The haunted hound; (19 page)

They made plans as they ate breakfast. Judy had brought her cow horn and they agreed that the first thing they should do was train Pot Likker some.

That day for Jonathan was all sunshine, summer heat, the woods and fields. They took Pot Likker way away from the houses and let him run anywhere he wanted to while Jonathan learned how to blow the horn.

Judy lay in the grass, her arms under her head, and laughed at him as he puffed his cheeks out until he could barely see, then blew as hard as he could. Only a feeble, wavery squeak came out. But when she blew the horn, a wonderful noise rolled across the hot, quiet land. However, Pot Likker would not even stop running around to listen when Judy blew. He would prick up his ears a little at the first note, but that was all.

Jonathan was dizzy from trying so hard to blow the horn, so he lay down on the grass, too, and panted awhile, his lips sore from pressing against the mouthpiece. 'What difference does it make whether I can blow it or not?" he asked. 'Tot Likker comes when I call him anyway."

"Makes a lot/' Judy said. ''On a real fox hunt the hounds might strike on two or three foxes. Well, you can't listen to them all, so you decide which is the best one to chase and you try to get all the hounds on that one. Maybe your hound is a mile or so away. He can't hear your voice no matter how loud you holler." Judy laughed. ''On almost every hunt there's always somebody who has to spend all night and maybe the next day looking for his dog. Now try some more, but don't try so hard."

Jonathan lay in the grass and again tried to blow the horn. For a long time nothing but tired squeaks came out of it, but then, all of a sudden, a fine, round note poured up. It was so good and solid that it surprised him.

Pot Likker was all the way across the field nosing around the edge of the woods. When he heard the horn he stopped and listened, his head up and his ears half unfolded.

"Blow again! He's waiting," Judy said.

Jonathan sat up and blew the horn again, this time making an even longer and sweeter note.

Pot Likker wasn't quite sure. He came toward Jonathan a little way, then stopped.

Jonathan blew a short commanding blast.

Pot Likker came galloping, his droopy ears flopping and his tail wagging.

It was wonderful.

After a while they got up and wandered some more, the dusty grasshoppers whirring away in front of them. Pot Likker came when Jonathan blew the horn and when he

came, the way he loved Jonathan made both him and Judy feel sort of serious. Pot Likker made it clear that as long as Jonathan seemed to want Judy to hang around it was all right, but to Pot Likker there really wasn't anyone else in the world except Jonathan.

Judy and Jonathan climbed up in a chinaberry tree and watched Pot Likker investigating the nearby woods. Judy leaned back against the trunk of the tree and balanced her feet on a limb. ''He's a wonderful dog, isn't he, Jonathan?" she asked.

Thinking about how wonderful Pot Likker was made him happy all the way through. He nodded at Judy and traced the way the silver bands ran around the cow horn.

''I bet that ever since he ran away he's been running foxes all by himself," Judy declared.

"You think so?"

''I know so."

'AVhat's a real fox hunt like, Judy? I wish I remembered more about them. I used to go, but I always got sleepy before anything happened."

Judy's face lit up. ''They're wonderful! You get up on a

hill and listen. You " Suddenly she stopped and sat up

straighter. 'This is Saturday, isn't it?"

Jonathan thought back, then nodded. ''I guess so."

"Yes, it is. Jonathan "

She was looking at him with a strange wild look. She was smiling a little, as though she had a secret.

**What?" he asked, feeling excited, but not knowing why.

*'Let's go fox hunting tonight/'

Jonathan still felt excited, but not so much. ''All right. Where?"

For some reason Judy whispered. ''Widow's Hill."

"Where's that?"

''It's where the men hunt. It belongs to an old, old man named Senator Hammond."

"Will he let us?"

Judy laughed, the sly look still on her face. "He won't even know we're there."

Jonathan was puzzled. "Suppose Pot Likker starts barking, won't the senator hear him?"

"Doggone right he'll hear him."

"Well?"

