The Fox and the Hound (28 page)

A man in the crowd stopped and lifted a device, holding it to his ear and to his mouth. He seemed to be listening, then talking, then listening again, while all the time the flying creature circled the ridge above Tod. The man lowered the device and looked directly at the ridge. Then he raised something that flashed in the sun, and pointed it directly at Tod. He looked through the object and raised a shout.

Tod needed no more. He ducked over the hill, and ran. There was no use going back toward the other line of men, so he turned left, the Hying thing following him until he reached the shelter of a patch of woods. Here he stopped to get his breath before going on.

A fox dashed past him, going all-out. Tod hesitated a moment and then kept on. Two more foxes ran by, obviously highly agitated. Tod headed for a wild-rose and grapevine tangle that was one of his favorite hideaway spots, but before he could reach it he heard shots and yells ahead of him. Now he knew why the foxes had been running - men were coming from that direction too.

Tod whirled around and ran. There were men on both sides of him and behind him, but straight ahead might still be clear. As he broke out of the cover he saw long lines of men coming down both ridges, and they raised a shout as he appeared. Overhead the plane still droned around in great circles, but Tod paid no attention to that now. He sped for the far end of the valley before he was trapped.

As he ran he heard shots. A fox, wild with fear, cut in front of him and flung himself toward one of the lines of people. Terror-smitten, he ran up and down the line until a shot paralyzed his hindquarters and a boy rushed forward and beat him to death with a stick. Tod had no interest in the other fugitives. He put forth his best speed and reached the ends of the encircling lines before they could close. Here was a vast, broad field without cover enough to hide a rabbit. For a fraction of a second Tod hesitated, but he had no choice. He dashed out across the field, entirely exposed, tensing himself for the shots he knew would come.

There were no shots, only yells, and Tod felt himself to be in the clear. There were no humans ahead of him, only a single car stopped on a rise of ground. Tod naturally avoided the car and made for a distant hedgerow beyond which showed a patch of woodland.

Out of the tail of his eye he saw the car start to move and swing in a wide arc to head him off. Tod altered his course slightly to avoid it. The car put on speed leaping and bucking over uneven ground. Then it reached a plowed stretch and came to an abrupt halt.

        The door flew open and two tall, thin dogs leaped out and raced toward him, slipping in the soft earth. One was brown and one was white. The brown was in the lead, the white one followed as though tied to the first by an invisible leash. Tod was so supremely sure of his ability to outrun any dog that he even slowed down to watch the curious sight. He had never seen any animals like these before and was not even sure they were dogs. They ran at an undulating pace, almost like weasels, at first making a few spy-jumps to see over the rough terrain, and then flattening out with ears laid back as they got their positions. Tod was loafing around, watching them with half-turned head, when he suddenly realized these animals were covering the ground at an alarming speed. Then indeed, Tod ran, putting every last essence of energy into his speed, bitterly regretting the few vital seconds of delay.

To his unbelieving horror, he saw that the long, skinny creatures were fast overhauling him. He could never reach the hedge now, yet he continued to do his best. The white dog had pulled up even with the brown and they were racing in competition, each trying to reach him first. At least they had not spread out to take him from both sides. Coming in from an angle, the brown dog put on a final burst of speed and was on him with wide-stretched jaws.

But the greyhound was going too fast to stop, and ran right over Tod, rolling him on the grass, the snapping jaws missing their hold. Before Tod could regain his feet, the white hound was on top of him, but she also was going too fast in her effort to keep up with her partner, and missed. Tod came up on his feet and was off again, now forced to run parallel to the hedgerow instead of straight toward it. Both hounds had recovered themselves and were after him. Tod had taken advantage of his little lead to duck into a shallow dip deep enough to have hidden him from an ordinary dog, but these long-legged creatures stood so high they saw him easily.

The tan hound was up to him now, clearly the faster of the two. Tod managed to duck around a thistle, and the hound went by, going almost over on his side as he tried to turn. Then the white hound was there. She had been running cunning, following behind her partner, prepared to grab if the tan hound bowled him over again. She swung in from the side, expecting him to dodge again. Tod knew it and instead dropped Hat. She went over him, turning within her own length as the tan hound came back. Side by side they charged him. Tod dived between them, and they bumped into each other trying to grab him. This gave him a few instants' start and he made another try for the hedge.

The hounds easily cut him off, and again the tan hound was in the lead. Tod doubled under the gleaming white teeth. With his great brush serving as a counterweight, he could turn quicker than the hounds, although not much quicker than the white bitch. She was on him now, but another thistle was there and he spun around it, the hound going wide. Tod now had a clear field for the hedge, and made the most of it. By the time the greyhounds were up with him again, he had almost reached his haven.

Frantically snapping, the hounds plunged at him; but now Tod knew that although the tan was the faster, he was slow at turns. He ducked under the tan hound's stroke and gained a few more feet toward the hedge before the white hound turned him. Again and again, he seemed to be in the hounds' jaws, but each time he managed to twist out of the way, sometimes flirting his brush across their eyes as they struck, sometimes ducking under their long legs, sometimes twisting to the left or right, but always after each of the turns working his way closer to the hedge. At last he was almost there, and Tod decided to make a dash for it.

He broke away from the white bitch and made his last bid for freedom. Their backs bent like snakes, the hounds were after him. He saw them, smelled them, felt their gasping breath on his ears but was too tired to dodge again. His whiskers were touching the poison ivy covering the locust posts when the bitch grabbed him.

