Sumner Wilson

18940 CR 7300
Newburg, Mo 65550

The Outlanders
By Sumner Wilson

Chapter One
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The male’s chest bulged wide with heavy, thickly corded muscle. Even so,

his shoulder muscles protruded even more so. This awesome display

carried forward throughout his entire body and created a frightening

image. He stood just over nine feet tall. His weight was slightly more than

four-hundred pounds. His hair was at least ten inches long, was reddish

and in places completely red, and hung down in strings from his entire

body. These strings or fringes shed water and sweat from his body.

He vocalized in deep grunts, barks, at times in sharp whistles, and

commanded his mate exceptionally harshly, and the juvenile male with

them in this way as well.

The female was seven and a half feet tall, and likely weighed three-

hundred pounds, more than a hundred pounds less than her mate. Her fur

was darker than the male’s and had no red in it. Not even in streaks. She

was older than the male and had given birth before mating with the male

she now accompanied, following the death of her first mate. Her face was

thinner than the wide-faced, heavy-browed mate she accompanied, and

was not as fierce-looking. They were daily travelers and had trekked more

than six hundred miles since she gave birth to the young male. The family

browsed as they traveled and made slow progress. They often stopped and

remained in a choice location for several months or until the game gave

out.

At one point in her life, she had been in the company of a large

group of members of her species of up to twenty individuals, but after the

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death of her first mate, the large male she now accompanied had taken her

farther from the forest of her youth, although she often had dreams of

returning to what she considered her home.

The child was seven years old and for his youth loomed five feet

high. He was close to one hundred fifty pounds. His features were closer

to the female’s than the male’s, although his brows were heavy, almost

shadowing his eyes, as was the male’s, his sire. The child seemed to travel

with no discipline of remaining with the two other beasts. He often

wandered off into the deep brush and scratched about for choice bugs and

mushrooms that he shoveled into his mouth with no caution. He seemed to

know by instinct the foods that were dangerous to him, which he avoided.

For a good part of their journey, though he managed to remain in sight of

his parents, and the few times he fell too far behind, he quickly shuffled

forth and regained his normal place with his family. The child had once

strayed far from his family and on realizing he was lost he was in a near

panic, running about lost and not staying put where he was, even when his

instincts told him that he should.

When he did find them, his mother cuffed him in the face, which

caused him to turn about and scurry off again. She quickly ran him down

and slashed his flanks, although not deeply, but enough to draw blood. He

made sure not to linger too far from them after this incident, and his

discipline improved afterward.

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An hour more of slow traveling after fording the last river they had

encountered, the male halted at a small stream and commenced drinking.

He consumed an enormous amount of water. The female and child stood

by and waited their turn. When the male finished drinking, he walked off

into a heavy grove of spindly trees called Paradise Trees. He tore off a

large amount of the tender tree limbs and commenced making a bed, wide

enough for all three of them. While the female and the child quenched

their own thirst.

They had gone two days without eating anything substantial,

although they did eat a large meal of a fruit that was dried out called paw-

paws from last season last evening. This didn’t fill them up completely

but managed to ward off hunger pains for the time being. For some reason,

the male seemed to be in a hurry, even though haste was not a part of their

everyday routine. When they located a site where the game was abundant

they would remain there until the food supply dwindled away.

She watched as the male took to the bed he made and decided that

there was enough daylight left to hunt for food. Being omnivorous, she

would take whatever food she could find, meat being her preferred meal,

but she would take whatever presented itself.

In the meantime, the child was already searching nearby. He was

already adept at finding fruits and vegetables, but so far in his maturation,

he had not run down an animal to eat larger than rabbits and squirrels.

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The female watched the child for a while, then deciding he would

not stray far from his sire, she took off on her own.

The male youngster walked off into the brush but looked back on

occasion toward where the big male lay upon his bed. He had learned

since the incident where he was lost, not to go too far from his sire’s

sight. Now he could see that the male kept his dark eyes on the child, and

this was enough to command him to remain close by.

