CHAPTER X
THE MEDIUM-SIZE GAME
Against many attacks and accusations of uselessness cast at herdachshunds, Mrs. Kitty had always stoutly opposed the legend of"medium-size game." The dachshunds may look like bologna sausages onlegs, ran the gist of her argument; and they may progress like ratherlively measuring worms; and the usefulness of their structure may seemto limit itself to a facility for getting under furniture withoutstooping, _but_--Mrs. Kitty's eloquence always ended by convincingherself, and she became very serious--but that is not the dogs' fault.Rather it is the fault of their environment to which they have beentransplanted. Back in their own native vaterland they were always usedfor medium-sized game. And what is more they are _good_ at it! Comehere, Pete, they shan't abuse you!
Coyotes and bobcats are medium-size game, someone ventured to point out.
Not at all, medium-size game should live in holes, like badgers.Dachshunds are evidently built for holes. They are long and low, andthey have spatulate feet for digging, and their bandy legs enable themto throw the dirt out behind them. Their long, sharp noses are liketweezers to seize upon the medium-size game. In short, by muchrepetition, a legend had grown up around the dachshunds, a legend offierceness inhibited only by circumstances, of pathetic deprivation ofthe sports of their native land. If only we could have a badger, wecould almost hear them say to each other in dog language, a strong,morose, savage badger! Alas! we are wasting our days in idleness, ourtalents rust from disuse! Finally, Uncle Jim remained the only franklyskeptical member.
At this time there visited the ranch two keen sportsmen whom we shallcall Charley and Tommy; as also several girls. We burst on the assembledmultitude with our news. Immediately a council of war was called. Afterthe praetors and tribunes of the people had uttered their opinions,Uncle Jim arose and spoke as follows:
"Here is your chance to make good," said he, addressing Mrs. Kitty."Those badger hounds of yours, according to you, have just been frettingfor medium-size game. Well, here's some. Bring out the whole flock, andlet's see them get busy."
The proposition was received with a shout of rapture Uncle Jim smiledgrimly.
"Well, they'll do it!" cried Mrs. Kitty, with spirit.
Preparations were immediately under way. In half an hour the armydebouched from the ranch and strung out single file across the plain.
First came Uncle Jim and myself in the two-wheeled cart as scouts andguides.
Followed the General in his surrey. The surrey had originally beenintended for idle dalliance along country lanes. In the days of itsglory it had been upholstered right merrily, and around its flat top haddangled a blithesome fringe. Both the upholstery and fringe were stillsomewhat there. Of the glory that was past no other reminder hadpersisted. The General sat squarely in the middle of the front seat,very large, erect, and imposing, driving with a fine military disregardof hummocks or the laws of equilibrium. In or near the back seat hovereda tiny Japanese boy to whom the General occasionally issued short,sharp, military comments or commands.
Then came Mrs. Kitty and the ponies with Carrie beside her. Immediatelyastern of the pony cart followed a three-seated carry-all with assortedguests. This was flanked by the Captain and Charley as outriders. Therear was closed by the Invigorator rilled with dachshunds. Their pointednoses poked busily through the slats of the cage, and sniffed up overthe edge of the wagon box.
The rear, did I say? I had forgotten Mithradates Antikamia Briggs. Thelatter polysyllabic person was a despised, apologetic, rangy,black-and-white mongrel hound said to have belonged somewhere to a mannamed Briggs. I think the rest of his name was intended as an insult.Ordinarily Mithradates hung around the men's quarters where he wasliked. Never had he dared seek either solace or sympathy at the doors ofthe great house; and never, never had he remotely dreamed of followingany of the numerous hunting expeditions. That would have beenlese-majesty, high treason, sublime impudence, and intolerable nuisanceto be punished by banishment or death. Mithradates realized thisperfectly; and never did he presume to raise his eyes to such high andshining affairs.
But to-day he followed. Nobody was subsequently able to explain whyMithradates Antikamia should on this one occasion so have plucked upheart. My private opinion is that he saw the dachshunds being taken,and, in his uncultivated manner, communed with himself as follows:
"Well, will you gaze on that! I don't pretend to be in the same classwith Old Ben or Young Ben, or even of the fox terriers; but if I'm notmore of a dog than that lot of splay-footed freaks, I'll go bite myself!If they're _that_ hard up for dogs, I'll be cornswizzled if I don't gomyself!"
Which he did. We did not want him; this was distinctly the dachshunds'party, and we did not care to have any one messing in. The Captain triedto drive him back. Mithradates Antikamia would not go. The Captaindismounted and tried force. Mithradates shut both eyes, crouched to theground, and immediately weighed a half ton. When punished he rolled overand held all four paws in the air. The minute the Captain turned hisback, after stern admonitions to "go home!" and "down, charge!" and thelike, Mithradates crawled slowly forward to the waiting line, duckinghis head, wrinkling his upper lips ingratiatingly, and sneezing in themost apologetic tones. Finally we gave it up.
