Читать книгу Big Red - Jim Kjelgaard - Страница 4

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The sun rose over Stoney Lonesome, and hung like a burning balloon in the sky as Danny danced back up the Smokey Creek trail. The savage, silent, head-swinging bear still roamed the Wintapi, an implacable, hating enemy of all the humans who trod there. But the bear was like the snows that piled up, the gales that roared through the forest, the occasional fire, all the things that those who lived in the Wintapi had to accept as a matter of course and deal with as best they could. The Wintapi could be a hard and lonely place.

But, hard as it might be, it would never again be lonely. Danny shook his whirling head, trying to arrange in some order the events that had brought about this miracle. He looked at the great red dog pacing beside him, and when he was safely screened by the forest knelt to pass both arms about Red's neck and hug him tightly. To be sure it was not his dog in the same sense that the mule, the hounds, and the four pigs were owned by his father. But as Red's caretaker he would naturally keep the dog with him; Mr. Haggin himself had said that.

Danny whirled into the clearing, waltzed with Red up the shanty steps, and burst through the door. Ross's rifle and belt of cartridges leaned beside it. A made-up pack lay on the table, and his father was lacing a pair of hiking moccasins on his bare feet.

"Pappy, I'm goin' to New York!" Danny shouted.

"You're what?"

Danny sat breathlessly down on a chair. Red padded over, laid his head on Danny's knee, and turned his eyes to watch Ross, as though trying to fathom the welcome that he might expect from this other occupant of his new home. Outside, the four chained hounds whined uneasily and Asa sent an ear-splitting bray screaming across the pasture. Danny tickled Red's ear, and the big setter sighed happily. Starry-eyed, Danny stared at the shaft of sunlight streaming through the open door, and his feet seemed to be carrying him step by step back up it. He was jarred back to earth by Ross's gentle, "Speak sensible, boy."

"Yes, Pappy. I'm goin' to New York."

"That ain't sensible."

"But I am!" Danny insisted. "Mr. Haggin's sendin' Red down there to a show. That Fraley, he's takin' him and I'm goin' along to watch!"

"Sure, you're funnin' with me."

"I'm not. I was goin' to take Red back to Mr. Haggin. Instead, he lit out after that big bear that's been plaguin' us for so long. I had to find him. Red run that bear right to a standstill!"

"That dog run Ol' Majesty to a standstill?"

"Yes, sir."

"I hardly believe it," Ross breathed. "Go on, Danny."

"Red had the bear on a rock, way back in the pine valleys," Danny continued. "I could of shot, but didn't on account I knew the bear'd tumble off the rock and hurt the dog. So I caught up the dog and took him back to Mr. Haggin. That Fraley, he started a fuss. Then Mr. Haggin come. He said he could see the dog wasn't hurt. Then he told me that he was startin' a new kennel, and I was the one to take charge of it! First thing I got to do is go to New York and see Red in the dog show. Then I'm goin' to bring him back and we're goin' to keep him here."

Ross said, "That do beat all!"

He sat staring at the floor, but when he turned his eyes on Danny pride and pleasure lighted them. A wandering trapper most of his life, he had settled in the Wintapi twenty years ago. He knew his own handicaps and limitations, and since Danny was born he had striven desperately but hopelessly to give him some of the better things. Danny was not just a trapper. He was like his dead mother, with all her charm and intelligence. The pride in Ross's eyes increased. Quality, whether it was in a man or dog, just couldn't be hidden.

"Pappy," Danny asked seriously, "why do you think Mr. Haggin wants me to go?"

"I dunno, Danny. Mebbe he figures you're goin' to be a good enough dog man to handle his dogs at them big places."

Ross looked thoughtfully at his son. Danny had been a natural dog handler since babyhood, and if he could have an opportunity such as this...Ross had been around enough to know that people who handled rich men's dogs could make more money in a year than some trappers made in a lifetime. They could be somebody, too.

"Get some sleep, boy," Ross advised. "Your eyes are redder'n an old coon's that's been runnin' the cricks three nights straight."

"I'm not tired."

"Of course you're not. You ain't been up but two days and two nights. If you're goin' to New York with Red, you got to be ready. Lie down a bit of time."

"Well, mebbe a bit of time."

Danny lay down on his bed and Red curled up beside it. Danny's hand trailed over the side of the bed, feeling the big dog's furry back and assuring himself that it was really there. Ross put the yoke across his shoulders, hung his empty honey pails on it, closed the door softly behind him, and went into the woods.