He scratched about for food, already accustomed to the frequent

hunting trips made by his mother. He found eight small morel mushrooms

and paused, stuffed them into his mouth, and consumed them.

Just then, a rabbit jumped up in front of him and bounded off into

the brush, and he pounced at it but missed. He chased after it, eager to

make a catch that would still the hunger pains he lived with daily. He saw

the rabbit again, not five feet from him, hunkered beneath a small group

of sumac bushes. It stared at him with the eyes of fear as he reached out

toward it. But he carelessly touched its fur. The small creature suddenly

burst alive with the energy of a dynamo and fled again.

It seemed that the rabbit had been taunting him for some reason that

he could not think of, not realizing that the creature often relied on its

skill at blending in with its surroundings rather than running off again. He

was not quite fast enough to overtake the animal but this time next season

he would be able to do so and even larger animals as well.

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When the rabbit ran from his sight again, he chased it until he

passed through a cluster of hazelnut sprouts three feet high. He stopped

then and found a source of food that would not flee him. He gathered up a

full handful of the nuts and stooped to eat them. He crunched down the

shells, goodies, and all, while saliva ran from both corners of its mouth.

He forgot all about the rabbit and gathered up the hazelnuts and allowed

them to fall on the ground in a pile. When he had stripped the largest

bush, he hunkered on the ground, and with the shells crunching loudly

between his teeth, and grunting his approval of the taste of the nuts, he

felt satisfied for the first time today.

The female had better luck than did the child. She suddenly, as

mysteriously as fog appeared back in camp with seven rabbits she had run

down. She had eaten the first one while the blood was still hot, which

added to the flavor of the meat, and eased her hunger a bit. When she

showed up, the child was hunkered close by the male, too afraid to lie

down while he was still awake, and stared at him with black eyes, while

the male stared back even more intently at him.

The family made short work of the rabbits and having finished, and

because it was almost dark, they clustered together, with the female lying

next to the male, and the child lying on the outside, although within an

arm’s length of his mother.

Then, as if from some unspoken agreement all three of them fell

asleep.

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During the night, the large male sat up, while the female aroused by

his disturbance, sat up as well. They both sat there for a long time,

peering off into the dark forest from their black eyes, attempting to

penetrate the darkness. The male had been awakened when the cicadas

stopped their chirring and screeching in the nearby bushes and had fallen

silent.

He choked off a bark, that frightened her, though she had no idea

for what reason. The male continued to stare into the dark night with his

eyes scanning the west.

In time, she too, saw what he saw. A light, faint in the distance

through the woods, shone orange as if issuing a silent message. She too

choked off a stifled bark of astonishment, then reclaimed her place and

fell silent alongside him.

Minutes later, the male stood up and blocked from his mate’s view

with his enormity the light that had disturbed them. He studied the light

for some time, looked down at the female, raised an enormous hand,

barked louder, and strode off toward the light.

*****

Adam Pugh placed the wooden bar inside the two hooks one to a side of

the reinforced door which prevented unwanted visitors access to his one-

room cabin. He took a chair at the table where the light was brightest and

opened his bible. Pugh was not a particularly religious man, but he had no

other reading material except for his bible. It was an ancient book, nearly

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falling apart at the bindings. The book contained not only the Old

Testament and the New Testament, but all the apocryphal books as well—

the Book of Enoch, The Bel and the Dragon, the Book of Jubilees, all the

banned books. He once read the Book of Enoch, but the book was weird

and it frightened him, he also avoided Revelations. His favorite was the

Psalms, as well as the proverbs of Jesus, but they were widely scattered

out in the bible and he didn’t cherish hunting them up. He enjoyed the

poetry of the writing in the Psalms, as well as the knowledge and the pure

wisdom that he found there. He wasn’t the type of man to enjoy fire and

brimstone and he stayed away from that sort of writing.