Judy slid along the limb until she was closer. Then, talking as though she was afraid somebody might overhear her, she said, "Let's do it, Jonathan! We could sneak Pot Likker into the race. Then w^e could hide up on the hill so they couldn't see us. Oh, I'd just love to hear Pot Likker give tongue on a real race. Wouldn't you?"

Jonathan nodded. Then, lowering his voice to the same tone as hers, he asked, "You mean there'll be men up there, too?"

"Sure there will. They have a race every Saturday night. There'll be old one-gallus fox hunters from all o\'er. And the hounds! They'll have the best hounds in the world running tonight."

''They will/' Jonathan said slowly, ''if Pot Likker is running with them."

"Will you do it?'' Judy asked breathlessly.

"Sure." Jonathan suddenly felt big and old. "I can do anything I want to, you know."

Judy sat baek frowning. "How'll we get there?"

"How far is it?"

"A Jong way."

"If we started walking now, eould we get there in time for the race?"

She shook her head.

"How about on horseback?"

"Uh uh."

"We could hitchhike."

"I thought of that. But don't you think that anybody who'd pick us up with a dog would turn out to be one of the men going to the hunt, too?"

Jonathan nodded. "Nobody else would, I guess."

"Then how?" But before he could answer Judy started to jitterbug on the limb.

"Sit still; you'll break it," he warned her.

"The railroad goes right by Widow's Hill, Jonathan," she said, calming down. "Do you suppose that engineer you know would give us a ride?"

"Maybe. He's a fox hunter, so maybe he would."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask him, would it?"

"All he could do would be to say no."

Then Judy frowned again. "Would he tell on you?"

Jonathan frowned, too. Then he said, ''No. I don't think so, Judy. In the first place, he doesn't know I've run away."

"I wish you wouldn't say 'run away,' Jonathan," she said quietly. "It kind of makes me feel bad, wrong. Just say you've 'moved.'"

"All right. Because I haven't really run away. I told my father—at least I wrote him a letter—telling him all about it."

"If he still remembers about dogs, he'll understand, won't he?"

"I think so."

"Will he try to find you, Jonathan? I mean, get the police or the FBI or something?"

Jonathan thought. "I don't know. I don't think so. My father's kind of funny. You might think that he was sort of a stern, faraway man, but, sometimes, he can be just like other people."

"I hope he leaves you alone," Judy said. "What would happen to Pot Likker if he made you go away from him?" He won t.

Judy started climbing down out of the tree. "We'd better start back so we'll be there in plenty of time to catch the train."

Jonathan braced himself in the tree and put the horn up to his lips. He blew the long, wailing, "Come here. Pot Likker," tune. In a little while Pot Likker came galloping through the woods.

'Til go by Uncle Dan's, then meet you at the track/' Judy said.

They were waiting for Mr. Duncan's train when it pulled slowlv up the long hill at the Farm.

Jonathan started waving as the engine crawled toward them. When Mr. Duncan waved back, Jonathan began to trot along, warning Pot Likker to stay right at his heels.

Running along beside the window of the engine, Jonathan yelled up, ''Will you take us to Widow's Hill, Mr. Duncan?"

Mr. Duncan cupped his ear and yelled something.

The engine kept on puffing and grinding. Bursts of wet, warm steam flowed around Jonathan and Pot Likker as they ran.

Then he thought that Mr. Duncan said, "Wait until I get to the top of the hill.''

When all the freight cars were on the level stretch, the train clanged to a stop and Mr. Duncan came halfway down the narrow ladder of the engine. 'What's the trouble?" he asked.

"We want to go to Widow's Hill, Mr. Duncan. Could you let us ride?"

"Say, where'd you get that big-footed Trombo dog?" Mr. Duncan asked.

Jonathan patted Pot Likker proudly. "He's mine. His name's Pot Likker."

"He's going to Widow's Hill, too?" Mr. Duncan asked.

Jonathan nodded.

Mr. Duncan and the fireman both began to smile. 'AVhat are you kids up to?'' he asked.

''Nothing, Mr. Dunean/' Jonathan protested. ''We just want to ride with \ou as far as Widow's Hill."

Mr. Duncan was still smiling. ''And what are you going to do when you get there, Jonathan?"