Danny awoke with a start. The smell of frying pork chops tickled his nostrils. Red was sitting in the doorway, happy tail thumping the floor. Ross stood over the kitchen stove, turning pork chops in a skillet, and the long shades of evening were stealing across the clearing in the beech woods. Danny sprang out of bed, and looked at the windows.

"It's night!"

"Sure," Ross grinned. "For a man who wasn't tired, you did right well. That big red dog has been sittin' there watchin' me for the whole hour I been home. I think he would of bit me if I'd woke you."

Red trotted back to Danny, buried his muzzle in Danny's cupped hand, and sniffed. Danny looked away, and Red bumped his forehead gently against Danny's wrist, demanding more attention. Ross looked proudly from Danny to the dog, and his eyes drank in all the things that a born dog man will see in a fine dog.

"He's goin' to be the best varmint dog we ever had, Danny," he finally pronounced.

"Varmint dog?"

"Sure. You ain't just goin' to keep him in the house. That dog's got to hunt. It's born in him."

"I reckon you're right, Pappy."

Danny swung out of bed, crossed the floor to the two tin pails that stood on a wooden shelf, and poured a basin full of water. He washed his face and hands, and tried to bring from among the thoughts in his mind one that sought expression. But he could not quite find it. Red a varmint dog...Of course he would be a very good one, or he never could have bayed Old Majesty. A frown crossed Danny's brow, and he sat down to eat the fried potatoes and chops his father had prepared. Red caught a piece of meat tossed to him, and swallowed it daintily. Ross watched him. "I'm right proud," he said, "to have a dog like that around. He's goin' to do a lot for us, Danny."

"I reckon he is."

"Yes, sir," Ross said profoundly. "We'll get more varmints this year than we ever had before. Is Mr. Haggin goin' to pay you anything for his keep?"

"Gee. I dunno."

"He needn't," Ross observed. "Such a dog will pay for his own keep, and ours too. By the way, one of Mr. Haggin's hired men was up here about two hours past. He wants you should bring the dog down, come mornin', so you can go to New York."

"He did? Then I guess we're really goin' after all."

"You sure are. You'll see a heap of sights in New York, Danny. I come close to goin' there once, for a pelt man. But I couldn't abide in a city."

"I couldn't either."

"I know it, Danny. But you can go there sometimes without hurtin' you. If you're finished, take your dog out and get him acquainted. I'll wash the dishes."

With Red trailing at his heels, Danny walked through the door into the evening twilight. The four chained hounds sulked beside their kennels. Old Mike, leader of the pack, raised his lips to disclose long fangs. Red trotted stiffly up, and Mike came stiffly forward. The two dogs sniffed noses and Mike, who knew a superior when he met one, sat down to watch with mournful eyes while Red nosed around an inviting patch of briers. A rabbit burst out of them, and went scooting toward the forest with Red in close pursuit. Forgetting their resentment, the four hounds bayed thunderous encouragement. The rabbit dived into a hole beneath a pile of rocks.

Danny watched critically. It was an amateurish exhibition in a way. Red had a good nose but lacked experience. Old Mike would have known that the rabbit was faster than he, and would have worked out a ruse to try and catch it by strategy. But Red was fast and smart. He would learn anything a dog could learn.

Danny took him over to the pasture. The black and white cow, feet braced and head extended, stared at this newcomer into the Pickett domain. The mule, customarily indifferent to everything except food, ignored Red and went right on cropping the short grass. Danny swung for a short walk in the woods, and when they returned to the shanty Ross was sitting at the table sharpening fish hooks. He looked up.

"How'd he do?"

"All right. He needs some smartin' up, but he'll do good."

"Sure he will. You best get some sleep."

Danny yawned. "I got up just four hours past."

"You could still sleep some more."

Danny folded an old quilt, and spread it on the floor near his bed. He took off his clothes and lay down, again letting his hand trail over the side of the bed and caress the big setter's back. He wasn't sleepy; a man who had slept from dawn to dark just couldn't be. Red sighed happily, and Danny wriggled on the bed. Slowly he faded into sound slumber, until he was awakened by the sound of Red's toenails clicking on the uncarpeted floor. The big dog padded to the door, then came back to rear on the bed and nudge Danny's shoulder with his muzzle. Danny rolled over and sat up. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. A chattering flicker's strident call rattled through the morning.