He turned once again to the book of Psalms and settled himself

down to enjoy his reading. His eldest border collie, Melvin, barked once,

then fell to growling deep in his chest. Baker, the younger dog soon took

up the deep growling as well although he refrained from barking.

The two dogs slept under the porch except on relentlessly cold

winter nights when they crawled deeper beneath the cabin, dug out small

pits that they fit in perfectly like bear pits in a cave, far out of the wind.

This being the spring of the year they slept through the night beneath the

porch. Rarely did he hear a sound from them, but tonight they seemed to

be bothered by something.

In time, they ceased to growl. Pugh listened a bit longer, then when

nothing else caused the two dogs to sound off, he settled the tattered book

before him upon the table between his wide, callused hands. He did so

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carefully so it wouldn’t fall further into disrepair than it was already. The

book had been with him all his life. First, as a child, the bible had rested

on a small table that held nothing more. Just the Bible. After he married,

and after the death of his parents, the book became his. He took it with

him when he moved from his home, and he read from it daily. He once set

his mind to read it from cover to cover but gave it up after he decided that

he was merely reading words with comprehension gone by the wayside.

So, he decided to read his favorites and read them slowly and to ponder

over what the tale or the parable really meant.

He began to read, going carefully so as not to miss any true

meanings. Then Melvin let loose a loud barking that Baker soon joined in

on.

Pugh placed the book back upon the table and sat with it still in

easy reach. The dogs grew more frantic by the second until the cabin was

completely engulfed by their racket. He couldn’t imagine what was

disturbing them. He’d never heard them carry on this way. Occasionally

they would sound off when a deer entered the yard, but they would soon

burst out from beneath the cabin and give short chase. This didn’t happen

this time. Something else had fired them up. A thing that seemed

unfamiliar to them, or so Adam Pugh thought.

The barking continued. By and by, Pugh pushed back his chair and

sat there trying to hear sounds other than the barking. He finally stood up

and took up the cane he used when his knees were acting up and tapped it

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on the floor just above where he figured the dogs sounded as if they were

situated, for they had just now scooted beneath the floor of the cabin.

The barking stopped instantly. Pugh turned and walked back toward

the table to continue his reading. He had just reached his chair, ready to

reclaim his place, and the dogs spoke again.

This time, he knew that something out of the ordinary was going on

outside the cabin. All dogs he knew, were well equipped with fantastic

hearing and eyesight, and with an olfactory system that was so keen, it

was even greater than the dog’s ability to hear as well as to see. Someone

once told him that dogs were able to see better with their nose than they

were with their eyes.

Pugh walked to the small closet that held his guns and hefted his

Winchester 44/40 rifle that he used to kill deer with. He stepped over to

the window to see what he could, and to determine what was taking place

outside.

The cabin had but one small window and it on the south side of the

building. He peered out through the glass, one that had not been cleaned

since last spring. The moon was up and full but with a large ring

encircling it. The yard on that side of the building was awash in

moonlight, nearly as bright as day. He looked toward his small barn,

which housed only his team. The cow was in the field with her calf and

failed to come to his call at dusk.

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The calf consumed most of the cow’s milk as it was so he didn’t get

much from her. In a few weeks with the new grass growing since warmer

weather, she would produce more than was needed for the calf and he

would then be able to keep some for himself.

The racket beneath the cabin grew louder, more urgent now. The

dogs barked constantly and nearly out of control.

He called out to Melvin to calm him down, but he could barely hear

his own voice over that of the barking dogs. So, his calls resulted in

nothing that calmed and hushed the dog creatures. He put his attention

again to the window, bent closer to the pane, and peered out again.

Just then his breathing shut down, he stepped backward scarcely

able to keep his feet beneath him, so great was his shock.

