"You seem," Callahan was looking narrowly at him, "a bit nervous."
"Is that strange?"
"Guess not." Callahan was too casual. "It's probably a nerve-wracking
business. Uh--thought I heard you talking?"
"You might have. I was talking to Tammie."
"Your dog, eh?"
"That's right."
"I don't see him around."
"I just let him out the back door. He likes to go for a little run at
night."
"I'm darned," Callahan said, "if I didn't think I caught a glimpse of
you letting him out. Tammie looked awful big."
"He's a big dog."
Just how much had Callahan seen? Definitely, a pack-laden collie was not
going camping and Callahan would know where it was going. The sheriff
dropped into a chair and crossed his right leg over his left knee.
"I know he's big, I've seen him before. But he sure looked bigger than
usual. That's a mighty good dog, Ted."
"Yes, he is."
"Highly-trained, too, isn't he? That dog will do almost anything you
want him to, won't he?"
"Oh, sure," Ted said sarcastically. "Every night he sets his own alarm
for five o'clock. Then he lays and lights a fire so the house will be
warm when I get out of bed."
"Aw now, Ted!" Callahan said reproachfully. "You know darn' well what I
mean! Why only the other night I found Silly Ass Stacey running down the
road like a haunt was chasing him. 'Don't go up there!' he told me.
'Don't go up to Harknesses! They have a man-eating dog and it just ate
me!'"
Doubtless unintentionally, Callahan had given something away. The
Harkness house was being closely watched or the sheriff wouldn't have
been on the Lorton Road at the hour when Sammy ran down it. In full
control of himself now, Ted did not let himself reveal what he had just
learned. He said grimly, "Sammy was in our chicken coop."
"_Hm-m._ Want me to pick him up for it?"
"I doubt if he'll be as fond of chicken stealing from now on. Tammie
knocked him down and did a little snarling over him. He didn't hurt
him."
Callahan grinned. "Figured that out all by myself; nobody who'd most
been eaten could run as fast as Silly Ass was running. Hope it does
teach him a lesson; if he gets rid of his oversized notions, he won't be
anything except a harmless sort of nut. Jail might make him vicious. But
that's what I mean about your dog. You've really got him trained."
"I spend a lot of time training him."
"You have to if you want results, but it's worth it. You have a dog you
can really work."
"There are limits."
"Of course. Of course there are. A dog's a dog. But I'll bet," Callahan
looked squarely at Ted, "that Tammie would even go find your father if
you told him to."
"You're sure?"
"Well, who could be sure? But I admire trained dogs no end and yours is
the best I ever saw. Call him back, will you? I'd like to see him
again."
"I--" Ted hesitated and hated himself because Callahan noticed his
hesitation. "I don't know if I can. Tammie takes some pretty long
rambles at night and he may be out of hearing."
"You'll have Loring on your tail if he bothers game."
"Tammie doesn't bother anything unless he's ordered to do it."
Callahan said admiringly, "That's where training comes in. This could
even be a story!"
"What could?"
"Why, your dad laying out in the Mahela. He doesn't have any grub except
the load he cooked the night Loring and I were here--and wasn't I the
dope not to see through that? He needs about everything. You can't take
it to him because you could be followed. But you have a big, strong,
well-trained dog. You, oh you might even make a pack for him. Then you
load the pack and send it to your dad. Who's going to follow Tammie? Get
it?"
Ted looked at the floor. Coming at exactly the wrong second, Callahan
had seen enough to rouse suspicion but not enough to be sure of
anything. The boy conceded, "It's a story all right."
"Could even be a _true_ story, huh?"
"You're doing the guessing."
"Oh, well," Callahan shrugged, "I didn't come here to bother you. But I
sure would like to see that dog of yours again and I haven't much time.
Call him back, will you?"
Both hands in front of him, fingers tightly locked, Ted walked to the
back door. When Tammie took anything to Al, he usually ran. If he had
run this time, and kept on running, he would be out of hearing. If he
was not out of hearing, he would come back. Ted hoped Callahan didn't
see him gulp. If Tammie returned with the pack, it would be all the
evidence Callahan needed that the dog could find Al. But not to call him
would serve only to convince the sheriff, anyhow, that Tammie was on his
way to Al.
Ted opened the back door and whistled. He waited a moment, whistled
again and closed the door behind him.
"He'll come if he heard."
"And if he didn't," Callahan commented, "he's a long way back in the
Mahela, huh?"
"That's right."
"Now that's strange," the sheriff mused. "I know a little about dogs.
You take an airedale, for example. He'll make long tracks, if he gets a
chance. But I always thought a collie was pretty much the home type. I
never figured they'd get very far from their doorsteps. Unless, of
course, maybe it's a trained collie that's sent away."
"Dogs vary."
"Of course, of course. There's no rule says two of any one breed have to
be alike. Couple of years ago, over beyond Taylorville, we had to get a
pack that was running wild and, believe it or not, there was a Boston
bull with them. Now who'd think a Boston bull--What's that?"
"I--I didn't hear anything."
