Part 12 (1/2)
The black thunderheads that had been surging through Harky's brain changed suddenly to a sky of dazzling blue. Rubber boots were not unknown among c.o.o.n hunters of the Creeping Hills, but except by a few eccentrics, they were unused. A man trying to make time to a tree-barking hound did not care to be slowed by boots.
Harky licked his lips. G.o.d tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, but ice water felt like ice water even to a c.o.o.n hunter and the grove toward which Raw headed was on the far side of Willow Brook. The water was autumn-low with plenty of exposed stones, but jumping them by daylight and jumping them under lantern light were different matters. Harky wasn't sure that even he could cross at night without getting wet.
It looked as though ladies' night at c.o.o.n hunts would terminate abruptly and soon. Harky hoped so, and it would be a nice touch indeed if Melinda sc.r.a.ped her s.h.i.+ns when she fell in.
Willow Brook glinted in the light as Raw Stanfield held his lantern high to see whether they were approaching a pool or riffle. It was a riffle that purled lazily, and coldly, around exposed stones. Harky grinned in the darkness. It _looked_ easy, but there was a trick to it.
Once you started jumping there was no turning back and the stones were unevenly s.p.a.ced. You had to adjust your jumps accordingly, so that it took a really experienced stone jumper to cross in reasonably dry condition.
Contemplating the joys of watching Melinda come reasonably near drowning, Harky made a shocking discovery.
Thunder, Queenie, and Glory still trailed at the heels of the hunters, but Duckfoot was no longer present. Harky gulped, then used the thumb of his left hand to trace a circle on the palm of his right. Less than half a shake ago, Duckfoot had pushed his cold nose into that dangling palm and the circle Harky made there would certainly close him in and bring him back from wherever he had gone. At any rate, it should.
It didn't. Chills never born of the frosty night chased each other up and down Harky's spine. Mun claimed Duckfoot was half duck, Miss Cathby said that couldn't be, and Harky wavered between the two. He looked again, but only three hounds waded into the riffle to join the hunters gathering on the other side. Harky jumped.
If he had his mind on his work, he'd have crossed in perfect safety. But just as he made ready to strike a humpbacked boulder with the sole of his left foot, he miscalculated and struck with the heel. That broke his stride to such an extent that the next jump was six inches short, and instead of landing on a flat-topped rock where he could have balanced, he came down in ten inches of ice water.
Only vast experience as a rock jumper prevented an allover bath; Harky threw himself forward to support his upper body on the flat rock. Then, since it was impossible to get his feet any wetter than they were, he waded the remaining distance.
”Really, Harold,” said Melinda, who was dry as a s.h.i.+ngle under the July sun, ”you did that rather clumsily.”
Harky made a mental note. It was easy to work the pith out of an elderberry stick. Small stones were plentiful. One of the latter, placed in the mouth and blown through the former, was never forgotten by anyone with whom it collided. The next time Harky attended Miss Cathby's school, Melinda was in for an unforgettable experience.
For the moment, since he could do nothing else about her, he could imagine she wasn't along. Harky turned his back on Melinda and addressed Mun:
”Duckfoot's gone.”
”Danged if he ain't,” said Mun, who noticed for the first time that they had only three of the four hounds with which they'd started. ”When'd you note it?”
”Other side of the brook,” Harky said in a hushed voice. ”One minute his nose was in my hand, the next it wasn't. Do you figure he took wings and flew off?”
”It could,” Mun began, but his about-to-be-expressed opinion that such a premise was wholly reasonable was interrupted by Melinda's, ”Nonsense!”
Harky blazed, forgetting his sensible plan to ignore her. ”Watta you know about it?”
”Now don't lose your temper, Harold,” Melinda chided. ”It's silly to suppose Duckfoot's half duck.”
Harky drew his arm back. ”Silly, huh? I've a good mind to--”
”Harky!” Mun roared. ”Men don't hit wimmen!”
”Why don't they?” Harky growled.
”You're being childish, Harold,” Melinda said sweetly. ”Duckfoot's simply gone off somewhere. Perhaps he got tired and went home.”
Harky tried to speak and succeeded only in choking. If it was insult to a.s.sert that Duckfoot could not be half duck, it was heresy even to imply that he left a hunt and went home because he was tired. Harky recovered his breath.
”Duckfoot didn't go home!” he screamed.
”Really, Harold,” Melinda said, ”it isn't necessary to make so much noise.”