Part 2 (1/2)

”A right smart time, Harky. There's them'll tell you that even if a c.o.o.n don't get trapped, or shot, or dog kil't, or die no death 'fore his time, he'll live only about ten years anyhow. I reckon that may be so if you mean just _ordinary_ c.o.o.ns. Old Joe, he ain't no ordinary c.o.o.n. My grandpa hunted him, an' my pa, an' me, an' you've hunted him. Old Joe, he's jest about as much of a fixture in these hills as us Mundees.”

Harky pondered this information. When he went to school down at the Crossroads, which he did whenever he couldn't get out of it, he had acquired some education. But he had also acquired some disturbing information. Miss Cathby, who taught all eight grades, was a very earnest soul dedicated to the proposition that the children in her care must not grow up to wallow in the same mora.s.s of mingled ignorance and superst.i.tion that surrounded their fathers and mothers.

Miss Cathby had pointed out, and produced scientific statistics to prove, that the moon was nothing more than a satellite of the earth. As such, its influence over earth dwellers was strictly limited. The moon was responsible for tides and other things about which Miss Cathby had been very vague because she didn't know. But she did know that the moon could not affect birth, death, or destiny.

Old Joe had been the subject of another of Miss Cathby's lectures. He was just a big c.o.o.n, she said, though she misp.r.o.nounced it ”racc.o.o.n.” It was absurd even to think that he had been living in the Creeping Hills forever. Old Joe's predecessor had also been just a big racc.o.o.n. Since Old Joe was mortal, and like all mortals must eventually pa.s.s to his everlasting reward, his successor would be in all probability the next biggest racc.o.o.n.

Harky conceded that she had something to offer. But it also seemed that Mun had much on his side, and on the whole, Mun's conception of the real and earnest life was far more interesting than Miss Cathby's. She got her information from books that were all right but sort of small. Mun took his lore from the limitless woods.

”How long have us Mundees been here?” Harky asked.

”My grandpa, your great-grandpa, settled this very farm fifty-one years past come April nineteen,” Mun said proudly.

”Where did he come from?”

”He never did say,” Mun admitted.

”Didn't n.o.body ask?”

”'Twas thought best not to ask,” Mun said. ”Blast it, Harky! What's chewin' on you? Ain't it enough to know where your grandpa come from?”

”Why--why yes.”

Confused for the moment, Harky went back to fundamentals. His great-grandfather had settled the Mundee farm fifty-one years ago. He was thirteen. Thirteen from fifty-one left thirty-eight years that Mundees had lived on the farm before Harky was even born.

Confusion gave way to mingled awe and pride. Old Joe was not the only tradition in the Creeping Hills. The Mundees were fully as famous and had as much right to call themselves old-timers. For that matter, so did Precious Sue. The last of a line of hounds brought to the Creeping Hills by Mun's grandfather, her breed was doomed unless Mun found a suitable mate for her. But better to let the breed die than to offer Precious Sue an unworthy mate.

Mun said, ”Reckon we'd best get in.”

”Yes, Pa.”

Side by side they started down the soggy path toward the house. Precious Sue left her bed on the porch and came to meet them.

She was medium-sized, and her dark undercoat was dappled with bluish spots, or ticks. Shredded ears bore mute testimony to her many battles with c.o.o.ns. Though she ate prodigious meals, every slatted rib showed, her paunch was lean, and k.n.o.bby hip bones thrust over her back.

Outwardly, Precious Sue resembled nothing so much as an emaciated alligator.

For all the c.o.o.n hunters of the Creeping Hills cared she could have _been_ an alligator, as long as she continued to perform with such consummate artistry on a c.o.o.n's track. Though a casual observer might have deduced that Precious Sue had trouble just holding herself up, she had once disappeared for forty-eight hours. Mun finally found her under the same tree, and holding the same c.o.o.n, that she must have run up two hours after starting. She was one of the very few hounds that had ever forced Old Joe to seek a refuge in his magic sycamore, and no hound could do more.

Unfortunately, she lived under a curse. The only pup of what should have been an abundant litter, a bad enough thing if considered by itself, Precious Sue had been born on a wild night at the wrong time of the moon. Therefore, she had a streak of wildness that must a.s.sert itself whenever the moon was dark. If she were run at such times, she must surely meet disaster. But as Precious Sue met and fell in beside them, Harky thought only of his dream.

”Do you think Old Joe will prowl tonight?” he asked his father.

”What you drivin' at, Harky?”

”I was thinking Old Joe might prowl, and come here, and Sue will run him up that sycamore in the woodlot, and--”

”Harky!” Mun thundered. ”Heed what you say!”

”Huh?” Harky asked bewilderedly.