She was going too fast to pin him down, so she tossed him. Tod felt himself go up in the air, and writhed desperately so he would land on his feet. As he hit the ground, he saw the tan dog, who should have been underneath waiting for him, lying on one side. The greyhound had made too close a turn, and fallen. The white bitch was doubling to grab him, but Tod had a moment's respite. As he flung himself under the ivy, it closed around him.

Even now he was not safe. The hounds easily jumped the hedge and rushed up and down looking for him. They had poor noses but were not utterly devoid of smell, for the bitch found him and with an eager yelp tried to pull him out. Tod bit her hard in the nose, and the yelp turned to a scream of pain. The tan hound was there now; he was too big for Tod to fight. Tod wormed his way through the ivy with the hounds raging outside, forcing their long, thin muzzles in after him and vaulting from one side of the hedge to the other, trying to find an opening

among the ropey stems.

Tod heard the car come roaring up, and the men jumped out, shouting excitedly. Tired as he was, he had to make another effort. Waiting until both his oppressors were on the same side of the hedge as the car, Tod made a break across the next field.

He got a good distance before he heard a shout that meant he was seen. This was another vast, open field, and Tod knew he could never make it to the distant woods. He was too tired to dodge any more and he heard the greyhounds coming. He nerved himself for the death fight as they closed in.

Ahead was a barbed-wire fence. Tod slipped under the lower strand, ran a few feet, and turned at bay with bent back and jaws open for the finish.

The tan greyhound was going all-out, intent on the fox ahead of him. Astonished, Tod saw him hit the almost invisible wires, rebound from them doubled up like a ball, and fall helpless with a broken back. The white bitch saw the danger at the last instant and tried to turn, her whiplike tail thrashing as she twisted. Tod saw her slide on the wet grass and hit the barbs sideways. He heard the barbs tear through her hide and saw gashes Hash up along her white coat as she screeched in pain. She limped off past her partner, who lay hopelessly crippled and scarcely alive.

The men were climbing over the hedge. Tod did not wait for them. Turning, he started off again, now going at little more than a trot. He was thoroughly drained of all energy, and had the men put forth their best efforts they might even have been able to run him down, but they stayed with the hounds. Tod made it to the woods, crawled into the deepest cover he could find, and then collapsed, utterly and completely beaten.

No matter how hard a run had been, Tod had always been able to snap back the next day; but this time he could not, nor the day after that, or after that. Even when he could hunt again, he had to rest going up a steep hill; and, after a fast, hard spurt when chasing a rabbit, a burning pain often shot through his chest and he was forced to stop, gasping for breath. He began to live more and more on mice and whatever plants he could find in the receding woodlots.

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The Last Hunt

Copper no longer dreamed of deer hunting or fox hunting. His dreams now were disordered nightmares that made the hound twist and moan until the Master shook him awake. Copper had once loved to sleep, taking a dozen little catnaps a day, but now he feared sleep because of the torment of his dreams. When he slept, it was only because of exhaustion, and he spent most of his time dozing in a corner of the cabin on a heap of sacks.

One by one Copper had seen the other hounds go, at first indifferently and then with increasing concern. Even though he had never been especially friendly with the other dogs, he missed them now they were gone. Even the constant quarrels they had had - the fights over food, the barking, the jealousies - gave a purpose to life. Each dog had had his own special barrel kennel and own domain marked by the length of his chain that he knew belonged to him. Now the kennel hill was gone, covered with new houses; the old familiar dogwoods, button- woods, and elms that shaded the dogs during the summer had been cut down, and Copper had been brought into the cabin to live alone with the Master.

Copper knew why these strange, unnatural dreams came to torture him. Even when asleep he had to breathe, and the air was now polluted. It brought him no delightful, intriguing messages, for it was poisoned with the stench of exhaust fumes, factories, and dozens of dead, lifeless odors. Perhaps even worse was the constant noise - the continual droning whine of trucks on the highways, the drumming beat of the turbines of a giant pumping station that had been recently erected and ran night and day. Often this station filled the air with a sickening stench of gas, while the factories gave off a fine soot that covered the ground like a poisonous black hoarfrost. He missed the pleasant smell of the trees, the pure quality of the air under their leaves, and the damp, clean earth that lay under their shelter. With his delicate nose and acute sense of hearing, Copper was extremely conscious of these changes. He could not see the traffic or the factories, and wondered why the Master when he stood in the doorway looking over the once lovely valley so often sighed.

It was many months since he and the Master had gone hunting, and hunting was Copper's life. When the Master took him walking now, it was always on a lead and over hard concrete pavements that hurt his feet and gave out no interesting smells. The Master never shouted and laughed or played with him anymore; he was always silent and sad, and increasingly there was a smell of alcohol in the little cabin. It frightened Copper to see the Master stagger and sometimes fall, for he could not understand what was wrong with him. The old hound cowered in his corner, and was always relieved when the Master finally collapsed across the bed and after a few minutes began to snore loudly.

But no matter how bad things might be, as long as he had the Master, Copper could not be really miserable. Then something had happened which, although he could not understand its import, Copper sensed meant ultimate disaster.

The new people who had moved in did not like the Master. They seldom spoke to him, and when they did there was a contemptuous note in their voices that Copper felt. The Master was always cast down after these encounters, but they bothered Copper not a whit, for to him no humans except the Master really existed.