Danny swung out of bed, started a wood fire in the kitchen stove, and mixed pancake batter in a bowl. Ross stirred sleepily, and came into the kitchen to wash his face and hands in the tin basin. They ate breakfast, and Red expertly caught the bits of pancake Danny tossed to him. Danny picked up his fork, and drummed on the table's edge with its handle.

"You ever been to a dog show, Pappy?"

"Nope. Never have. But now that I'm older, it's often my wish that I had gone around to see more things when I was young. Whyfore you fidgetin'?"

"I dunno."

Ross grinned. "Put on your good clothes and pack your baggage. Then git on down to Mr. Haggin's. I'll take care of things here."

"I can't leave you with all the work!"

"Nine dishes to wash off," Ross scoffed. "Git goin'."

"Well, all right."

Danny donned his one presentable suit of clothes, painfully knotted a bright blue tie about his throat, and packed Ross's worn carpetbag. He stood stiffly before the door, with his hand on the knob, and Ross glanced at him with studied unconcern.

"I'll see you when you come back. Good luck, Danny."

Danny gulped, "Thanks, Pappy. I ain't afraid."

"I know you ain't. New York's goin' to seem a funny place. But just remember that a smart hound'll make out no matter where he hunts, given he keeps his nose to the wind. I'll rub a rabbit's foot for you."

"I'll try to do good. So long, Pappy."

"So long."

Danny walked out the door, and Red leaped happily up to pad beside him. A squirrel flashed across the trail, and Red sprang at it. The squirrel ascended a tree, and balanced saucily on a swaying branch while Red bounded on down the trail to overtake Danny. A buck snorted from a thicket, and farther down, near the border of the beech woods, some of Mr. Haggin's finely bred young calves raised their heads to stare. Danny broke into the edge of the clearing, and Red fell in beside him as both slowed to a sober walk. Mr. Haggin and Robert Fraley stood together near the barn. Danny came close, and stood without speaking while Red sat on the ground with his back against Danny's knees. Mr. Haggin turned to smile.

"Good morning, Danny."

"Mornin', sir."

"Turn the dog over to Bob, will you? I want to talk with you."

"Yes, sir."

Robert Fraley came forth with a short leather leash. Red backed closer to Danny's knees, and turned to look appealingly up. The overseer snapped the leash on Red's collar, forced him to mount a small wooden bench that stood against the barn, and snapped the other end of the leash into an iron ring. He entered the barn, to come out with a pair of clippers and a pair of shears. Danny looked questioningly at Mr. Haggin.

"He's only going to be trimmed," Mr. Haggin said. "We're leaving for New York at noon."

"Yes, sir, Pappy told me."

Mr. Haggin laughed. "He did, eh? Come on along, Danny."

His head turned slightly so he could see Red, Danny followed Mr. Haggin toward the barn door. Alert and erect, Red strained at the leash and kept his eyes on Danny. Then, just as Danny disappeared, the big red dog sighed and relaxed to let the familiar shears creep about his neck. Mr. Haggin entered a small office, sat down in a swivel chair, and motioned Danny into another one. He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and extended them. Danny shook his head.

"No thanks. Pappy, he don't hold with either smokin' or drinkin'."

Mr. Haggin said thoughtfully, "The more I know of your father, the more I respect him." Then, "Danny, why do you suppose I turned Boy over to you, and am asking you to go to New York?"

"I don't rightly know."

"No, I don't suppose you do. But some wise man did a neat turn with an old axiom when he said that if a man is known by the company he keeps, a company is known by the men it keeps. Throughout my whole life I've seldom bet on anything but men, and I've seldom lost. I'm betting on you now."

"I don't know if I can do things for you, sir."

"That's my worry, Danny. I'm getting to the time of life when I can let others handle business affairs and devote my attention to the things I really like. One of those things is dogs, fine dogs. And I want you to help me. Five years from now I expect that you'll be taking my dogs, or rather our dogs, to shows and field trials all by yourself. What do you say, Danny?"

"I'll work very hard."

"I know you will, and you're going to have to work very hard. There are endless things you have to learn, and your education starts right now. I'm sending only Boy to this show, and Bob Fraley's in complete charge. You're going along to learn. Now I want to ask you a question; exactly what do you think of dog shows?"

"They seem like a piddlin' waste of time," Danny confessed.

