Where the Red Fern Grows

  “Wonder why they did that?” someone asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Benson replied, “unless they ran in that circle to keep from freezing to death, or to keep the coon in the tree.”

  I figured I knew why my dogs were covered with ice. The coon had probably crossed the river, maybe several times. Old Dan and Little Ann would have followed him. They had come out of the river with their coats dripping wet, and the freezing blast of the blizzard had done the rest.

  Nearing the tree, we stopped and stared.

  “Did you ever see anything like that?” Mr. Benson asked. “When I first saw them, I thought they were white wolves.”

  My dogs hadn’t seen us when we came up. They were trotting round and round. Just as Mr. Benson had said, we could see the path they had worn down through the ice and snow till the bare black earth was visible. Like ghostly white shadows, around and around they trotted.

  In a low voice, someone said, “They know that if they stop they’ll freeze to death.”

  “It’s unbelievable,” said Mr. Kyle. “Come on. We must do something quick.”

  With a choking sob, I ran for my dogs.

  On hearing our approach, they sat down and started bawling treed. I noticed their voices didn’t have that solid ring. Their ice-covered tails made a rattling sound as they switched this way and that on the icy ground.

  A large fire was built. Standing my dogs close to the warm heat, the gentle hands of the hunters went to work. With handkerchiefs and scarves heated steaming hot, little by little the ice was thawed from their bodies.

  “If they had ever lain down,” someone said, “they would’ve frozen to death.”

  “They knew it,” another said. “That’s why they kept running in that circle.”

  “What I can’t understand is why they stayed with the tree,” Mr. Benson said. “I’ve seen hounds stay with a tree for a while, but not in a northern blizzard.”

  “Men,” said Mr. Kyle, “people have been trying to understand dogs ever since the beginning of time. One never knows what they’ll do. You can read every day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child, or lay down his life for his master. Some people call this loyalty. I don’t. I may be wrong, but I call it love—the deepest kind of love.”

  After these words were spoken, a thoughtful silence settled over the men. The mood was broken by the deep growling voice I had heard back in the washout.

  “It’s a shame that people all over the world can’t have that kind of love in their hearts,” he said. “There would be no wars, slaughter, or murder; no greed or selfishness. It would be the kind of world that God wants us to have—a wonderful world.”

  After all the ice was thawed from my dogs and their coats were dried out, I could see they were all right. I was happy again and felt good all over.

  One of the hunters said, “Do you think those hounds are thawed out enough to fight a coon?”

  “Sure, just run him out of that tree,” I said.

  At the crack of the gun, the coon ran far out on a big limb and stopped. Again the hunter sprinkled him with bird shot. This time he jumped. Hitting the ground, he crouched down.

  Old Dan made a lunge. Just as he reached him, the coon sprang straight up and came down on his head. Holding on with his claws, the coon sank his teeth in a long tender ear. Old Dan was furious. He started turning in a circle, bawling with pain.

  Little Ann was trying hard to get ahold of the coon but she couldn’t. Because of his fast circling, Old Dan’s feet flew out from under him and he fell. This gave Little Ann a chance. Darting in, her jaws closed on the back of the coon’s neck. I knew the fight was over.

  Arriving back at camp, I saw that all the tents had been taken down but ours. A hunter said, “Everyone was in a hurry to get out before another blizzard sets in.”

  Papa told me to take my dogs into the tent as Grandpa wanted to see them.

  I saw tears in my grandfather’s eyes as he talked to them. His ankle was wrapped in bandages. His foot and toes were swollen to twice their normal size. They had turned a greenish-yellow color. Placing my hand on his foot, I could feel the feverish heat.

  Dr. Lathman came over. “Are you ready to go now?” he asked.

  Snorting and growling, Grandpa said, “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere till I see the gold cup handed to this boy.”

  Turning to face the crowd, Dr. Lathman said, “Men, let’s get this over. I want to get this man to town. That’s one of the meanest sprains I’ve ever seen and it should be in a cast, but I don’t have any plaster of Paris with me.”

