“We ought to git Red Granny to-day,” said Sam, examining the ground
where the smoking leaves had been stirred. “Here’s her consarned ol’
broke-toed track. An’ here’s a lot o’ littler tracks. She’s been in an’
tolled out some more o’ our shotes. I bet if we hurried up we’d come
right on her.”
“Let’s hurry then,” I urged; for I knew about the old sow called Red
Granny, that for three years had proved uncapturable. She kept her
inaccessible house on the side of a rough mountain, making her way to
it through a great pile of rock by a passage yet undiscovered. Though
a good breeder, filling the woods with sandy-haired pigs, she also
seemed able to teach them the secret of escape. Bub, who was an old
dog, could hardly be made to run a red pig unless it was on his own
side of the mountain.
“’Tain’t no use to trail Red Granny,” said Len. “Ol’ Bub leads the
dogs, an’ he won’t run thataway. I put him on her trail onct an’ he was
out all night. When he come in next day he was too ’shamed to look at
me.”
“Well, let’s get somewhere,” I said, feeling the cold in spite of the
sun. Then I found I had made a mistake. The first part of hog-hunting
is deliberation. There was a long discussion as to the most fruitful
direction.
Finally little Ross, who had followed Serena, said, “Let’s go to the
sow’s oak,” and to my amazement everybody agreed. “I bet that spotted
sow is there with some little pigs, an’ poppie promised me one,” said
Ross.
The sow’s oak was a giant tree with a large hollow at the butt, big
enough to furnish good shelter for a litter. For years it had been a
favorite bedding-place. To find it we had to descend into a cove where
there was a clear spring. All stopped for water, though everybody had
taken a drink just before leaving Sam’s. The Highlander can go without
a meal or two with no inconvenience, but he drinks water in season and
out of season. After leaving the spring we passed around the curving
side of a hill and came in sight of the tree.
“Sst!” said Sam. “I see her. She’s in there, an’ she’s got pigs. Don’t
crowd her now. Keep the dogs back. We don’t want her to git tore, an’
her a-sucklin’ pigs. Y’all stand out here in a circle like, so she
kain’t git through if she runs, and I’ll ease up behind the tree. When
ye see me bounce ’round to the front to grab her leg, ever’body an’ the
dogs bear right in.”
He made a wide circuit and came up behind the tree, but before he
reached it Burl’s dog, Bugle, who was new at the game, gave a yelp and
the sow sprang out. About a dozen tiny pigs, black-spotted and with
delicate pink noses, followed her. All three of the dogs rushed forward
and yapped in her face. She bristled to fight, then turned and dashed
in the opposite direction, flashing by Sam and leaving him to look
foolish, with a knotted rope in his hands. The dogs flew after the sow
and the men followed the dogs. Little Ross began to scramble after the
terrified, squealing pigs.
“Go after the one with the black spot on its year,” said Serena. “It’s
the purtiest.” Ross tumbled after the one she pointed out and secured
it. Serena took it into her apron. By that time not a pig was to be
seen or heard. They were all under the leaves, behind logs, anywhere
they could secrete their quivering bodies. In the distance we could
hear the cry of the dogs and shouts of the men. Then the yelping
ceased, and we heard the wild squeals of the captive. When we reached
the spot the men were looking down on the struggling sow. She was tied
by one hind leg, and the other end of the rope was made fast to a young
tree.
“She’ll keep all right,” said granpap, examining the knots critically.
“Reckon anybody’ll find her here ’fore we git back? The woods air full
o’ hunters.”
“Hunters and stealers,” said Len indignantly. “But we kain’t he’p it.
We got to go on.”
“She’ll drive in easy,” said Serena. “It’s that sow you brought in last
year, an’ I gentled her with slop fer a month.” She put the little pig
down by his mother, who became very still as he lifted a nudging nose
to her. I wanted to return and find the other pigs, but was swiftly
talked down.
“They’ll find the sow ef she’ll squeal loud enough,” said Sam. “They
won’t run fur anyhow, an’ we’ll look ’em out as we go home.”
The men had discovered some signs which they were sure would lead to a
fine bunch of shotes. “An’ shotes pay,” they said. “Anybody’ll buy a
shote.”
The “signs” took us by a very rough way through a damp hollow. Serena
declared it was so “blustery” she couldn’t stand it, and persuaded
me to turn up the slope and walk along the ridge, leaving the men to
push their way below. “They always scour that holler,” she said, “but
they’ve never brought a pig out of it.” In half an hour the men came up
defeated. Some pigs had been found, but they proved to be in Ag Snead’s
mark.
“I’ll tell ye what let’s do,” said Len. “We’ll go to Raven Den side to
find that big b’ar hog that’s tuskin’ our gentles ever’ time they go to
the woods.”
