Double Challenge Page 11

  11

  PYTHIAS

  Ted lingered on the fringes of the crowd, and in his mind's eye heconjured up an image of Nels Anderson. Nels always earned his pay plus alittle bit more, and Ted wondered why Carl Thornton had fired him. Buthe wondered no more.

  The great buck hung on Crestwood's game rack and bore Carl Thornton'sdeer tag, but it had never been killed today. The weather, thoughcolder, still had not dipped to the freezing point and the big buck wasfrozen solidly. The others hung limp and pliable.

  Failing to persuade Ted to hunt the big bucks for him, obviouslyThornton had hired someone else and Ted's thoughts swung naturally toSmoky Delbert. Smoky would do anything for money and he knew how tobargain. If he'd hired Smoky, Thornton must have paid a stiff price andthe rest was simple.

  Crestwood's walk-in refrigerator had a freezing compartment that wouldaccommodate a side of beef. It had been necessary only to bring the buckto Crestwood--no impossible or even difficult feat--hang it in thefreezer, and on this, the first day of the season, bring it out again.Nels, of course, had been fired solely to keep him from discovering whatwas in the freezer. It would hurt both Thornton and Crestwood if it wereknown that Thornton had bought his buck. The favorable publicity forwhich he'd hoped, and which he'd certainly get unless Ted exposed him,would turn to scathing condemnation.

  Alan Russell, Crestwood's part-time bookkeeper, broke from the crowd andcame to Ted's side.

  "Hello, Ted."

  "Hi, Alan."

  "Some buck, eh?"

  "Sure is," Ted said wryly. "I can imagine Thornton telling his adoringguests just what a Daniel Boone he had to be to get it."

  "After this season he won't be telling 'em at Crestwood."

  "Why not?"

  "Thornton's sold out."

  "Sold out!"

  "That's right."

  "When did all this happen?"

  "It's been hanging fire for a couple of months, but the prospectivebuyers met Thornton's price only three days ago. It was a stiff price."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm handling the book work."

  Ted said happily, "Alan, I love you!"

  The other looked suspiciously at him. "Do you feel all right?"

  "I never felt better!"

  Ted's heart sang. Game laws were game laws, and they applied to CarlThornton as well as to everyone else. But Crestwood was important to theeconomy of the Mahela. One did not jeopardize the livelihood of thosewho worked there, or the sorely needed money Crestwood's guests spent inthe Mahela, because of a single illegally killed buck or half a dozen ofthem. But now Ted was free to act. He sought and found John Wilson.

  "Shall we go?"

  "Guess we might as well. Looking holes right through this buck won'tbring the other one in range. Wonder how the lucky cuss got it?"

  "I have an idea."

  "I expect you have. _Br-r!_ It's getting cold."

  "It will be colder. We have to hurry."

  John Wilson looked at him curiously. "What's up?"

  "I'll tell you in a minute."

  They got into the pickup. Ted started the motor that had not yet hadtime to cool completely, and a trickle of warmth came from the heater.John Wilson looked sharply at Ted.

  "All right. Give."

  "Did you notice anything unusual about that buck?"

  "Only that it's the biggest I ever saw."

  "It's also frozen solid."

  "I--I don't understand."

  "The weather hasn't been cold enough to freeze deer. Thornton neverkilled that buck today."

  "Then he--?"

  "That's it exactly."

  There was a short silence. John Wilson broke it with a quiet, "Is therea story behind it?"

  "There is."

  "Want to tell me?"

  Ted told of his love for the Mahela, and of a heart-rooted desire todedicate his life to helping people enjoy it. He spoke of his work atCrestwood, and of his great dream to have a similar place, one day. Herelated as much as he knew, which was as much as anyone knew, of thestory of Damon and Pythias. He told of Carl Thornton's commissioning himto get both bucks before the season opened, of his refusal to do so andthe consequent loss of his job.

  He described the camp, and how and why it was built. Then the bombshell;Smoky Delbert's shooting and Al a fugitive in the Mahela. He spoke ofhis father's near-passionate interest in true conservation, and of hisnear-hatred for those who violated the sportsman's code. However, awareof Crestwood's importance to the Mahela, knowing that this violationwould hurt and perhaps ruin Thornton, Al himself would not have reportedit. But now that Thornton was leaving, was there any reason why heshould be shielded?