  The hunter who had come by our tent collecting the jackpot money came up to me. Handing me the box, he said, “Here you are, son. There’s over three hundred dollars in this box. It’s all yours.”

  Turning to the crowd, he said, “Fellows, I can always say this. On this hunt I’ve seen two of the finest little coon hounds I ever hope to see.”

  There was a roar of approval from the crowd.

  Looking down, I saw the box was almost full of money. I was shaking all over. I tried to say “Thanks,” but it was only a whisper. Turning, I handed the box to my father. As his rough old hands closed around it, I saw a strange look come over his face. He turned and looked at my dogs.

  Some of the men started shouting, “Here it is!”

  The crowd parted and the judge walked through. I saw the gleaming metal of the gold cup in his hand. After a short speech, he handed it to me, saying, “Son, this makes me very proud. It’s a great honor to present you with this championship cup.”

  The crowd exploded. The hunters’ shouts were deafening.

  I don’t know from where the two silly old tears came. They just squeezed their way out. I felt them as they rolled down my cheeks. One dropped on the smooth surface of the cup and splattered. I wiped it away with my sleeve.

  Turning to my dogs, I knelt down and showed the cup to them. Little Ann licked it. Old Dan sniffed one time, and then turned his head away.

  The judge said, “Son, there’s a place on the cup to engrave the names of your dogs. I can take it into Oklahoma City and have it done, or you can have it done yourself. The engraving charge has already been paid by the association.”

  Looking at the cup, it seemed that far down in the gleaming shadows I could see two wide blue eyes glued to a windowpane. I knew that my little sister was watching the road and waiting for our return. Looking back at the judge, I said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll take it with me. My grandfather can send it in for me.”

  Laughing, he said, “That’s all right.” Handing me a slip of paper, he said, “This is the address where you should send it.”

  Grandpa said, “Now that that’s settled, I’m ready to go to town.” Turning to Papa, he said, “You’ll have to bring the buggy, and I wish you’d look after my stock. I know Grandma will want to go in with us and there’ll be no one there to feed them. Tell Bill Lowery to come up and take care of the store. You’ll find the keys in the usual place.”

  “Well take care of everything,” Papa said. “Don’t worry about a thing. I don’t intend to stop until we get back, because it looks like we’re in for some more bad weather.”

  I went over and kissed Grandpa good-bye. He pinched my cheek, and whispered, “We’ll teach these city slickers that they can’t come up here and beat our dogs.”

  I smiled.

  Grandpa was carried out and made comfortable in the back seat of Dr. Lathman’s car. I stood and watched as it wheezed and bounced its way out of sight.

  “While I’m harnessing the team,” Papa said, “you take the tent down and pack our gear.”

  On the back seat of the buggy, I made a bed out of our bed-clothes. Down on the floor boards, I fixed a nice place for my dogs.

  All through the night, the creaking wheels of our buggy moved on. Several times I woke up. My father had wrapped a tarp around himself. Reaching down, I could feel my dogs. They were warm and comfortable.

  Early the next mo
rning, we stopped for breakfast. While Papa tended to the team, I turned my dogs loose and let them stretch.

  “We made good time last night,” Papa said. “If everything goes right, we’ll be home long before dark.”

  Reaching Grandpa’s store in the middle of the afternoon, Papa said, “I’ll put the team in the barn and feed the stock while you unload the buggy.”

  Coming back from the barn, he said, “In the morning, I’ll go over and tell Bill Lowery to come up and open the store.”

  Looking around, he said, “It snowed more here than it did where we were hunting.”

  Feeling big and important, I said, “I don’t like the looks of this weather. We’d better be scooting for home.”

  Papa laughed. “Sure you’re not in a hurry to get home to show off the gold cup?” he asked.

  A smile was my only answer.

  Two hundred yards this side of our home, the road made a turn around a low foothill shutting our house off from view.

  Papa said, “You’re going to see a scramble as soon as we round that bend.”

  It was more of a stampede than a scramble. The little one came out first, and all but tore the screen door from its hinges. The older girls passed her just beyond the gate. In her hurry, she slipped and fell face down in the snow. She started crying.