"Well, I did. Ah! There it is again!"
A second time, and unmistakably, Tammie's distinctive whine sounded at
the back door. Ted's heart plummeted to his toes and his throat went
dry. He was about to rise and let Tammie in--the only thing he could
do--but he was forestalled by Jack Callahan.
"There he is. He heard you, all right. I'll let him in."
He walked to the back door ... opened it. Ted hoped his gasp was not as
loud as it seemed. Wearing no pack, Tammie came sedately in, greeted
Callahan with a wag of his tail and tripped across the floor to sit down
beside his master. The boy bent his head to conceal ecstatic eyes.
Poker-faced Callahan showed nothing of what he must be feeling.
"Just as handsome as I remember him!" he said admiringly. "That dog's a
real credit to you, Ted!"
"He has just one little flaw," Ted said gravely. "Sometimes he thinks he
sees things he never saw at all."
Callahan grinned engagingly. "Some people make that mistake, too.
Especially when there's deep shadow. How are you making out, Ted?"
"All right. My camp's rented for five weeks and I may rent it for
woodcock season, if the flight comes in."
"Loring told me there's flight birds at Taylorville. He said there's
quite a few, and he thinks there'll be a big flight."
"Hope it comes here!"
Callahan said soberly, "If it'll help you, so do I. I'm sorry you're in
trouble."
"Trouble comes."
"I know, but being the sheriff who makes it isn't the snap job it's
cracked up to be. I've had to hurt a lot of people I'd rather not
bother, but when I swore to uphold the law, I didn't make any exceptions
and I'm not going to make any. I hope you don't hold that against me."
"I don't."
"Just so you understand. A lot of people who cuss peace officers would
find out for themselves what a mess they'd be in if there weren't any."
"I know that, too."
"Then you know why I must bring your dad in. When I do, and I will,
he'll get every break I'm able to offer. By the same token, Smoky
Delbert may have some breaks coming. So long for now, Ted."
"So long."
Callahan left and Ted was alone with Tammie. He tickled the big dog's
soft ears.
"The Lord watches over idiots!" he murmured. "He sure enough does!"
What had happened was obvious. Disliking the pack anyway, Tammie hadn't
gone more than a couple of hundred feet before ridding himself of it.
Only he knew how he'd unclasped the buckles, but he'd managed. Of
course, when ordered to do so, he should have gone to Al. But he could
be forgiven this time.
"I'd best get to bed," Ted told him. "I don't know where you left that
pack, but do know I'd better find it before Mr. Callahan comes back this
way. That man has sixteen eyes, and don't ever let's think he's dumb! He
came right close to tipping over our meat house tonight!"
Ted was up an hour before dawn and had breakfasted by the time the first
pale light of day began to lift night's shroud from the great beech
trees. With Tammie at his side, he stepped out the back door and formed
a plan of action.
He didn't know exactly how much time had passed between his whistle and
Tammie's appearance at the door, but it couldn't have been more than
fifteen or twenty seconds. Certainly the collie had needed some little
time to rid himself of the pack. It couldn't possibly be far from the
cabin. Ted petted the dog.
"You lost it," he scolded gently. "Why don't you find it?"
Tammie raced ahead twenty yards, whirled, came back to leap at and snap
his jaws within a quarter inch of Ted's right hand, then flew away
again. He continued running around and around, stopping at intervals to
snap. But though he never missed very much, he never hit either.
Ted walked slowly, on a course parallel to the cabin, and he turned his
head from side to side as he walked. There were no thickets or windfalls
here. There was nothing at all except the big beeches. Wherever Tammie
had dropped it, the pack wouldn't be hard to see.
Descending into a little swale, Ted flushed three woodcock out of it.
Their distinctive, twittering whistle, which Ted had always thought was
made by wind rushing through stiff flight feathers, sounded as they
flew. The boy's eyes glowed with pleasure.
The ruffed grouse was a marvelous game bird and nobody who knew him
well, or even fairly well, would ever deny it. But there was a very
special group--Ted himself belonged to it--who held the woodcock in
highest esteem. Swift-winged and sporty, the woodcock had an air of
mystery and romance possessed by few other wild things.
Measuring eleven inches, from the tip of his bill to the end of his
tail, the woodcock's plumage varied from black to gray, with different
shades of brown predominant. So perfectly did they blend with their
surroundings that, even though a hunter might watch a flying woodcock
alight on the ground, he was often not able to see it afterwards. Their
legs were short and their bills, with which they probed into soft earth
for the various larvae and worms upon which they fed, were ridiculously
long. But their eyes remained their outstanding characteristic.
Placed near the top of the head, they were luminous and expressive, as
though, somehow, they mirrored all of nature. They were very large in
proportion to the bird's size. Whoever saw them would never forget them
and who knew the woodcock knew one of the finest and most delightful of
all wild creatures.
Ted marked the trio down, but he did not approach them again. The season
was not open, and nobody could ever be sure of woodcock. Perhaps these
were stragglers. Maybe they marked the vanguard of a big flight that
would be in the Mahela when the season opened and maybe they didn't.