  There was another brief silence before John Wilson said quietly, "Don'tdo it, Ted."

  "You mean let him get away with it?"

  "Under any other circumstances," John Wilson said, "I'd say drive intoLorton and report him to the game warden. As things are with you now, ifyou do, you'll hate yourself. How are you going to decide exactlywhether you turned him in to settle a grudge or because you're abeliever in conservation? I agree that he should be arrested and fined.But arresting him won't return the buck to Burned Mountain. It won't doanything at all except bring Thornton a hundred-dollar fine, and he canspare the money. Yes, I'd say let him go and good riddance."

  "But--"

  "You asked my advice and you got it. If you turn him in, you'll hurtyourself more than you will him. By all means report law violators, butnever let even a suspicion of personal prejudice influence your report.It won't work."

  "I guess you're right."

  "I hope I am."

  That night the temperature fell to zero, and every buck on every gamerack in the Mahela froze solid. There was no longer any evidencewhatever to prove that Damon, as Ted thought of the great buck onCrestwood's game rack, had been taken by other than legal means.

  Even if Ted wanted to do something now, his chance was gone.

  * * * * *

  For twenty days, always leaving the Harkness house before dawn and nevergetting back until after dark, Ted and his guest had hunted Pythias.

  They had seen deer, dozens of them, and Ted had dropped a niceeight-point so close to his house that they had needed only fifteenminutes to dress it out, slide it in over the six inches of crisp snowthat now lay in the Mahela and hang it on the game rack. John Wilson hadhad his choice of several bucks, and at least four of them had been finetrophies. But he had come to hunt the big buck that still lurked onBurned Mountain and he was determined to get that one or none.

  It looked as though it would be none, Ted reflected as he sat in frontof the blazing fire, tearing a bolt of red cloth into strips. Pythias,who had sucked in his woodcraft with his mother's milk, had onlycontempt for any mere human who coveted his royal rack of antlers.

  The second day of the season, giving John Wilson ample time to posthimself in the white birches, Ted had gone to the bed in which they'dseen Pythias on the first day. A small buck and two does had gonethrough, but Pythias had not. Most deer have favorite runways, or paths,that are as familiar to them as sidewalks are to humans. Pythias seldomused one, and he never took the same route twice in succession.

  Hunted hard every day, he hadn't let himself be chased from the top ofBurned Mountain. Staying there, he knew what he was doing. Sparselyforested, the top of the mountain was given over to a devil's tangle oftwining laurel and snarled rhododendron. Some of the stems from whichthe latter evergreen grew were thick as tree trunks, and some of thewinding, snaking branches were thirty feet long. It was heartbreakingwork just to go through one, and impossible for a man to do so withoutmaking as much noise as a running horse. Once within the laurel orrhododendron, and some thickets were a combination of both, it wasseldom possible to see seven yards in any direction. Often, visibilitywas restricted to seven feet.

  Pythias haunted those thickets that varied from an eighth of an acre toperhaps eighty acres. Chased out of one, he entered another
, flittinglike a gray ghost through the scrub aspen that separated them. Then helingered until the hunters came and entered another thicket. Only whengoing through the aspens, where he knew very well he could be seen, didhe run. In the thickets he walked or slunk, and he never made a foolishmove.

  * * * * *

  Every day there'd been snow--and John Wilson and Ted had had trackingsnow for seventeen of the twenty days--they'd found Pythias' bed andhis fresh tracks. His hoofmarks were big and round, and they indicatedhim as surely as a robe of ermine or a scepter marks a king. But exceptfor the first day, when he'd been hopelessly out of range, the twohunters hadn't seen him even once. Pythias could never conceal the factthat he had walked in the snow. But he could hide himself.

  Methodically, Ted continued to tear strips from his bolt of red clothand lay them on the table. Tammie, grown fat and lazy during the threeweeks he'd been confined to the house--even though Ted had let him outfor a run every night--raised his head and blinked solemnly at thefireplace. Bone tired, John Wilson turned in his chair and grinned.

  "You have enough of those red ribbons so you could fasten one on halfthe deer in the Mahela. Think they'll work?"

  "I don't know of anything else. We've tried everything."

  "It's been a good hunt," John Wilson said contentedly, "and a mostinstructive one. I don't have to have a buck."

  "But you'd like one?"

  "Not unless it's Pythias."

