashamed, while the panting Master caught up and cuffed him. In the distance he could hear men shouting, and now came the sound of the horn, dulled by the trees. The Master dragged him across the field and, pointing to a spot in a furrow, said, "Here, boy, here!" Copper applied his nose and instantly smelled where the fox had been lying. He must have stolen out of the cover, run a few yards into the field, and then, seeing mounted riders ahead of him, hidden in the furrow.
Copper promptly gave tongue; but once he left the spot where the fox had crouched, the scent vanished. The fox must have run along one of the ridges left by the plow, and the turned earth held no scent. Copper checked, and found the wind had blown the scent into the furrow beside the ridge. Here he could just barely follow it.
Copper hurried on as fast as he could. Behind him, he could hear the huntsman laying on the pack. None of them spoke, and Copper was not surprised. Not only was the scent very faint but its quality had changed considerably from the same scent lying in the dank, protected cover. Here in the open it was much more volatile, and the pack hounds probably could not immediately recognize it as the scent they had found among the dogwoods. The line was not strong enough to justify giving tongue, and besides, Copper needed all his energies simply to detect it, Even so, he gave an occasional yelp to tell the other hounds that he was indeed on the fox's trail.
The hounds recognized the cry, and several ran up and tried to find the line for themselves. When they could smell nothing, they turned away, naturally distrustful of this strange hound who was not a member of the pack and of whose scenting abilities they knew nothing. As Copper progressed, he came on small pockets of scent drawn into hollows in the furrow by heavy, warm air. Here the scent was distinct and he spoke to it dearly. The older hounds, acknowledging the authority in his voice, loped over to investigate, half a dozen loudly sniffing noses in each pocket. Ordinarily having so many hounds to help him would have been an advantage to Copper, as the more hounds spread out up and down the furrows, the more chance there would be of one of them finding a scent trace; but these animals did not have bloodhound noses and they only got in the way, to Copper's intense irritation. Several times he had to stop and snarl at them. Even the gray-muzzled old veterans were unable to match the bloodhound's marvelous nose, although they pressed to his dewlaps in trying to discover what he was trailing. The fox had jumped from ridge to ridge; so Copper had to cut back and forth to get the scent blown into the different furrows; and as the hounds had no idea what he was doing, he had to shove them aside.
Copper came to the end of the field, and hit grass. Now at long last the pack could take over, for here the scent rose strong. At the cry of the old hounds, the younger members of the pack dashed forward. At first it was only the old hounds who gave tongue, pressing forward close together to follow the narrow scent line, but as they advanced, the scent spread out from the pad marks so a dozen hounds running abreast could all carry the line. The wind was blowing so strongly that they ran not where the fox had run but nearly a hundred feet downwind of the line where the scent was being carried.
Copper was outdistanced almost at once and dropped behind, his feelings somewhat hurt, although the hound knew well that he could never keep up with these long-legged, barreled-chested animals. Actually, he was glad for a rest, as the constant strain of sniffing up the phantom traces of scent had drawn so much dust and dampness into his nostrils that saliva had begun to drip from his nose and mouth. Soon he had the satisfaction of seeing the older foxhounds drop back in their turn, letting the younger hounds rush forward, carrying a good head of scent, their puppy voices breaking into the deep, true bay of full cry.
The clouds had shredded away and the sun had broken through, so if it had not been for the wind the day would have been almost warm. Soon the sun would kill the scent, but now it served only to dry the damp air and allow the scent to rise. It was floating breast-high above the ground; and not being hampered by having to drop their heads, the pack went all out at top speed. The riders had had to go around the plowed and planted field; but now they tried to make up for lost time, and pounded past on either side, sometimes so close they made Copper finch. Copper disliked horses anyhow, but galloping horses really frightened him.
They crossed a stream that was all one brown torrent from the melting snows. Here were several riderless horses which were especially alarming, for they tore along hysterically, quite prepared to ride down man or hound. Men were remounting, the backs of their coats p
lastered with mud. The Master started running, and Copper loped along behind him, appalled by the whole proceeding. Clearly none of these people knew anything about fox hunting, which Copper regarded as a highly skilled science, not a mad rush.