  The older girls ran up asking for the cup.

  Holding it high over my head, I said, “Now wait a minute. I’ve got another one for you two.” I held the small silver cup out to them.

  While they were fighting over it, I ran to the little one. Picking her up, I brushed the snow from her long, braided hair and her tear-stained face. I told her there was no use to cry. I had brought the gold cup to her, and no one else was going to get it.

  Reaching for the cup, she wrapped her small arms around it. Squeezing it up tight, she ran for the house to show it to Mama.

  Mama came out on the porch. She was just as excited as the girls were. She held out her arms. I ran to her. She hugged me and kissed me.

  “It’s good to have you home again,” she said.

  “Look what I have, Mama,” the little one cried, “and it’s all mine.”

  She held the golden cup out in her two small hands.

  As Mama took the beautiful cup, she looked at me. She started to say something but was interrupted by the cries from the other girls.

  “We have one, too, Mama,” they cried, “and it’s just as pretty as that one.”

  “It’s not either,” the little one piped in a defiant voice. “It’s not even as big as mine.”

  “Two cups!” Mama exclaimed. “Did you win two?”

  “Yes, Mama,” I said. “Little Ann won that one all by herself.”

  The awed expression on my mother’s face was wonderful to see. Holding a cup in each hand, she held them out in front of her.

  “Two,” she said. “A gold one and a silver one. Who would have thought anything so wonderful could have happened to us. I’m so proud; so very proud.”

  Handing the cups back to the girls, she walked over to Papa. After kissing him, she said, “I just can’t believe everything that has happened. I’m so glad you went along. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  With a smile on his face, Papa almost shouted, “Enjoy myself? Why, I never had such a time in my life.”

  His voice trailed off to a low calm, “That is, except for one thing. Grandpa had a bad accident.”

  “Yes, I know,” Mama said. “One of Tom Logan’s boys was at the store when they arrived. He came by and told us all about it. The doctor said it wasn’t as bad as it looked, and he was pretty sure Grandpa would be home in a few days.”

  I was happy to hear this news, and could tell by the pleased look on my father’s face, he was glad to hear it, too.

  On entering the house, Papa said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He handed the box of money to Mama.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s just a little gift from Old Dan and Little Ann,” Papa said.

  Mama opened the box. I saw the color drain from her face. Her hands started trembling. Turning her back to us, she walked over and set it on the mantel. A peaceful silence settled over the room. I could hear the clock ticking away. The fire in the fireplace crackled and popped.

  Turning from the mantel, Mama looked straight at us. Her lips were tightly pressed together to keep them from quivering. Walking slowly to Papa, she buried her face in his chest. I heard her say, “Thank God, my prayers have been answered.”

  There was a celebration in our home that night. To me it was like a second Christmas.

  Mama opened a jar of huckleberries and made a large cobbler. Papa went to the smokehouse and came back with a hickory-cured ham. We sat down to a feast of the ham, huge plates of fried potatoes, ham gravy, hot corn bread, fresh butter, and wild bee honey.

  During the course of the meal, the entire story of the championship hunt was told, some by Papa but mostly by me.

  Just when everything was so perfect and peaceful, an argument sprang up between the two oldest girls. It seemed that each wanted to claim the silver cup. Just when they were on the verge of sawing it in two, so each would have her allotted share, Papa settled the squabble by giving the oldest one a silver dollar. Once again peace and harmony was restored.

  That night as I was preparing for bed, a light flashed by my window. Puzzled, I tiptoed over and peeked through the pane. It was Mama. Carrying my lantern and two large plates heaped high with food, she was heading for the doghouse. Setting the light down on the ground in front of it, she called to my dogs. While they were eating, Mama did something I couldn’t understand. She knelt down on her knees in prayer.

  After they had eaten their food, Mama started petting them. I could hear her voice but couldn’t make out her words. Whatever she was saying must have pleased them. Little Ann wiggled and twisted. Even Old Dan wagged his long red tail, which was very unusual.