  "We have one more day and I have plans. Here, let me show you."

  Ted tore the last of his red cloth into strips, pulled his chair up tothe table, took a sheet of paper and a pencil and drew a map. JohnWilson leaned over his shoulder.

  "This is the Fordham Road," Ted explained, "the first left-hand forkleading from the Lorton Road. Climb over the mountain and drop down theother side. The first valley you'll see, it's right here, is CoonValley. You can't miss it, there's a turnout and hunters have been usingit. Park the truck and walk up Coon Valley. In about half a mile, orright here, you'll come to three sycamores near a big boulder. On thisslope," Ted indicated it with his pencil, "there's a thicket of beechscrub. You can see everything in it from the top of the boulder, GloryRock. Climb it and wait."

  "That's all? Just wait?"

  "That's all. If I can put him out of the laurel, there's at least aneven chance he'll cross the ridge and try to get back into the thicketsat the head of Coon Valley. If he does, he'll come through the beechscrub."

  "And if you can't?"

  "He won't."

  "What time do you want me there, Ted?"

  "There's no great hurry. He isn't going to leave his thickets easily. Itwill take you about an hour to reach the mouth of Coon Valley and maybeanother half hour or forty-five minutes to get set on Glory Rock. If youleave the house by half-past six, you should be there soon after eight.That's time enough."

  "How long should I wait?"

  "Until I pick you up, and I will pick you up there. I may not comebefore dark. If I can put him past you, I will."

  "As you say, General."

  The tinny clatter of Ted's alarm clock awakened him at half-past threethe next morning. He reached down to shut it off, reset it for half-pastfive and stole in to put it near the still sleeping John Wilson. Tedbreakfasted, gave Tammie his food and a pat, donned his hunting jacket,put the strips of red cloth into the game pocket and stepped into theblack morning.

  He bent his head against the north wind and started climbing BurnedMountain. He knew as he climbed that he was pitting himself against aforce as old as time.

  The woodcraft of Pythias, or any deer, shamed that of the keenest human.Deer could identify every tiny sound, every wind that blew and the manyscents those winds carried. They knew everything there was to know abouttheir wilderness and they were all masters of it. No human could hope toequal their senses.

  But Pythias, the greatest and most cunning of all, was still a beast. Heknew and could interpret the wilderness, but he couldn't possibly applyreason to that which was not of the wilderness. If his confidence couldbe shaken....

  It was still black night when Ted reached the summit of Burned Mountain,but he had crossed and re-crossed it so many times in the past twentydays that he could do so in the darkness. Pythias was there, andpossibly he already knew that Ted was back on the mountain. But he'dfeel secure in the thicket where he was bedded and he would not go outuntil he was flushed.

  Ted sought the aspen grown aisles between the thickets. He hung a stripof red cloth on a wind whipped branch, walked fifty yards and hunganother. The night lifted and daylight came, and an hour later Ted tiedhis last strip of cloth to a twig. Carrying no rifle--but Pythiascouldn't possibly know that--he put his hands in his pockets to warmthem. Now he had to flush the big buck.

  He and his guest had left the great animal in one of the larger thicketslast night, but it was almost certain that he hadn't passed the wholenight there. Ted circled the thicket, found Pythias' unmistakable tracksand followed to where the big buck had nibbled tender young aspen shootsand pawed the snow to get at the dried grass beneath it. ThereafterPythias had done considerable wandering. Ted worked out the trail anddiscovered where his quarry had gone to rest in another thicket.

  He tracked him in, and he'd done this so many times that he knew almostexactly what to expect. The big buck would wait until he was suresomeone was again on his trail, then he'd get up and sneak away. Therewould be nothing except tracks in the snow to mark his going. A mancould not travel silently through the thickets, but a deer could.

  Deep within the thicket, Ted found the bed, a depression melted in thesnow, to which Pythias had retired when his wandering was done. Thetracks leading away were fresh and sharp, no more than a couple ofminutes old, but they were not the widely spaced ones of a running buck.Knowing very well what he was doing, aware of the fact that he could notbe seen while there, Pythias always walked in the thickets.

  However, when he decided to leave this thicket, he had leaped throughthe scrub aspen separating it from the next one. It could have taken himno more than a second or so. If a hunter had been watching, he wouldhave had just a fleeting shot and only a lucky marksman would haveconnected. Ted followed fast. There were no cloth strips in theseaspens.