He'd have to wait and see and, even then, neither he nor anyone else
could be sure. Cover that might be alive with woodcock one day could be
empty, or hold only a few birds, the next. During the night, every
woodcock had often picked up and moved on.
When he'd gone as far as he thought he should, Ted moved twenty-five
yards deeper into the woods and swung back on a course parallel to the
one he'd followed. He began to worry.
The pack couldn't possibly be far because Tammie hadn't had time to go
far. It was good sized, so it should be easy to see. Ted made another
swing about. Two hours after he had started hunting, he stopped. He was
a half mile from the house, definitely the extreme limit Tammie might
have reached. The boy went back to cover the same area more
carefully.... He went through it a third time. By midday, he was wholly
baffled.
The pack was not here. Where was it? Had Jack Callahan, nobody's fool,
seen more than he had admitted seeing? Had he slipped back after leaving
Ted and found the pack himself? It seemed improbable. Recovery of the
pack, so obviously for a dog and not for a man to wear, would be proof
within itself that Ted had intended to send Tammie to Al. And if
Callahan had the least reason to suppose that Tammie could really find
Al, he'd be in the house right now, insisting that he do it. Ted petted
the collie.
"Why can't you talk?" he murmured. "Why can't you tell me what you did
with it?"
Tammie licked his master's fingers and wagged his tail. Ted sighed. He'd
looked in all the places where the pack might be and hadn't found it. It
stood to reason that nobody else was going to find it either, or at
least, they wouldn't find it easily. Still worried, Ted went back to the
house and fixed a lunch. He thought of looking for the pack some more
and decided against it. There was no other place to look but there were
things to do. He hadn't been at the camp since the night Al was accused
of shooting Smoky. If he intended to rent it to hunters, he'd better go
see how things were.
Ted chose to walk, for he had been doing a great deal of serious
thinking and had changed many of his ideas. Running a successful resort,
or even a successful camp, involved a great deal more than just being a
gracious host. In any city, or even any town, such a camp probably
wouldn't rent at all because it was so radically different from what
urban residents had come to expect in their dwellings. But it fitted the
Mahela, and for a short time each year, it would be appreciated because
it offered a refreshing change from conventional living. But there was
still more involved.
Few people wanted to get into the out-of-doors merely for the sake of
being there. The place must offer something, and beyond any doubt the
Mahela's prime attraction was its deer herds. But nobody, regardless of
whether he was running Crestwood or renting camps, could hope to make a
living just from the three-week deer season alone. He would also have to
lure all the small game hunters and all the fishermen he could, and if
he didn't lure them honestly, they'd never come back. It stood to reason
that nobody who lived a couple of hundred miles from the Mahela could
know what was taking place there. They must be kept informed, and Ted
wished to walk now because he wanted to judge for himself whether or not
there would be a worthwhile flight of woodcock.
The birds might be anywhere at all. Ted had flushed them from the very
summit of Hawkbill. But as a rule they avoided the thickest cover and
haunted the streams, bogs and swamps because they found their food
along stream beds and in swamps. With Tammie trailing happily beside
him. Ted followed the course of Spinning Creek.
He flushed two woodcock from a sparse growth of aspens and watched them
wing away and settle on the other side of the creek. Then he put up a
single and, farther on, a little flock of five. In the clearing, almost
at the camp's door, another single whistled away and dropped near
Tumbling Run. That made nine woodcock between the Harkness house and the
camp. Definitely it was not a substantial flight and no hunter should be
advised to come to the Mahela because of them. But there were more than
there had been.
A doe and two spring fawns were nosing about the apple trees. Bears had
been climbing the same trees, leaving scarred trunks and broken branches
in their wake. Black bears, of which there were a fair number in the
Mahela, would come almost as far for apples as they would for honey. But
they came only at night and did a lot of damage when they climbed the
trees. However, these tough apple trees had been broken by bears every
year they'd borne a crop and they'd always recovered. They'd recover
again, and Ted supposed bears had as much right as anything else to the
apples. He grinned. The fruit was gnarled and wormy, but it was a
woodland delicacy and woodland dwellers competed for it as fiercely as a
crowd of undisciplined children might compete for a rack of ice-cream
cones.
Ted walked all around the camp, saw nothing amiss and unlocked the door.
He pulled the hasp back, went in--and saw Tammie's pack lying under the
table. Momentarily alarmed, he stopped. Only one person could have left
the pack! He picked it up and thrust his hand into a side pocket. He
found and pulled out a page torn from the pad of paper he'd inserted in
the pack and read the penciled note.
Dear Ted; I was cuming to see you last nite. Tammy met me a sniff
from the dor and I snuck up and saw Calhan. Gess he wants to see me
rite enuf but I don't want to see him!
Hope taking Tammy's pak don't throw you off.
I can get along a good spel with the stuf in the pak and wudcok
seson cuming on. I've saw a mess of flite wudcok. Don't send Tammy
agen without you know it's safe and send him after midnite. I won't
be so far away he can't get to me and bak. Watch Calhan. He's
sharp.