  Papa came out. I saw him put his arm around Mama. Side by side they stood for several minutes looking at my dogs. When they turned to enter the house, I saw Mama dab at her eyes with her apron.

  Lying in bed, staring into the darkness, I tried hard to figure out the strange actions of my parents. Why had Mama knelt in prayer in front of my dogs? Why had she wept?

  I was running all the why’s around in my mind when I heard them talking.

  “I know,” Papa said, “but I think there’s a way. I’m going to have a talk with Grandpa. I don’t think that old foot of his is ever going to be the same again. He’s going to need some help around the store.”

  I knew they were talking about me, but I couldn’t understand what they meant. Then I thought, “Why, that’s it. They want me to help Grandpa.” That would be all right with me. I could still hunt every night.

  Feeling smart for figuring out their conversation, I turned over and fell asleep.

  XIX

  ALTHOUGH THE WINNING OF THE CUPS AND THE MONEY WAS a big event in my life, it didn’t change my hunting any. I was out after the ringtails every night.

  I had been hunting the river bottoms hard for about three weeks. On that night, I decided to go back to the Cyclone Timber country. I had barely reached the hunting ground when my dogs struck a trail. Old Dan opened up first.

  They struck the trail on a ridge and then dropped down into a deep canyon, up the other side, and broke out into some flats. I could tell that the scent was hot from their steady bawling. Three times they treed the animal.

  Every time I came close to the tree, the animal would jump, and the race would be on. After a while, I knew it wasn’t a coon. I decided it was a bobcat.

  I didn’t like to have my dogs tree the big cats, for their fur wasn’t any good, and all I could expect was two cut-up hounds.

  They could kill the largest bobcat in the hills, and had on several occasions, but to me it was useless. The only good I could see in killing one was getting rid of a vicious predatory animal.

  The fourth ti
me they treed, they were on top of a mountain. After the long chase, I figured the animal was winded and would stay in the tree. In a trot I started to them.

  As I neared the tree, Little Ann came to me, reared up, and whined. By her actions, I knew something was wrong. I stopped. In the moonlight, I could see Old Dan sitting on his haunches, staring up at the tree and bawling.

  The tree had lots of dead leaves on it. I knew it was a large white oak because it is one of the last trees in the mountains to lose its leaves.

  Old Dan kept bawling. Then he did something he had never done before. For seconds his deep voice was still, and silence settled over the mountains. My eyes wandered from the tree to him. His lips were curled back and he snarled as he stared into the dark foliage of the tree. His teeth gleamed white in the moonlight. The hair on his neck and along his back stood on end. A low, deep, rumbling growl rolled from his throat.

  I was scared and I called to him. I wanted to get away from there. Again I called, but it was no use. He wouldn’t leave the tree, for in his veins flowed the breeded blood of a hunting hound. In his fighting heart, there was no fear.

  I set the lantern down and tightened my grip on the handle of the ax. Slowly I started walking toward him. I thought, “If I can get close enough to him, I can grab his collar.” I kept my eyes on the tree as I edged forward. Little Ann stayed by my side. She, too, was watching the tree.

  Then I saw them—two burning, yellow eyes—staring at me from the shadowy foliage of the tree. I stopped, petrified with fear.

  The deep baying of Old Dan stopped and again the silence closed in.

  I stared back at the unblinking eyes.

  I could make out the bulk of a large animal, crouched on a huge branch, close to the trunk of the big tree. Then it moved. I heard the scratch of razor-sharp claws on the bark. It stood up and moved out of the shadows on to the limb. I saw it clearly as it passed between the moon and me. I knew what it was. It was the devil cat of the Ozarks, the mountain lion.

  The silence was shattered by one long, loud bawl from Old Dan. I’d never heard my dog bawl like that. It was different. His voice rang out over the mountains, loud and clear. The vibration of the deep tones rolled in the silence of the frosty night, on and on, out over the flats, down in the canyons, and died away in the rimrocks, like the cry of a lost soul. Old Dan had voiced his challenge to the devil cat.