  But when he came to where Pythias had intended to leave the nextthicket, he discovered where the big buck had set himself for the firstleap then wheeled to slip back into the laurel. Ten feet to one side,the strip of cloth that had turned him still whipped in the wind.Pythias had tried again to leave the thicket, been turned a second timeby another fluttering cloth and leaped wildly out at a place where Tedhad hung no ribbons.

  The buck's pattern changed completely. He was safe in the thickets, knewit, and had never deigned to run while sheltered by friendly brush. Nowhe was running, either in great leaps that placed his bunched feet sixyards apart or at a nervous trot. Ted began to have hopes.

  Pythias had the acute senses of a wild thing plus the cunning of a wisecreature that had eluded every danger for years. But the wilderness heknew changed only with the changing seasons. What did the flutteringcloths mean? Where had they come from? What peril did they indicate?Pythias' tracks showed that he was becoming more nervous.

  Ted pushed him hard. The buck could not reason, but if he passed enoughof them safely and discovered for himself that there was no danger inthe red ribbons, he would pay no more attention to them. An hour and ahalf after taking the track Ted knew that, at least in part, he hadsucceeded.

  Unable to decide for himself what the fluttering cloths meant, Pythiasswung away from the thickets into beech forest. Now he ran continuously.In the thickets, knowing very well that he could not be seen, he hadwalked until the fluttering cloths introduced an unknown and possiblydangerous element. This was beech forest, with visibility of anywherefrom fifty up to as much as two hundred and fifty yards. A hunter mightbe anywhere and well the buck knew it. He was going to offer no one astanding shot.

  Ted followed swiftly
, for now the hunt had a definite pattern. A youngbuck, chased out of the thickets on Burned Mountain, might linger in thebeeches. A wise old one would hurry as fast as possible into thethickets at the head of Coon Valley, and the nearest route lay throughthe scrub beech at Glory Rock. Ted was still a quarter of a mile awaywhen he heard the single, sharp crack of a rifle.

  He left the trail and cut directly toward Glory Rock. A volley was verypicturesque and sounded inspiring, but whoever ripped off half a dozenshots in quick succession was merely shooting, without much regard toaiming. Ted murmured an old hunter's adage as he ran, "One shot, onedeer. Two shots, maybe one deer. Three shots, no deer."

  He ran down the slope into Coon Valley and found John Wilson standingover Pythias. The hunter's delighted eyes met Ted's, but mingled withhis delight was a little sadness, too.

  "I now," John Wilson said, "have lived."

  "You got him!"

  "I got him, poor fellow!"

  "He'll never be a better trophy than he is right now."

  It was true. At the height of his powers, Pythias faced a certaindecline. Soon he would be old, and the wilderness is not kind to the oldand infirm that dwell within it.

  John Wilson laughed. "I know it. Look at him! Just look at him! I'll bethis base tine is thirteen inches long!"

  Ted said, "Ten inches."

  "Are you trying to beat yourself out of seventy-five dollars? I didpromise you twenty-five dollars for every inch in its longest tine, if Igot a head that satisfied me! This is surely the one!"

  Ted grinned. "I'll dress it for you," he offered.

  He turned the buck over, made a slit with his hunting knife and pulledthe viscera out. At once it became evident that John Wilson was thesecond hunter of whom Pythias had run afoul, for he had been woundedbefore. Ted probed interestedly. Entering the flank, the bullet hadmissed the spine by two inches and any vital organs by a half inch. Ithad lodged in the thick loin, and nature had built a healing scab oftissue around it.

  Ted probed it out with his knife and almost dropped the missile. In hishand lay one of Carl Thornton's distinctive, unmistakable, hand-loadedbullets.

  John Wilson asked, "He's been wounded before, eh?"

  "Yes!"

  "Ted, I swear that you're more excited than I am!"

  _Ted scarcely heard. He was here, beside Glory Rock, the day after SmokyDelbert was shot. Damon and Pythias, always together, and a deer sobadly wounded that it couldn't possibly go on. Damon hadn't gone on.Only Pythias had. Hurt but not mortally, he had left enough blood on theleaves to convince Ted that there'd been only one deer._

  "When do you suppose he picked that one up?" John Wilson asked.

  "I don't know."

  _Carl Thornton, who got what he wanted, had decided to get Damon andPythias himself._

  "He's darn' near as big as a horse," Wilson said.

