Part 8 (1/2)
I was startled out of my contemplation by the sound of the old dog giving tongue, and the bang of the musket echoing in the tree-tops.
Listening, I could hear the dogs baying on the trail some distance from where the shot was fired,--plainly a clean miss. In a short time the language of the hound again announced ”Holed,” and the gathering of the heartless around the spot told the same old story. At my suggestion, ”Give the rabbit a chance,” the dog was removed from the hole, when out popped the rabbit. The dog in hot pursuit soon overtook him, but failed to pick him up. Twice the little fellow fooled the dog, but the third time his doom was sealed. The dog returned with the rabbit kicking in his mouth, and laid it at the feet of his master as a trophy worthy of the chase, occasionally nosing it to see if any life remained. Truly this cannot be sport.
[Ill.u.s.tration: In Hot Pursuit]
[Ill.u.s.tration: Picked Up]
Crossing the hill we caught a view from the distance of a beautiful meadow flanked on one side by an old orchard, which long needed pruning and was grown up with blackberry briers. On the other side was a thicket of locust, sumac, and elder, which had been cleared several years before and the debris piled on the stone heaps ready for the match that had never been applied. Here and there were stretches of stake and rider fence; in fact, it was an old farm neglected for many years owing to the death of the owner and continued litigation among the heirs for the possession of the land,--an ideal home for the cottontail.
Crossing the meadow the dogs started a rabbit which had been basking in the sun, coiled up in a bed built in the middle of a bunch of dry swamp gra.s.s. The little fellow had remained perfectly quiet, although one of the party pa.s.sed within two feet without seeing him, so well did his color harmonize with the surroundings. He remained un.o.bserved until one of the dogs pa.s.sing by started him and warned the other dogs, whereupon away they went in full chase. Through the orchard, down along the old fence, sped the fugitive, the dogs close behind, tonguing at every jump.
Into the thicket he plunged, safe for the time being. The dogs began to circle, caught the trail on the opposite side, and followed it into another cover, where Bunny squatted and presently we saw him returning on his own trail. I made a run to head him off so that I could get a snap-shot, but observing me he stopped in the middle of a wheat field.
In the meantime the dogs had gathered enough information and were working their way back over the track until the leader came on to him, and away they went. The quarry returned towards the other dogs and was picked up before cover could be reached.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Down the Old Fence]
Again the dogs were urged to hunt the old orchard. A start was made and away went a rabbit across the meadow on the far side of which he darted into a burrow. The ferret was put into a hole and out popped three rabbits, one on the heels of the other. Each dog followed one, but soon returned, evidently unable to keep the trails, for they all crisscrossed around the orchard. In the meantime every effort was made to get the ferret, without success, when finally one of the unfeeling suggested shooting a bird. I protested against shooting a song bird and suggested an English sparrow, whereupon he promised to go down to the barn for a sparrow. However, upon returning he handed over a song sparrow (_Melospiza fasciata_), with its long tail and brownish-streaked body beautiful even in death. Charity impels me to believe the man was ignorant rather than willful. Pulling a piece of twine from his hunting-coat pocket, he tied fast the bird, a double hitch after hitch, so that the ferret could not loose the bait and carry it into the hole.
When properly secured the bird was thrown to the ferret, and instantly seized. Each began to pull, when off went the head into the hole.
Returning promptly for the body the ferret made another grab and was finally coaxed out of the hole and caught by the owner.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Dog Listening to the Last Sound]
The dogs began to work the trails and again had a rabbit crossing the meadow for dear life, they following close behind. He went into a hole among the roots of an old tree, to escape from his enemies, as he hoped, but alas, only to a cruel fate! ”Put in the long pole,” said one of the boys kneeling at the hole. The other started the ferret on its death-dealing mission. In a few minutes we could hear the smothered ”Wah, wah, wah” of cottontail, and a curse from the heartless, not out of sympathy for poor little bunny, but because he knew the rabbit would not make another attempt to reach the opening and the ferret would stay there for days. Fainter and fainter grew the pitiful moans, until finally they ceased forever. One of the men went for an ax to cut a way down to the ferret. The hole took a downward course into an old root, and by cutting through they found the hole, reached in and pulled out the dead rabbit. It was sickening to see the condition of its head. The owner of the ferret had a cruel heart, but even it was softened a little at the sight, for he threw the murderous creature away from him.