“B’ar hog” was euphemistic usage, in my presence, for boar. It was
humorously incorrect, being similar in sound to the abbreviation for
barrow.
“I’m afraid o’ that feller,” said young Ben. “I seen him onct. He suits
me where he is.”
“Let’s go fer him,” said Burl. “That sounds like a hunt.”
“I’m ready,” said Sam. “That feller’s too mean to let live. I’ve had to
sew up two shotes this week that come in all cut up.”
We were moving slowly along the ridge, and little Ross, who had been
running ahead, came flying back to say that he had found a hog sound
asleep. We rushed forward and came upon a fine sow lying dead. Len
pointed to a bullet-hole in her forehead.
“Is it ours?” I asked, for my mind was set on revenue and this was a
dismal beginning. So far we had to our credit only a half-tame sow
that would probably have come in of her own accord when food grew
scarce--and this. Len flicked the exposed ear of the sow. “You see
the undercrap,” he said. Then he pulled the other ear from under her
head. “An’ there’s the two slits. It’s a ten-dollar bill you got layin’
there.”
“Ay,” said Sam, “she’s worth ten dollars more yisterday than to-day.”
“Yisterday!” said Len. “She’s shot early this mornin’. She ain’t froze
yit, an’ last night would ’a’ froze fire. Whoever shot her is in the
woods now, an’ he better not come shammuckin’ where I can see him. I’d
have my say.”
“You ain’t goin’ to talk into a gun, Len,” said Serena. “Wha’d you
promise me about this hog business?”
“Shucks, Reenie, I ain’t broke no promise yit.”
“Y’ain’t goin’ to nuther. Ol’ Ag’s got more bullets. Reckon I’m goin’
to chance comin’ on you layin’ in the woods like this here sow?”
“Why,” I asked, at last getting in my burning question, “did they shoot
the poor thing and leave her here?”
“Oh, she looked slick an’ fine a hundred yards off, but when they shot
her an’ come up close they seen she was goin’ to litter an’ wasn’t fit
fer meat.”
“What about a stomach that can eat a hog right off the mast?” said Sam.
“Ag Snead ain’t more’n ha’f human anyway.”
“’Twa’n’t Ag,” said granpap. “It ’ud take two men to git this hog in
home, an’ ol’ Ag is secrety. He wouldn’t want a partner in this kind o’
work. It’s the Copp boys more’n likely.”
“There’s ol’ Aggervation now,” called Ben. We looked ahead and saw a
man approaching. It was Agnashus Snead. A boy, big-limbed and nearly
grown, walked beside him.
“That’s his nephew, Ted Shoals,” said Len. “’Course they done it! Now
watch Ag, the ol’ devil! You’d think he was jest from prayer-meetin’.”
“Howdy, folks,” Snead called to us. He was about seventy, with cool,
pink cheeks, and white hair that still kept a youthful ripple. His eyes
were golden brown and young as a boy’s. I found myself introduced, and
shook hands with him almost eagerly. Oh, no, he couldn’t have done it!
“Any luck?” he asked, and Len pointed to the dead hog. The old man was
properly shocked. “They’s some rotten folks in this kentry,” he said,
“ef a man knowed where to find ’em.”
“Right, there is,” said Len, “an’ I b’lieve I’d know ’em ef I seen
’em.” His black eyes looked kindlingly into the brown eyes of Snead.
Serena pushed in. “_Your_ luck’s all right, Uncle Ag. The boys jest now
found a bunch o’ yore shotes down in that holler.”
“Reckon they didn’t have no years tore off?” he asked, repaying Len’s
thrust. But no fight was precipitated because he accompanied his
question with the frankest of smiles. Serena had often told me that you
could say anything in the mountains if you took care to say it laughing.
“No,” put in Sam, with a grin equally disarming, “but if I’s as mean as
_some_ folks I’d whacked off their years ragged-like, an’ druv ’em in
home.” The laugh went round. Both parties had spoken their minds. Old
Ag bent over and touched the bullet-hole.
“Them Copp boys air in the woods to-day.”
We knew what he meant, but if the Copp boys should ever get him
cornered not one of us could swear that he had accused them.
“Their gun makes the same kind of a hole yorn does, I reckon,” said
Len, with a steady look at Snead’s rifle.
This was going too far. Snead rose up and looked about. He would be two
against five, with maybe a woman to claw him from the back. A tolerant
smile spread over his face. “It shore does,” he said. “I’ll tell you
what, boys. I kain’t take my shotes in with jest Ted here to he’p me.
S’pose I hunt with you to-day, an’ you he’p me to-morr’.”
Asking a favor was more disarming than laughter. This was a neighborly
appeal, and Len was first, last, and always, a good neighbor. In
two minutes we were all on our way to the haunt of the big b’ar
hog, leaving the embryo feud, for a time at least, to smother under
amenities.