"Danny, you're wrong. You would be entirely right if all a dog show amounted to was a bit of ribbon, or a cup, and a boost to the owner's pride. But there's more than that in it, much more. In one sense you could think of it as part of the story of man, and his constant striving toward something better. A dog show is illustrative of man's achievement, and a blue ribbon is more than a bit of silk. It's a mark, Danny, one that never can be erased. The dog that wins it will not die. If we send Boy to the show, and he comes back as best of breed, then that's something for all future dog lovers and dog owners to build on. Don't you see? A hundred years from now someone may stand on this very spot with a fine Irish setter, and he'll trace its lineage back to some other very fine setter, perhaps to Boy. And he will know that he has built on what competent men have declared to be the very best. He will know also that he, too, can go one step nearer the perfection that men must and will have in all things. It did not start with us, Danny, but with the first man who ever dreamed of an Irish setter. All we're trying to do is advance one step farther and Boy's ribbon, if he wins one, will simply be proof that we succeeded."

"I see," Danny breathed. "I never thought of it like that before."

"Always think of it that way, Danny," Mr. Haggin urged. "If you do, one day I'll see you as a leading dog handler. I'm sending Boy in the station wagon. I suppose you'd like to ride with him?"

"I'd sort of like to keep him company."

"I thought so," Mr. Haggin laughed. "When you come back at the end of the week I'll give you your first month's wages."

"Wages?"

"Yes, your beginning pay as a kennel man for me is fifty dollars a month. I'll increase that whenever you're worth an increase."

"Gee, Mr. Haggin, that's an awful lot!"

Mr. Haggin said crisply, "Suppose you go out and watch what Bob's doing. I'll see you in New York."

"Yes, sir."

Danny walked out of the barn, and stopped at the edge of the door to watch. Something was wrong on the wooden bench. Red was still there, and Robert Fraley was working over him with clippers and shears. But something that Danny had seen in the big dog was no longer there. Then a little wind played around the corner of the barn, and the illusion faded. Red's head lifted, he wagged his tail, and made a little lunge on the bench. Robert Fraley turned irritably around.

"Listen, kid, I've got orders to take you along. But I've also got orders that you're going only to watch. Don't stick your bill in unless it's asked for."

Danny said bluntly, "I ain't aimin' to bother you."

He sat quietly in the grass, watching the shears work smoothly around Red's throat. Golden-red hair came off in little wisps and bunches, and Robert Fraley retreated ten feet to stand critically inspecting his work. Danny looked from the handler to the dog. Red's throat was cleaner, straighter, and the fine curve of his neck a little more pronounced. His ears, trimmed, looked a little longer than they had and clung more tightly to his head. Danny said,

"You left a little raggedy patch, there just back of his right ear."

"I suppose you could do a better job?"

"I didn't say that. I just said you left his right ear raggedy."

"Well, I saw that myself, kid. And I told you before not to stick your bill in until it's wanted."

Robert Fraley finished trimming the ragged ear, and disappeared inside the barn. Danny stole forward to pick up a tin pail that was set under a dripping faucet, and gave Red a drink. The dog lapped thirstily, and Danny tickled his ear with one finger while he stared resentfully at the barn. That Fraley, he might know all about dog shows and such things, but he didn't even know enough about dogs to offer one a drink on a hot day. Danny put the pail back under the faucet, and retreated to his seat in the grass as Robert Fraley came out of the barn. A shining station wagon purred down from the house, and a uniformed chauffeur grinned at Danny.

"You going, kid?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, get in."

Danny said firmly, "I'll wait for the dog."

"Well, don't say you weren't invited."

Robert Fraley unsnapped Red's leash, led the big red setter to the station wagon, and permitted the leash to drag while Red climbed in to take his place in one of the back seats. Fraley sat down beside the chauffeur, and turned to look snappishly at Danny.

"Are you coming? Or shall I put a leash on you too?"

Danny said slowly, "You can try it if you're feelin' awful fit."

He squeezed past the front seat into the back, while the station wagon purred away from Mr. Haggin's Wintapi estate down to the black-top road leading to it. They went from that to macadam, and on for hour after hour while the rolling countryside swept past. Danny sat still, gazing through the window, raptly attentive to everything. He had never been out of the Wintapi, or more than forty miles from the shanty in the beech woods, and a man didn't really know what the world was until he got out to see it. They came to a city, but the station wagon rolled right through.

