The fox had left the trench and cut across country, for Copper saw the pack make a sudden turn and spread over the meadow, still in full cry. When the leaders began to suffer from both trailing and running at top speed, they stopped giving tongue, and the other hounds, running in the rear, recognized the signal and pushed forward to take their turn at the dual task. On the side of a hill they came to a brief check, wheeling over the slope like low-flying swallows, for the wind blowing down the grade spread and twisted the scent. Although they were silent, Copper thought they were still giving tongue, for the sound of the hound music was still ringing in his head. Then they were off again, pouring over the hilltop until even the last stragglers disappeared. The field was considerably reduced by now, but a goodly number of riders still followed the pack. These were obviously more experienced than the original lot, for they did not crowd the hounds or make so much noise, and kept well away when the pack was finding. Copper felt he would not so much mind hunting with people like this. He and the Master followed slowly to the top of the hill, and paused. The pack was out of sight, and Copper could not hear them, listen as he would. The only sounds that came to him were the angry scolding of a jay and the distant barking of a house dog at some farm.
They plodded on and came up with a little knot of horsemen standing near the edge of a cornfield. The corn had not turned out well, and the farmer had left it standing, to the huge delight of the local wildlife. Copper could smell the pack in the corn, as well as the odor of pheasants, rabbits, and a small covey of quail. Occasionally some of the hounds would come out of the field and trot over to the horsemen with cheerfully wagging tails, only to be sternly ordered back by the whips. Copper hoped he would not have to find the line in that cornfield. With all those trash scent of birds and animals, it would be a confusing place to work.
He heard the high-pitched, staccato cry of a puppy, the same one who had found the line among the hardwoods. Clearly a pup with promise. It was immediately followed by crackling as the rest of the pack sprang through the dead stalks to the spot. Soon some of the older hounds were also speaking, but plainly it was a difficult trail to work out. When the pack finally emerged, only the lead hound was carrying the scent, working from pad mark to pad mark, while the rest followed. In the open, the other veterans were able to help, and the pack moved off at a Slow yet steady lope.
In a hollow, the scent strengthened and the pack began to run, giving tongue again. Copper and the Master ran too, trailing far behind the horsemen. The pack vanished around some woods, but even as they did so the glorious cry slackened, and then changed to a short chop bark. Copper recognized the sound. They were barking ''treed.'' The fox had either climbed a sloping tree or gone down a hole. When he and the Master arrived, the hounds were crowded around a drain running under a gravel road. As many as could, collected in the limited space at the mouth of the drain and had their noses pointed up it while they shouted that the fox was brought to bay. At the Master's shout and with some help from the whips, they made room for Copper. He smelled at the drain's opening. Yes, the fox had gone in there, but was he still there? Copper turned and tried to work out the trail to see if the fox had backtracked, but water was running from the drain and the whole area was so fouled by hound smell he could do nothing.
The Master rattled a stick in the drain and threw in a stone. Copper quickly jostled him aside and, sticking his nose inside, inhaled deeply. There was no scent of fox, and no fox could have helped giving out a strong odor at the noise of the stick and the reverberations of the stone. Copper backed out and, lifting one leg, urinated on the drain's side to show the quarry was gone.
The Master spoke to the huntsman, who sounded his horn and took the pack in a long swing downwind He had to make several circles, each wider than the other before any of the hounds spoke. Copper heard one of the veterans whimper, then yelp, then burst into a deep bay. Even before the huntsman spoke, Copper started running. He was rested now and when the pack took off he was able to keep up with them for the just few hundred yards.
Half a dozen riders shouted, and the pack raised their heads at the yells, as did Copper, Then he saw the fox. He must have lain down to rest, sure that his trick at the drain would succeed. He was running awkwardly - he must have lain too long and allowed his muscles to stiffen - but still moving with small, neat strides unlike the leaping drive of the hounds who now broke into the viewing cry. The fox's tongue was lolling. but at the terse, bloodthirsty new cry he was able to put on a fresh burst of speed, and bashed away so that he was out of sight in seconds, bringing the pack to their noses again. Mad with excitement, Copper extended himself to his utmost, for now was the time to force the exhausted animal to the limit. With luck, they should kill within the next few minutes. Even so, he could hardly keep up with the slowest of the pack; the main body were so far ahead he could no longer see them. Then to his agony the cry died away; the pack had checked again.
Gasping and forcing his tired legs forward, Copper hurried on. The pack had to be put on the line again instantly; every moment they were at check the fox was lengthening his lead. He saw them spread over a gravel road. Judging from their wildly slashing tails, they were able to pick up bits of scent on the gravel, so they were not entirely at fault. That was to be expected. On the solid turf, the fox's pads left definite imprints saturated with scent; on the rough gravel only the tops of the pebbles had been touched, making tracking more difficult. Copper had no intention of trying to track the fox on the gravel. He had probably crossed directly over the road, and the line could be easily picked up on the far side.