Instantly the big dog made a jump, grabbed the ferret, and tossed him into the air several feet before his master could interfere. A feeling of satisfaction came over me when I saw the toss, and I said to myself, ”That was your last kill.” But landing on his feet he humped his back and at the same time hissing through his teeth made several vicious snaps at the dog and sought protection by running towards his master.
Fortunately for him his master had the sack open and the ferret hastened into it to safety.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Did He Come Out?]
When I boarded the train for home that evening I felt as though I had spent a day in the shambles. Such slaughter seems to me to be utterly unjustifiable, even in the name of sport.
CHAPTER VI
A NIGHT HUNT
A c.o.o.n hunt is always interesting to me. Just as soon as night approaches and you call old Stump, who has lost the tip of his tail in a battle royal, he p.r.i.c.ks up his ears, begins to whine, and seems to know that the boys are out for a c.o.o.n hunt. As you approach to loosen the snap that ties him to the kennel he begins to wag what is left of his tail and seems to say, ”Boys, I'm happy to be with you to-night!” The wrinkles in his face twitch as the excitement grows. His face and head indicate that he has been in many a c.o.o.n fight. On one occasion he tracked a ground-hog into its hole underneath an uprooted tree. Being then of tender years and lacking experience, as the ground-hog came out, Stump made a grab and at the same time the ground-hog snapped Stump by the nose and held on like grim death. It took the combined efforts of men and dogs to separate them. Finally in the mix-up Stump made one desperate struggle to get away and lost the tip of his nose. Thus with the two tips gone Stump entered the arena as a full-fledged--shall we say?--and experienced c.o.o.n dog.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Hunting Party]
We gather at the country farm, boys and girls ready for the outing.
Stump, Fan, and Towser all are anxious for a night out working the ravines and watercourses. Lanterns and ”pit-lamps” are s.h.i.+ning brightly as we start across the meadow. The dogs disappear in the darkness. The fireflies flash here and there as though to light our way across the fields. One of the party, and by the way a fair one, steps into a pool of running water and the night air is pierced--in fact, sadly rent--by the shrill screams of the miss, for this is her first experience ”trekking” in the dark. As we approach the woods the weirdness of the scene is enchanting. Shadows play on the trees and leaves, as though in imagination one were transplanted into some fairy-land. Away off among the timber the great horned owl can be heard calling to its mate, ”Waugh ho! waugh ho!” just before it makes an excursion into the fields in search of some hapless rabbit or bird. The crickets are fiddling away, making music for their mates while they gather blades of gra.s.s for their burrow.
Presently our eager ears catch the low grunt of a dog as he gets the first whiff of the trail, not fresh, but spent. By the reflected light we see Towser wag his tail, slowly at first, but as the scent gets warmer the tail wags more vigorously. Soon one long, loud wail resounds in the stillness of the night and ere the echo dies away in the distance it is repeated, and we know the chase is on. Everybody runs toward the sound. The quarry has taken to the tree and the dogs bay up, but before the party reaches the scene of action the dogs are off again. They find the trail where the c.o.o.n has followed a grapevine for some distance, taken the ground again, and ”put one over” on the old dog. After considerable delay the dog finds his mistake, picks up the scent and away he goes, and directly, on the other side of the ridge, bays up.
Then the party goes pell-mell in that direction. And so the hunt proceeds, now here, now there, up hill and across ravine, until at last the c.o.o.n is treed, and the dogs by their change of voice tell the news and summon the party, which arrives in installments, out of breath, at the foot of the tree where the dogs are panting after their long chase.
Every one is eager for the finish. The tree-climber of the party takes off his coat, hat, and shoes and begins the ascent to shake Mister c.o.o.n from the tree. A shout comes from the tree-top, ”Here he is; look out below!” then follows a shake or two and a large house cat disappears into the darkness before the dogs can take hold. When the cat came down it alighted on all fours near the girls, and what with the girls screaming, the dogs barking, and the cat spitting, night was made hideous. We soon called the dogs off and ”hied” them on for a fresh trail.