''Well, nothing/' Jonathan said.

"What you taking that big Trombo for?"

"Oh, well—well, he's my dog, Mr. Duncan. He has to go, too.''

"And isn't there going to be some fox racing around Widow's Hill tonight, Jonathan?"

Jonathan had to smile. "Maybe."

Mr. Duncan said, "Get up in here, all three of you."

Judy went first, then Jonathan. When he was up in the cab, he called to Pot Likker.

The big black-and-white dog took a running start and jumped all the way from the ground to the floor of the cab.

"That's a good-looking hound," Mr. Duncan said admiringly. Then he looked at Judy.

"This is Judy Shelley," Jonathan said.

Mr. Duncan pulled off his stiflE-cuflfed glove and shook Judy's hand. "I know your mother, Judy. At least I know who she is and I've seen her paintings. They are really beautiful."

Then he sat down on the high seat on the right side of

the cab and pulled the whistle cord once. ''Old Dollar Bill's back there wondering what's going on/'

The fireman laughed. ''He'll be up here complaining that this ain't no passenger train."

Jonathan and Judy watched as Mr. Duncan began to shove a huge lever slowly forward. The train lurched and slid, then began to move ahead.

Mr. Duncan looked over his shoulder at Jonathan. "You know/' he said, "if I didn't know better, I'd say that that was a cow horn youVe got slung around your neck."

Jonathan glanced at the horn.

"And," Mr. Duncan went on, "I've heard that cow horns can be used to call foxhounds with."

Jonathan and Judy kept quiet.

"Now, look here, Jonathan Barrett and Judy Shelley," Mr. Duncan said, his voice very stern, "are you figuring to run that big lop-eared Trombo in the race tonight?"

"Well," Jonathan said.

"Well me no wells, Jonathan. Is you is or is you ain't?"

"We is," Judy said, ready to fight if she had to.

Mr. Duncan laughed. "I knew it. The minute I saw you standing beside the tracks I said to myself, 'Those kids are up to something/ What are you aiming to do, sneak him in the race?"

"Don't you think we'd better?" Judy asked.

"Yeah. Don't let old Senator Hammond see him. Or you either. The old senator's getting mighty exasperating in his old age. But then you've got to give him credit. He's eighty

years old if he's a day and still fox hunting winter or sum-mer.

''Is his dog Dora still alive?'' Judy asked.

Mr. Duncan laughed. ''About as alive as he is. That old shovel-nose hound is still creeping, danged if she ain't."

Judy was amazed.

"How you planning to get home?" Mr. Duncan asked.

Neither of them had thought of that. And it didn't seem important.

"I tell you/' Mr. Duncan said. "My buddy, Jim Stark, will be bringing the midnight freight past there around eleven-thirty. Want him to slow down for you?"

"Fine!" Jonathan said.

"All right. He'll start blowing coming down Devern Hill and be creeping up Widow's. Then he'll slow down at Barrett's again and let you off."

"That'll save us a long walk," Judy said.

Mr. Duncan nodded and then asked, "You want to drive this hunk of junk, Judy, while I eat some supper?"

Judy backed away until she bumped into something. Her eyes got bigger and bigger.

"Nothing to it. Just be sure nothing's on the track. If something is, haul back on this"—he patted the big lever— "and yank down on this." He pointed to a red handle.

Judy got up in the seat gingerly and put her hand on the big lever. "Don't go far away," she said, her voice a little squeaky. Then she stared out the window at the darkness crowding in against the tracks.

Jonathan noticed that Mr. Duncan kept looking over Judy's shoulder even while he was getting his lunch box down off a shelf.

As he started unwrapping thick steak sandwiches, he glanced at Pot Likker lying calmly on the swaying metal floor.

"That's a good-looking hound, Jonathan. Big shoulders and big chest. What kind of voice has he got?"

"I haven't heard all of it yet/' Jonathan admitted.

'Til bet it's music coming from a chest like that. Can he stay with 'em?"

''I don't know/' Jonathan said. ''I think so."

'Til bet he can. Looks like he's got endless bottom. Where'd he come from?"