  "Sure is."

  _A horse, a friendly, easily caught horse, that had gone down CoonValley that night with Damon on its back, then been released to go backup it._

  "You certainly know how to field-dress a buck."

  "I've done it before."

  _Smoky Delbert, happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.Thornton couldn't afford to be found out. Smoky would blackmail him._

  _Thornton paying Delbert's hospital bills._

  "Did I hit him square?"

  "A good neck shot."

  _Factory-loaded ammunition that almost never failed to mushroom.Hand-loaded cartridges that might fail._

  John Wilson fumbled in his pocket. "Doggone, I seem to have lost mypipe."

  _Al, forever losing his tobacco pouch, had gone to see Carl Thornton theday Thornton fired Ted._

  Ted wiped his knife blade on the snow, stood up and sheathed his knife.He looped a length of rope around the great buck's antlers.

  "He'll be easy to get out of here," he said.

  12

  AL'S BETRAYAL

  Deer season was ended and the village of Lorton brooded moodily betweenthe snowclad hills that flanked it. From now until arriving fishermenbrought new excitement, Lorton would know only that which arose fromwithin itself. Ted, who had put John Wilson and his great buck onyesterday's outgoing train, steered his pickup down the street with itsplow-thrown heaps of snow on either side and drew up in front of LoringBlade's house. He said, "Stay here, Tammie."

  The collie settled back into the seat. Ted walked to the front door,knocked and was admitted by the game warden's attractive wife.

  "Hello, Ted."

  "Hello, Helen. Is Loring home?"

  "Yes, he is. Come on in."

  She escorted the boy into the living room, where, pajama-clad and with apile of magazines beside him, Loring Blade lay on a davenport and sippedlazily from a cup of coffee. He looked up and grimaced.

  "Whatever you want, I'm ag'in' it. I aim to stay here for the nextnineteen years."

  Ted grinned. "Have they been pushing you pretty hard, Loring?"

  "I've been on the go forty-seven hours a day and, at a conservativeestimate, I've walked nine million miles since deer season opened."

  "Was it bad?"

  "No worse than usual. Most of the hunters who came in were a prettydecent lot. But there always is--and I suppose always will be--the wiseguy who thinks he can get away with anything. I caught one joker withnine deer."

  "Wow!"

  "He was fined," Loring said happily, "a hundred dollars for each one andsuspension of hunting privileges for five years."

  "Smoky Delbert give you any trouble?"

  "You know better than that. Smoky can't walk a hundred yards from hishouse and won't be able to for a long while to come."

  "I feel kind of sorry for the poor cuss," Ted murmured.

  Loring Blade looked at him sharply. "You didn't come here to ask meabout Smoky."

  "Oh, yes I did. Who talked with him after he was shot?"

  "I did, for one. Why?"

  "What did he tell you?"

  The warden shrugged. "You know that as well as I do. Smoky was walkingup Coon Valley when your dad rose from behind Glory Rock and shot him."

  "Can you tell me the exact story?"

  Loring Blade looked puzzled. "What do you want to know, Ted?"

  "Did Smoky hear any shooting?"

  "Come to think of it, a half minute or so before he got to Glory Rock heheard two shots."

  Ted's heart pounded excitedly. The two shots had been for Damon andPythias. Smoky wouldn't have heard the one that got him. Ted continuedhis questioning.

  "Did Smoky have any idea as to who was shooting at what?"

  "He thought your dad was banging away at a varmint."

  "Then he did know Dad had gone up Coon Valley ahead of him?"

  "Why yes, he saw his boot track in the mud. But you knew that."

  "Was Smoky afraid to go on?"

  "Why should he have been afraid? Who expects to get shot?"

  "Tell me exactly how he said he saw Dad shoot him."

  "Smoky was near the three sycamores when he thought he saw somethingmove. A second later, your dad rose from behind Glory Rock and shothim."

  "Smoky's very sure of that? It was Dad that rose from behind the rock?"

  "He told the same story at least a dozen times that I know of. It nevervaried."

  "Dad didn't step out from beside the rock, or anything like that?"

  "No, he rose from behind it."

  "Loring, has it occurred to anybody, except me, that the back of GloryRock is a sheer drop? Anyone who could rise from _behind_ and shoot overit would have to be at least nine feet tall!"