Clearly some of the veterans had the same idea, for long before Copper could come up he heard the authoritative bay that meant ''Here it is," and saw the hounds flowing off the road toward the sound. They were off again in full cry and gone before Copper reached the road. He could still hear them, but the cry was not so steady as before. The scent was fading fast now, and there were dead spots in who trail. Copper well knew the fox would pace himself by the cry of the pack, slowing to save his energies when the cry weakened, The thought infuriated him. He would have no trouble with the trail, he felt sure. If only he could keep up with these powerful racers.
Another check. This time Copper caught up with the pack. The fox had made a loop - two rings slightly overlapping each other - and the stupid hounds were running around in circles following the line. Copper wasted no time in such foolishness. He made a wide swing and picked up the line where the fox had gone on. He was about to speak on it when another scent hit him. A cool, damp wind was blowing, and in it Copper suddenly smelled the fox. The fox had made a swing and doubled back. He was really tired and making short, quick turns now. Ignoring the line entirely, Copper cut across country, following the airborne scent instead of the ground odor. The scent vanished within a few seconds, for the fox was running across wind and the breeze no longer carried his odor to Copper, but the hound kept on. As he knew he would, he hit the fresh line and bellowed for all he was worth on it. Luckily the huntsman had enough brains to put the pack to him and they took off instantly. They were only seconds behind the fox now and nothing could save him.
The cry of the hounds took on a shrill, angry note and Copper lifted his head. There was the fox. His brush hung low; his back was arched; his head was down; his jaws dripped white slime. No tricks could save him now, for the pack was hunting by sight and this time there would be no more spurts. Copper made a last effort to be in at the kill.
Forced out of his usual range, the fox was running blindly through a new housing development. There were innumerable cars, children playing on the lawns, and many houses, but Copper hardly noticed them, so intent was he on the slight form that drifted just ahead. In full cry, the pack hurled themselves forward, their voices bounding off the close-packed houses. People were running out of the doors, children were screaming with fright, and dozens of cur dogs had suddenly appeared and were barreling hysterically at the oncoming hounds. No one seemed to notice th
e shadowy form of the silent fox as he glided through hedges, around trees, and ducked past swings and sandboxes. As the hunt tore through the development, screaming women clutched their children, and men dashed out shouting at the riders and kicking at the hounds who were trying to get past them. Utterly bewildered, Copper swerved aside, made a detour, and tried to come up with the fox again, but now there were people everywhere; and judging from the sound, the pack had gotten into a fight with the cur dogs. A car with a siren and Bashing light on top came roaring down the street, and Copper decided to get out of there fast.
It took him two hours to lick himself clean, and when the Master finally returned, Copper wisely avoided him. Even before he saw him, he heard the Master's voice; and at the tone of it Copper hurried to his barrel kennel and hid there trembling. As the Master did not call him, Copper knew his fury was directed elsewhere, but even so the wise old hound decided to keep out of his way until he had had a chance to calm down. It was spring and there was a sickening stench of violets in the air, so Tod went out to look for some well-rotted manure to roll in. He found some nice seasoned cow Hops in a pasture and wallowed in them happily. The rich, soft odor, so much like the partly decomposed meat he liked to feed on, Hooded over him as he crushed the manure with his shoulders, and he wriggled in ecstasy for several minutes.
Tod was feeling completely content with himself and the world that spring morning. The foxhounds had never returned. They might someday, but Tod did not worry about the future. Although he never forgot a lesson learned from a danger, he did not brood, In a world full of men, dogs, guns, and traps Tod lived a happy day-to-day existence, while at the same time never relaxing his wariness. He could identify several score of odors, but until a wisp of wind brought him one of those odors, he gave it no heed.
He was feeling particularly happy that morning because after a long and diligent search he had found a large patch of sawtoothed grass and grazed it down like a sheep. He had been increasingly troubled by worms as the winter progressed, and the grass had cleaned him out, so he now experienced a feeling of and this time there would be no more spurts. Copper made a last effort to be in at the kill.
Forced out of his usual range, the fox was running blindly through a new housing development. There were innumerable cars, children playing on the lawns, and many houses, but Copper hardly noticed them, so intent was he on the slight form that drifted just ahead. In full cry, the pack hurled themselves forward, their voices bounding off the close-packed houses. People were running out of the doors, children were screaming with fright, and dozens of cur dogs had suddenly appeared and were barking hysterically at the oncoming hounds. No one seemed to notice the shadowy form of the silent fox as he glided through hedges, around trees, and ducked past swings and sandboxes. As the hunt tore through the development, screaming women clutched their children, and men dashed out shouting at the riders and kicking at the hounds who were trying to get past them. Utterly bewildered, Copper swerved aside, made a detour, and tried to come up with the fox again, but now there were people everywhere; and judging from the sound, the pack had gotten into a fight with the cur dogs. A car with a siren and flashing light on top came roaring down the street, and Copper decided to get out of there fast.
It took him two hours to lick himself clean, and when the Master finally returned, Copper wisely avoided him. Even before he saw him, he heard the Master's voice; and at the tone of it Copper hurried to his barrel kennel and hid there trembling. As the Master did not call him, Copper knew his fury was directed elsewhere, but even so the wise old hound decided to keep out of his way until he had had a chance to calm down.