The fox was running dead straight, clearly making for some definite goal that might be a hole, a thick cover, or a swamp where he could escape. Even the pups knew he must be pressed hard on this soft turf where scenting was excellent... with a little luck they might roll him over before he reached his sanctuary. As they gained on him, the scent grew increasingly fresh and strong until even Copper put forth his best efforts, baying with the others. But the fox still had a spurt left in him. He suddenly drew ahead and made it to a stand of hardwoods. Running along fallen trunks and doubling around stumps, he brought the pack to a stop.
Now a hound was calling excitedly that he had found a trace of scent. Only a puppy though, judging by the shrill tones. Still, he sounded sure of himself. Now came the positive voice of an old hound who had run over to confirm the find. The huntsman was shouting, and hounds were running through the trees from all directions to the two finders. A tense wait. Then another hound called from a spot farther along the line. More crashings as the pack hurried to the new spot. Two more spoke, then a dozen, then came the full cry of the pack as they streamed away. The huntsman's horn gave a series of shrill toots and the riders leaned forward on their horses and galloped toward the logging paths through the woods. As there were few paths and plenty of riders, Copper was glad to be out of the jam.
The pack had broken out on the other side of the cover and were flooding down a hillside in full cry. Even though he could not see them, Copper knew they were in the open, for there were no reverberations from their cries as there had been in the woods. Apparently they were carrying a good head of scent and would run for a mile without a check, yet surprisingly the victorious voices gradually died away into total silence. Even though Copper could tell a mile away (downwind) what nearly every member of the pack was doing as long as they threw their voices, he was baffled now. They must have run completely out of scent.
An incessant tooting of the horn sounded. The Master spoke to him and together they entered the woods, following one of the paths now congested with riders smoking and talking. Once clear of the woods, Copper could see the huntsman sitting on his horse with the two whippers-in while the pack swirled around in check, tails feathering madly. The Master took Copper toward them.
Copper refused to work where the other hounds had fouled the ground, and made a quick cast on his own between the pack and the woods. The field had been planted in alfalfa, which made for good scenting, but there was no trace of fox. The fox must still be among the trees, and what those crazy hounds were doing casting about in the middle of a field Copper could not imagine. He cut back and worked the edge of the woods. Ah, there it was, faint but held by wet leaves - the fox scent. It stopped by the border of the grove and then went back. Copper followed it among the trees inch by inch, for the whole pack had so run over it, as well as the huntsman and his two whips, that the line was almost hopelessly fouled. At last he ran out of scent entirely yet still kept on, for the fox had been going in a straight line, and Copper hoped to pick up the trail eventually.
An abrupt exclamation from the Master and a quick rustle ahead of him. Knowing the Master must have seen something, Copper rushed blindly forward. Here it was! The reeking-hot track of fox! It started by the stump of an oak and led away through the trees, but Copper was not sure whether the fox had been lying on top of the stump and jumped off or whether he had run to the stump and was now on top of it. Standing on his hind legs, he smelled the top of the stump. No doubt about it now, the fox had been lying there for some time, but he was not there now. Whirling around, Copper set off on the line in full cry. He knew what had happened. The fox had run to the edge of the grove, stopped, backtracked, and jumped on the stump, where he had curled himself into a ball. The hounds, following the steaming-hot track, had rushed past him, going within a few feet of the motionless animal, yet not winding him, so concentrated were they on the line ahead. The huntsman and the whippers-in had followed the pack; and although, being mounted, they looked down on the stump and passed so close to it they could have touched the fox with their whips, the men had used their eyes no more than the hounds had used their noses, and had tom on, looking ahead. When the hounds had come to the edge of the wood, they had rushed blindly on into the open, carried by their own momentum and each hound's conviction that even though he himself could smell nothing, the rest were making such a hubbub that surely they must be hot on the trail. When they at last discovered their mistake, they were in the middle of the field, several hundred yards from the woods, and hopelessly lost. It was all very well to be fast, Copper reflected bitterly, as long as you did not overrun the line.
Copper started off on the new line as hard as he could go, hoping to keep pressing the fox and prevent the scent going stale. For once, he ran mute, although the line was strong, for he had no wish to bring up the hounds and horses until he was well away from the area fouled by their various odors. Scent was better in the woods than outside, for in the open a warm sun was making it rise higher than a hound's nose. Even so, when he came to a dead spot in the trail, Copper jumped on a log to check if even under the sheltering trees the scent might be rising. He found nothing, and therefore stayed on the ground from then on.
