Part 18 (1/2)

Duckfoot was not waiting. A little relieved because there was no pursuit and a little worried for the same reason, Old Joe cut a winding trail into the swamp and circled back toward Willow Brook.

He plunged in, and climbed out when he came to another swamp. It was the one he'd sought in February, when he voluntarily left his magic sycamore and stopped to steal a chicken from Mun Mundee on the way. Old Joe went unerringly to the same huge hollow oak.

There was still no hound on his trail and now he thought there'd be none. The finger of providence had crooked at the right moment, and Old Joe would run another autumn.

As he entered the hollow oak, he turned his sensitive nose away from the freezing wind that swept down. His premonition had been correct; winter would soon rule the Creeping Hills.

High in the great oak, Old Joe's sleeping mate awakened to growl. She surged forward and nipped his nose. Old Joe backed hastily away and chittered pleadingly. The next time he advanced, she let him come.

This winter they'd share the same den tree.

Harky Mundee, who knew that a hound should not be heavily fed just before a hunt, still thought it unwise and unfair if they were allowed to run on a completely empty stomach. He chose a pork chop bone and some sc.r.a.ps of meat for Duckfoot's supper and took them out on the porch.

n.o.body had to tell him what had happened.

Duckfoot, who was always fed as soon as Mun and Harky finished eating, appreciated his suppers. Nothing except the scent of a c.o.o.n could force him to be absent when his meal was ready, and the only place he might have scented a c.o.o.n was down in the shocked corn.

Harky took Duckfoot's supper back into the house. Mun looked up inquiringly.

”He's off on a c.o.o.n,” Harky explained. ”One must of come raiding in our corn and he winded it.”

”He must of,” Mun agreed. ”Could it be by any chanst Old Joe, Harky?”

Mun pleaded.

Harky said sadly, ”I can't tell, Pa.”

”Ain't you got a feelin'?” Mun persisted.

”I ain't had any kind of feeling I can count on since the night Melinda horned in on our c.o.o.n hunt.”

Mun sighed unhappily. ”Goshamighty. Wish I'd of turn't her back that night.”

”Wish you had,” Harky agreed. ”We wouldn't be in this fix now.”

”If it's jest a common c.o.o.n, Duckfoot'll soon have it up,” Mun said.

”You can git him an' still have the night to prowl for Old Joe.”

Harky said, ”I'll go out for a listen.”

Harky went out on the porch and strained to hear in the deepening night.

His hopes rose. Duckfoot, a silent trailer, would come silently on any ordinary c.o.o.n that might be raiding the shocked corn and he'd almost surely tree it within hearing of the house. He would not get Old Joe up so easily. Harky rejoined Mun.

”I can't hear anything.”

Mun said, ”It could be Old Joe, then.”

”It could be,” Harky agreed. ”Gol ding it! Are women late for everything? Even c.o.o.n hunts?”