8
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Sixth Hunt - The Still Hunt
It was spring and there was a sickening stench of violets in the air, so Tod went out to look for some well-rotted manure to roll in. He found some nice seasoned cow flops in a pasture and wallowed in them happily. The rich, soft odor, so much like the partly decomposed meat he liked to feed on, flooded over him as he crushed the manure with his shoulders, and he wriggled in ecstasy for several minutes.
Tod was feeling completely content with himself and the world that spring morning. The foxhounds had never returned. They might someday, but Tod did not worry about the future. Although he never forgot a lesson learned from a danger, he did not brood. In a world full of men, dogs, guns, and traps Tod lived a happy day-to-day existence, while at the same time never relaxing his wariness. He could identify several score of odors, but until a wisp of wind brought him one of those odors, he gave it no heed.
He was feeling particularly happy that morning because after a long and diligent search he had found a large patch of sawtoothed grass and grazed it down like a sheep. He had been increasingly troubled by worms as the winter progressed, and the grass had cleaned him out, so he now experienced a feeling of well-being he had not known for weeks. Tod had good reason to feel relaxed. At this time of year there were no traps set, no one was hunting him, there was plenty of food, and the vixen had recently given birth to a fine litter of pups in a den Tod had selected himself. Tod had picked out a den among a heap of boulders that could not be dug out, and even better, to Tod's way of thinking, it had no less than eight escape tunnels, all well hidden even though the main entrance itself was clearly visible. Tod and his vixen had not constructed this elaborate underground maze themselves; it had been used by generations of foxes, now all gone. He had simply fallen heir to it, and the vixen had meekly accepted his choice. In addition, they knew the location of half a dozen other suitable dens so that at the first hint of danger she could move the pups elsewhere while Tod acted as decoy for the men and dogs. Tod's only real problem was his spring shedding. Because the hair was coming out in great patches, he was almost bare on the flanks. The matted winter undercoat itched him abominably, and he tore out the tangled tufts with angry jerks of his lean jaws.
Finishing with the manure, he trotted to the top of a hogback ridge where there was always a crosscurrent of air, to get the early-morning scent picture. The low-lying mists were still clinging to the tops of the black oaks, and Tod's long brush was damp with dew before he reached the ridge. He sat down with his brush curled around his feet to look out over the valley. Starlings were popping in and out of the grass around the feeding cattle, roosters were crowing in a distant farmyard, and a red squirrel raved at him from a nearby oak with a locust-like buzz, his tail and hind legs jerking convulsively. The sound annoyed Tod and, lying down, he pretended to go to sleep. The action confused the squirrel. After even angrier protests, he came down and darted past the motionless fox. When Tod still refused to move, the squirrel came closer and closer, until at last in his determination to get some reaction from the seemingly dead fox, he approached to within a few feet. In an instant Tod was on his feet and charging. The squirrel tried to run and then to dodge, but Tod's scissor-like jaws caught him by the neck. Tod shook his little victim savagely until the body went limp. He ate the head and then loped off with the body in his mouth to find a good place to bury it.
He selected a spot along a hedge netted by silver cobwebs, dug a hole, and interred his prey, sweeping the dirt in and tamping it down with his nose. He heard a distant horn and stopped frozen into alertness, but it was not the fox hunter's horn; it was blown by the master of a beagle pack exercising his hounds. After the second toot Tod recognized the sound, for he had often heard it before. Having nothing to fear from the little hounds, he relaxed and continued on his way.
He checked a few scent posts, heard the thump of a rabbit, and swung out of his path to investigate, even though he knew the thump meant the rabbit had seen him. Just for sport, he chased the flickering white tail until the rabbit went down a hole. Tod was checking off when he heard a commotion underground that interested him, He bounded back to the hole and found that a woodchuck was in occupancy and was blocking the rabbit's progress. Tod instantly started to dig, his forefeet flying. He forced himself down the hole and, by making a long st
retch, was just able to grab the rabbit by the rump. He backed out, dragging the rabbit with him in spite of the wretched bunny's ear-piercing screams, and killed him. Afterward he played with the body for a long time until, reminded of his marital duties, he picked up the rabbit and headed for his den. Swinging around carefully to be downwind of the boulder heap, he galloped up the hillside stained with flowers. After listening at the mouth of the burrow, he dropped the rabbit inside. This was the vixen's first litter, and she was so fascinated and worried over her offspring that she never came out. She had done such a good job of licking the fetal fluid off them after birth she had nearly ended by eating the pups themselves, and Tod was rather concerned about her. She had begun to steady down now, but Tod was relieved when he heard her come up the pipe and drag the rabbit down into the main den. He listened with his head cocked on one side until he heard the mewlings of the pups, and then trotted off contentedly to lie up some fifty yards from the den where he could keep an eye and nose on things. The sun was high in the heavens now, making the fresh morning scents stale and hot, so there was nothing to do until evening.
The Fox and the Hound Page 17