  "I--By gosh, you're right! I knew Al never bush-whacked him! He musthave been standing in plain sight when Smoky came up the valley!"

  "Smoky never saw who shot him."

  "That's not the way he told it."

  "Think!" Ted urged. "Think of the sort of man Smoky is. There was badblood between him and Dad and had been for some time. You were therewhen Dad dressed him down for setting traps before fu
r was prime. Therewas, as you'll remember, talk of shooting even then. Smoky knew Dad hadgone up Coon Valley ahead of him; probably he even _thinks_ Dad shothim. He said he saw him because he wanted to be sure of revenge. Smokywould do that."

  "Yes, he would. But it seems to me that you're doing a lot of guessing."

  "Maybe. You brought Smoky's rifle out?"

  "Yes."

  "Had it been fired?"

  "No, the bore was mirror slick."

  "What would you do if you ran across Dad?"

  "I'd bring him in, if I had to do it at gun point."

  "Loring, I am going to do something that neither you nor I thought Iwould ever do. I am going to betray my dad into your hands."

  "Then you do know where he is?"

  "No, I haven't seen him since the night he left."

  "Cut it out, Ted. We all know you've been taking him supplies and we'vetried a dozen times to catch you at it. You do know where he is?"

  "I don't, but Tammie does."

  "So!" the warden exploded. "Callahan was right! He thought he saw Tammieleave your house that night with a pack on his back. But when youwhistled him in, and he didn't have any pack, Callahan figured he'd madea mistake. How'd you manage that?"

  "Dad was coming to see me and he saw Callahan, too. He met Tammie withinyards of the house and took his pack off. Loring, if this is to be done,it's to be done my way."

  "What's your way?"

  "You do exactly as I say."

  "I'm listening."

  "Meet me at my house two hours after midnight. We'll cross the hills toGlory Rock; we won't be able to walk up Coon Valley. Then you're to hidebehind or beside the rock, any place you can listen without being seen,until I say you can come out."

  "Now look here, Ted, I like you and I like your dad, but I'm notsticking my neck out for anybody."

  "I promise you won't, and I also promise that you will get a chance tobring Dad in."

  The game warden pondered. Finally he agreed, "All right, Ted, it'll beyour way. But if there are any tricks, somebody's going to get hurt."

  "O.K. Meet me at two?"

  "At two."

  Ted drove happily to Nels Anderson's modest house and found his friendchopping wood. Nels greeted him with a broad smile.

  "Hi, Ted! Come in an' have a cup of coffee?"

  "I can't stay, Nels. How are you doing?"

  "Goot, goot for now. Them deer hunters what stayed in your camp, theypaid me nice an' I get another yob soon."

  "Crestwood's changing hands and the new owners are taking over nextweek. You might go ask them for your old job back."

  "Yah! I do that."

  "If you don't get one there," Ted said recklessly, "I myself will beable to offer you something that'll tide you over until you get anotherjob. I'm going to build more camps."

  "Py golly, Ted, I yoost don't know how to thank you!"

  "Will you do me a favor?"

  "For you I do anything!"

  "Then listen carefully. At seven o'clock tomorrow morning I want you togo to Crestwood and see Thornton; he'll be out of bed. Tell him thatthere's something near those three sycamores in Coon Valley that he'dbetter take care of."

  Nels scratched his head and let the instructions sink in. "At seventomorrow mornin' I see Thornton. I tell him, 'There's somethin' nearthem three sycamores in Coon Valley you better take care of.'"

  "That's it."

  "Yah, Ted, I do it yoost that way."

  * * * * *

  Ted's alarm awakened him at a quarter past one. He reached down in thedarkness to shut it off, and as he lay there he knew a cold foreboding.Until now, the day to put his plan into execution, he had been very surehe was right. But suppose he was wrong? Al would be in Loring Blade'shands, delivered there by his own son! Ted got up and almost grimlyclothed himself. His father couldn't stay in the Mahela much longeranyhow, and Ted knew he was right. When he was dressed, he sat down andwrote a note:

  Dad; Meet me at the three sycamores near Glory Rock and bring Tammie with you. It's very important. When you get there, hide in the beech scrub until you think it's time to come out. You'll know what it's about after you arrive.