Late that evening they finally crossed the Pulaski Skyway. Red slept beside him, and Danny looked blankly at all the lights that seemed to be New York at night. They were everywhere, some low to the ground and some so high in the air that it was a wonder a man could climb that high to put in a light. Still puffing one of his innumerable cigarettes, the chauffeur turned around.

"That's the big place, kid."

"Yes, sir."

Red stirred, and lifted his head in the darkness to nudge Danny's hand. Danny pulled his ears, and swallowed the lump in his throat. This, exactly as Ross had said, was fine to see. But he seemed to be feeling the little breezes that played in the Wintapi at night, and hearing the night sounds that drifted out of the beech forests. He belonged there, along with Ross, Red, and everything else that was truly at home in the Wintapi. But he could still come to New York sometimes—provided Red came with him. The chauffeur threaded an expert way through the streets, weaving in and out of the traffic that clogged them, while Danny stared in wide-eyed wonder. The station wagon rolled to a stop before a big, lighted building and without speaking Robert Fraley got out to lead Red inside.

The chauffeur lit another cigarette, shielding the match with his hand, and leaned back to puff luxuriously. Danny stared anxiously at the building into which Robert Fraley had taken Red, and looked questioningly at the chauffeur.

"I got orders to deliver you to Haggin's town house, kid," the chauffeur said. "I hope that dog don't get hydrophobia and bite Fraley. If he does, Fraley's sure going to bite you."

"He don't like me," Danny said gravely. "I hit him in the chin."

"You did?" the chauffeur grinned. "I always miss the nicest things that happen."

"Are we comin' back here?" Danny asked anxiously.

"Oh, sure. Haggin'll bring you back; he wants you to see the show. Don't worry about your goulash hound."

"It's a setter," Danny corrected.

"Well, don't worry about your setter then. Let's go."

Again the station wagon purred into life, and the chauffeur wove his way through crowded streets to a house that was one of a row of brown-stone houses. He got out, and Danny followed with his carpetbag while the chauffeur ascended a flight of stone steps, guarded by stone lions, and pressed a button. The door opened, and a butler stood framed in the light.

"Hi, Bill," the chauffeur remarked cheerfully, "I'm back from the wilds with a wild man. Haggin said turn him over to you."

The butler said primly, "Mr. Haggin has not yet arrived, but I shall be happy to care for you, sir. Will you please follow me?"

He reached down for Danny's bag, but Danny grinned and picked it up.

"I can carry my own parcels."

He followed the butler through a hall, and up a flight of polished stone steps into a room. Danny put his bag down and stared. The room, with a canopied bed in the center, was half as big as the shanty where he and Ross lived in the beech woods.

"Will you have dinner in your room, sir?" the butler asked.

Danny gulped. All this for him seemed hardly real or right. But he was hungry. A little pang assailed him. Neither he nor Red had eaten since morning, and Red was probably hungry too. Danny smiled at the butler.

"I'd take it right kindly if you brought me some vittles, sir."

The butler smiled back, and his stiff formality seemed to leave him. He winked at Danny.

"I'll bring you some. Go ahead and wash up. What would you like to eat?"

"Uh...Uh...Pork chops are always good."

The butler left and Danny entered the bathroom to wash his face and hands in the porcelain basin. For a long while he stood pleasurably watching the cold water run out of the faucet. His mother, whom he could remember only dimly, had never had such marvels to serve her, and he and Ross got their water from a pump. But the beech woods was still a good place, and a man couldn't rightly expect to have everything. He dried his face, combed his wet hair, and re-entered the bedroom to find a table set and chair ready. He ate hungrily, gnawing the last shreds of meat from the pork chops and crunching the last of a small mountain of French fried potatoes. He would, he guessed, have to learn to make such potatoes himself so Ross could enjoy them too. For a few minutes he sat idly looking out of the window, until the butler came to take the table away.

Danny took off his clothes and lay down on the luxurious bed. The room seemed to whirl about. Red was looking anxiously at him, pleading with soft eyes and gently wagging tail. Danny turned over, and closed his eyes to shut the vision out. But he couldn't. He sat up in the darkness, resting against the bed's headboard. All he knew was that, if Red was suddenly taken away from him, neither he nor Red could be happy again. That Fraley, who understood the fine points of dog shows without coming even close to understanding dogs...

Danny shivered, and slid back down into the bed.