"But," we "saved our face," "you'll have to behave when we get there!"
So, as has been said, Mithradates Antikamia Briggs brought up the rear.
Arrived at the tree the whole procession drew into a half circle. Weunblocked the opening, and the Invigorator was driven to a spot beneathit so each person could take his turn at standing on the seat andpeering down the hole. The eyes still glowed like balls of fire.
Next the dachshunds were lifted up one by one and given a chance tosmell at the game. This was to make them keen. Held up by means of ahand held either side their chests, they curled up their hind legs andtails and seemed to endure. Mrs. Kitty explained that they had neverbeen so far off the ground in their lives, and so were naturallypreoccupied by the new sensation. This sounded reasonable, so we placedthem on the ground. There they sat in a circle looking up at ourperformances, a solemn and mild interest expressing itself in theirlugubrious countenances. A dachshund has absolutely no sense of humouror lightness of spirits. He never cavorts.
By sounding carefully with a carriage whip we determined the depth ofthe hole, and proceeded to cut through to the bottom. This was quite ajob, for the oak was tough, and the position difficult. Tommy hadascended the tree, and proclaimed loudly the first signs of daylight asthe axe bit through. Mine happened to be the axe work; so when I hadfinished a neat little orifice, I swung up beside Tommy, and theInvigorator drove out of the way.
My elevated position was a good one; and as Tommy was peering eagerlydown the hole, I had nothing to do but survey the scene.
The rigs were drawn up in a semi-circle twenty yards away. Next thehorses' heads stood the drivers of the various vehicles, anxious to missnone of the fun. The dachshunds sat on their haunches, looking up, andprobably wondering why their friend, Tommy, insisted on roosting up atree. The Captain and Charley were immediately below, engaged in anearnest effort to poke the 'coon into ascending the hole. Tommy wasreporting the result of these efforts from above. The General, his feetfirmly planted, had unlimbered a huge ten-bore shotgun, so as to beready for anything. Uncle Jim stood by, smoking his pipe. MithradatesAntikamia Briggs sat sadly apart.
The poking efforts accomplished little. Occasionally the 'coon made alittle dash or scramble, but never went far. There was a great deal oftalking, shouting, and advice.
At last Uncle Jim, knocking the ashes from his pipe, moved into action.He plucked a double handful of the tall, dry grass, touched a match toit, and thrust it in the nick.
Without the slightest hesitation the 'coon shot out at the top!
Now just at that moment Tommy happened to be leaning over for a right_good_ look down the hole. He received thirty pounds or so of agitated'coon square in the chest. Thereupon he fell out of the treeincontinently, w
ith the 'coon on top of him.
We caught our breath in horror. Although we could plainly see that Tommywas in no degree injured by his short fall, yet we all realized that itwas going to be serious to be mixed up with a raging, snarling beastfight of twenty-two members. When the dachshunds should pounce on theirnatural prey, the medium-size game, poor Tommy would be at the bottom ofthe heap. Several even started forward to restrain the dogs, but stoppedas they realized the impossibilities.
Tommy and the 'coon hit with a thump. The dachshunds took one horrifiedlook; then with the precision of a drilled man[oe]uvre they unanimouslyturned tail and plunged into the tall grass. From my elevated perch Icould see it waving agitatedly as they made their way through it in thedirection of the distant ranch.
For a moment there was astounded silence. Then there arose a shriek ofdelight. The Captain rolled over and over and clutched handfuls of turfin his joy. The General roared great salvos of laughter. Tommy, stillseated where he had fallen, leaned weakly against the tree, the tearscoursing down his cheeks. The rest of the populace lifted up theirvoices and howled. Even Uncle Jim, who rarely laughed aloud, althoughhis eyes always smiled, emitted great Ho! ho!'s. Only Mrs. Kitty, dumbwith indignation, stared speechless after that wriggling mess offugitives.
The occasion was too marvellous. We enjoyed it to the full. Whenever therapture sank somewhat, someone would gasp out a half-remembered bit ofMrs. Kitty's former defences.
"Their long, sharp noses are like tweezers to seize the game!" declaimedCharley, weakly. [Spasm by the audience.]
"Their spatulate feet are meant for digging," the Captain took up thetale. [Another spasm.]
"Their bandy legs enabled them to throw the dirt out behind them--asthey ran," suggested Tommy.
"If _only_ they could have had a badger they'd have beaten all records!"we chorused.
And then finally we wiped our eyes and remembered that there used to bea 'coon. At the same time we became conscious of a most unholy row inthe offing: the voice of Mithradates Antikamia.
"If you people want your 'coon," he was remarking in a staccato andexasperated voice, "you'd better come and lend a hand. _I_ can't managehim alone! The blame thing has bitten me in three places already. Ofcourse, I like to see people have a good time, and I hope you won'tcurtail your enjoyment on my account; but if you've had _quite_ enoughof those made-in-Germany imitations, perhaps you'll just stroll over andsee what one good American-built DOG can do!"
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