  Love, Ted

  He put the note in a pliofilm bag and was just on the point of handingit to Tammie when he hesitated. Timing was very important, and certainlyAl Harkness was never going to show himself at the three sycamores if hesaw Loring Blade anywhere near them. Ted put his doubts behind him. Hisnote said plainly that something was stirring and his father wasn'tgoing to show himself anyway until he knew what it was.

  Ted opened the back door, gave the pliofilm bag to Tammie and said,"Take it to Al. Go find Al."

  Tammie streaked away in the darkness and Ted turned back to the kitchen.He set coffee to perking, laid strips of bacon in a skillet and arrangedhalf a dozen eggs nearby. At seven o'clock--and because he was who hewas it would be exactly seven o'clock--Nels would go to Carl Thorntonand deliver Ted's message. If Thornton was innocent, he'd probably thinkNels had gone crazy.

  But if Ted was right and he was guilty, Thornton would come up CoonValley as soon as possible, to find and destroy any incriminatingevidence that lay there. He would get the message at seven. Give him tenminutes to get ready, forty minutes--Crestwood was nearer than theHarkness house--to reach the mouth of Coon Valley and another twentyminutes to reach the sycamores. If he was not there by nine o'clock, hewould not come.

  There was a knock on the door and Ted opened it to admit Loring Blade.

  "Hi!"

  "Hi!" the warden grumped. "I've made all arrangements."

  "For taking Dad to jail?"

  "For having my head examined!" the warden snapped. "Who in his rightmind would let himself in for this sort of thing?"

  "In about three minutes," Ted promised, "I'll have hot coffee and baconand eggs. You'll feel better then."

  They ate, the warden maintaining a sour silence and Ted again filledwith doubt. All he really knew was that Carl Thornton had killed Damonand wounded Pythias before the season opened. The wounded deer in thebeech scrub could have been shot by anyone at all and--

  No, they couldn't. Al and Smoky Delbert, as far as anyone knew, had beenthe only two people in Coon Valley that day. Al wouldn't shoot anillegal deer and Ted had Loring Blade's word for it that Smoky's riflehad never been fired. There had been a third party, and after Ted chasedhim out of the thickets on Burned Mountain, Pythias had cut through thebeech scrub. Obviously, he knew the route and he wouldn't haveremembered that, a couple of months ago, he had almost come to disasteron it. A deer's memory isn't that long.

  When the two had finished eating, Ted asked, "Shall we go?"

  "I'm ready. But if we're going to Glory Rock, why can't we drive to themouth of Coon Valley?"

  "You promised to do this my way."

  There must be nothing to warn Carl Thornton away--if he came--and freshtracks leading up Coon Valley might do just that.

  Loring Blade said, "I suppose I might as well be a complete jackass as apartial one. We'll walk."

  They went out into the cold night, while the north wind fanned theircheeks and trees sighed around them. A deer snorted and bounded away,and there came an angry hiss from a weasel that, having all but corneredthe rabbit it was hunting, expressed its hatred for humans before itfled from them.

  Ted asked, "You tired?"

  "Lead on."

  The wan, gray light of an overcast morning fell sadly on the wildernesswhen the pair came again to the three sycamores and Glory Rock. Ted'swatch read seven-thirty. Carl Thornton had his message and, if he wasguilty, even now he was on his way.

  Loring Blade asked, "What now?"

  "You'd better hide."

  "Oh, for pete's sake--"

  "Dad isn't going to walk into your open arms."

  The warden said grimly, "All right. But if he doesn't come, there'll beone Harkness hide tacked to the old barn door and it won't be yourdad's."

&nbs
p; He slipped in behind Glory Rock and it was as though he'd never been.Ted was left alone with the keening breeze, the murmuring trees and theMahela. He looked across at the beech scrub where Al was supposed tohide, where he might even now be hiding, and saw nothing. He shiveredslightly--and knew that he was lost if Thornton didn't come.

  Then he was sure that Thornton was not coming ... but when he looked athis watch it was only five minutes to eight. There simply hadn't beentime.... Mentally Ted ticked another hour off. However, his watch saidthat only seven minutes had passed and he stopped looking at it.Forty-eight hours later, which his faulty watch said was onlyforty-eight minutes, he looked down the valley and saw motion.

  Ted stood very still in front of Glory Rock, and a prayer went up fromhis heart.... When the approaching man was very near he said, "Hello,Thornton."