He reached a broad cut through the trees where a high-tension line had been run. Under the steel towers, tall grass and weeds had sprung up that should have been helpful, for the fox left not only the scent of his pads but also body scent rubbed off against the weeds as he went through them. However, the sun was shining full on the cut and although the trees broke the wind, the warm air caused turbulence that made the scent quiver as it rose, and formed tiny whirlwinds that were most confusing. Worse yet, a number of cars had been driven into the cut and one had its engine still running. The line led directly under this car, showing the cars had arrived after the fox had passed. The exhaust fumes clung to the damp grass and obliterated the fox scent. The Master, who had followed, shouted, and the driver shut off his engine. Copper crawled under the car and went on, but the scent had been killed.
Unable to follow by scent, Copper followed the fox's drift - he kept on in the same direction the fox had been going when last scented. He hit the line again under the trees on the far side of the high-tension cut, and this time felt confident enough to throw his tongue. The huntsman's horn called, whips cracked, and soon he saw the pack coming, the lead hounds leaping high to see over the tall weeds. Copper gave another cry to guide them and then voluntarily dropped back, as he was growing tired and was quite willing to let them do the hard running. The old hounds hit the line at once and crackled through the greenbrier with the youngsters hard on their tails. Copper followed at a distance, contenting himself with an occasional sniff just to make sure they were on the right line.
The fox had crossed to a cutting and run down it, and here Copper was nearly trampled by the following riders who belted down the cutting at full gallop and paid no attention to him or to the Master either. As far as Copper was concerned, this was the last time he was going hunting where horsemen were involved. At the bottom of the hill the trees stopped and open farming country spread out to the next ridge, which was also wooded. There were a farmhouse here, a barn, and a springhouse with a stream that widened into a broad, shallow pond full of arrowhead and sweet flag. A farm family was standing by the springhouse, shouting and pointing. The fox, caught between the people and the pack, must have swum the pond, for the hounds took to the water instantly, splashing through the shallows and churning the clay bottom until the water turned a dirty white. Even when swimming, the pack continued to give tongue, for the scent was floating on top of the water and they could follow it easily. Knowing where the fox must have come out, Copper cut around the pond, picked up the line, and started off on it, baying triumphantly, For a few g
lorious moments he was ahead of the pack, but they soon overhauled and passed him. Content with his victory, Copper dropped back and joined the Master again. Unlike the pack grounds who drove on to kill, tile bloodhound was more interested in the scent than in the fox. It was a good run over open grass fields and the pack streamed away with the riders after them, allowing Copper and the Master to proceed with the slow dignity befitting true fox hunters. They must have gone half a mile or so when they came to a long mound of earth, made by a construction crew digging a pipe line ditch. The ditch was on the far side of the bank and beyond that was another flat field. The pack had already crossed the mound and the ditch when Copper and the Master reached it, but their baying had ceased.
Knowing something was wrong, Copper sprang to the top of the mound, Ahead of him in the field was the pack, again at check. Copper wasted no time in trying to find the line. He knew exactly what the fox had done, After crossing the mound, the fox had dropped into the ditch and run along it, knowing the hounds would jump both the mound and the ditch and keep going. Being hard pressed and wet, he was probably lying up in the ditch right now to rest, but which way had he run? Copper jumped into the ditch and took a quick snip. The ditch ran across the valley from ridge to ridge and the wind was blowing from the far ridge. If the fox had turned in that direction, the wind would be bringing his scent. Copper could smell nothing, so it appeared the fox had run downwind along the trench. Without a moment's hesitation, Copper turned and ran downwind. He had taken only a few strides when he hit the line. The ditch was so narrow the fox had rubbed against the sides, so there was plenty of scent. Three more bounds and he found the place, damp and reeking, from which the fox had just sprung seconds before. At once he shouted ''Here it is! Hurry!" and had the satisfaction of hearing the pack racing toward him even before the huntsman's horn sounded. As the lead hounds plunged into the ditch they fell on top of him, But Copper did not care, for they hit off the scent at once and went tearing away, some in the ditch, Some running along the sides. Copper's nose had told him something else - that the fox was tiring rapidly. He wondered if the pack knew it, and was relieved to hear a new note of confidence in the voices of the veterans. This was the time to press the fox as hard as possible, giving him no time to rest or play other tricks. As the fox's energy faded, his scent faded with it, and soon tracking would be almost impossible, especially in the heat of the day. The kill would have to be made quickly, and these hard-driving, fast hounds were perfectly equipped to do it.
The Fox and the Hound Page 16