  Carl Thornton stopped, and for a moment shocked surprise ruled his face.But it was only for a moment. He replied coolly, "Hello, Harkness."

  "I see," Ted observed, "that you got my message?"

  "Message?"

  "The one Nels Anderson gave you at seven o'clock this morning. The onethat sent you up here."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "This--and I found it within six feet of where you're standing. Now doyou think it could be the bullet that went through Smoky Delbert?"

  Ted took from his pocket the bullet he had dug out of Pythias and heldit up between thumb and forefinger. Again, but only for an almostimperceptible part of a second, Carl Thornton's composure deserted him.Then, once more, he was the master of Crestwood and as such he had noassociation with ordinary residents of the Mahela. He said scornfully,"Give me that bullet."

  "Well now, I just don't think I will. The Sheriff, the State Police--andmaybe others--will sure be interested as all get out. You'll have someexplaining to do, Thornton, and _can you explain_?"

  "I want that bullet!"

  "Why do you want it, Thornton?"

  "Give me that bullet!"

  "Not so fast. I might _sell_ it to you. What's it worth for you to haveit?"

  Carl Thornton's laugh carried an audible sneer. "You slob! You hillmonkey! You're even lower than I thought! Sell the evidence that wouldclear your own father for money!"

  "Then you _did_ shoot Smoky!"

  "I want that bullet!"

  "Come take it."

  "I'll do just that."

  Ted balanced on the balls of his feet, a grin of sheerest delight on hisface. Thornton was bigger than he--and heavier--and he was moving like atrained boxer. But because his back was turned, he did not see Tammieburst from the scrub beech and race him down. Tammie went into the air.His flying body struck squarely and Carl Thornton took two involuntaryforward steps. He fell face downwards and rolled over to shield histhroat with his right arm. Tammie's bared fangs gleamed an inch away andThornton's voice was muffled.

  "Call him off! I'll give you a thousand dollars for the bullet!"

  "No, thanks," Ted said evenly, "and I wouldn't move if I were you.Anyway, I wouldn't move too far or fast. Tammie might get nervous." Heraised his voice. "All right, Loring, I think he'll tell you the restnow."

  Ted scarcely noticed when Loring Blade came out from behind Glory Rockbecause his whole attention was centered on the man who emerged from thebeech scrub. Al Harkness was lean as a wolf. His ragged hair had beenhacked as short as possible with a hunting knife and his beard wasbushy. His tattered clothing was held together with strips of deerskin,fox pelt, wildcat fur and fishing line. But his step was lithe and hiseyes were clear and happy.

  "Hi, Ted!"

  "Hello, Dad!"

  They came very close and looked at each other, saying with their eyesall that which, for the moment, they could find no words to express....Then Al asked, "How you been, Son?"

  "Fine! Had a swell season! As soon as you get squared around again--andused to living like a civilized man--we can start two more camps."

  "Right glad to hear it. You'll have your lodge yet."

  "Might at that. How have you been?"

  "Not too bad." Al grinned his old grin. "Not too bad at all."

  "Hey!" Loring Blade called plaintively. "Call your dog, will you? I'vetold him six times to get away so I can start taking this guy to jailand all he does is growl louder!"

  Ted turned and snapped his fingers.

  "Come on, Tammie. Come on up here and join your family."

  JIM KJELGAARD

  was born in New York City. Happily enough, he was still in thepre-school age when his father decided to move the family to thePennsylvania mountains. There young Jim grew up among some of the besthunting and fishing in the United States. He says: "If I had pursued myscholastic duties as diligently as I did deer, trout, grouse, squirrels,etc., I might have had better report cards!"

  Jim Kjelgaard has worked at various jobs--trapper, teamster, guide,surveyor, factory worker and laborer. When he was in the late twentieshe decided to become a full-time writer. He has succeeded in his wish.He has published several hundred short stories and articles and quite afew books for young people.

  His hobbies are hunting, fishing, dogs, and questing for new stories. Hetells us: "Story hunts have led me from the Atlantic to the Pacific andfrom the Arctic Circle to Mexico City. Stories, like gold, are where youfind them. You may discover one three thousand miles from home or, as in_The Spell of the White Sturgeon_, right on your own doorstep." And headds: "I am married to a very beautiful girl and have a teen-agedaughter. Both of them order me around in a shameful fashion, but I canstill boss the dog! We live in Phoenix, Arizona."