In time, his breath came in short, choked gasps. He peered out

again. Just as he thought he had been mistaken, he now discovered the

source of his shock. An animal stood out there at the corner of his shed

where he smoked meat of hogs and hung them on hooks from a large, wide

slab of wood laid out horizontally across the two-by-fours that held up the

shed’s ceiling. What meat he didn’t smoke he always salted down with the

heavy grained yellow salt bought in town. The immense animal lit out in a

medium-paced run. Pugh saw that he carried something beneath an arm.

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Chapter Two

Later, the creature ran across the wide lawn. It looked over toward the

cabin where the racket from the dogs had now become hellish.

Pugh figured that the animal either saw him in the window or the

racket of the dogs had unnerved it.

It took off in a lope across the hundred yards or so of open space to

where the woods overwhelmed the yard.

Pugh came to as if he had just awakened. He rushed to the door,

flung it open, and stepped quickly onto the small porch. He reared the

rifle to his shoulder and by instinct rather than taking true aim, and

squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared to life then like magic. A long

stream of fire burst from the end of the barrel three, perhaps three feet

long. Adam Pugh still stood within the distance of the interior of the cabin

where the report of the rifle bounced inside and launched outward again

from the interior. His ears rang from the explosion, for it had been last

fall since he had squeezed the trigger on a rifle, and he was unused to its

report.

The creature ran in long strides with the speed of a horse in long

and smooth graceful strides.

“Damn, missed him.” At least he doubted he had hit the animal. He

continued to watch as the beast quickly approached the woods. Just as he

was merging with the woods, he looked back over a shoulder, and Pugh

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saw in the brightness of the moon that he was definitely packing

something beneath an arm, clutched in a grip that held it fast to his side.

Pugh fired again, realizing the futility of hitting the creature, for it

had already burst into the woods. He slowly lowered the Winchester but

held it in a firm grip fearing the return of the animal, whatever it was.

He felt something warm brush against his pants leg. He looked

down and saw Melvin standing there. He chuckled with relief at the

familiarity of the nose of the dog. He patted Melvin on the head and said

as if the dog could reply. “Where’s Baker?”

No sooner than said, the younger border collie joined him on the

porch, evidently trusting enough in his master to join him.

He patted Baker, rose back up, and said, “You gents going with

me?”

He allowed that he had nerve enough to at least check on the

smokehouse. The creature was carrying something when it fled, so it had

to have entered the smokes house in some way or other.

He stepped down off the porch and walked toward the barn, for it

was first in line on his trip. He took six or eight steps and sensed that he

was alone. He looked back over a shoulder and saw the two dogs still

sitting on the porch. He didn’t attempt to encourage them to follow, for he

worried about their safety, and he didn’t want to lose either one or both.

As big as that monster was it would take but a mere swipe of a hand to

kill them.

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He entered the barn and walked back inside to the stall that held the

two horses. He invaded a large cloud of dust motes that were illuminated

by the strong moonlight. One animal raised its head, and snuffled in the

same voice it used when it saw it was about to be fed. Pugh stopped

before the stall, and the horse walked up and placed its head over the half

wall of the stall. He reached out and stroked its soft nose. By this time,

the other horse appeared out of the deep gloom of the stall. The team was

all right. For some reason, they hadn’t been alarmed by the visit from the

creature out of the woods as had been Melvin and Baker. He wondered

about that for a bit but gave it off to the fact that dogs were equipped with

a much stronger alarm system. Little escaped their sense of smell.

He turned then, raised his rifle across his chest, and walked into the

dense cloud of dust motes lit by the rays of the bright moonlight at the

entrance to the barn that he’d walked through on his way inside. He

continued his search.

He reached the smokehouse. The hasp was shut and the wooden stob

he secured it with was still in place. Nothing was amiss with the door. He

moved to the left of the small building to the corner where he first saw the

woods-creature, peering at him. He turned and stopped. Whatever the

creature was it was strong. Nearly a quarter of the logs that comprised the

wall on the south side were lying about in a jumble on the ground. Those

logs had been properly notched and set solidly in place. Pugh didn’t abide

with shoddy workmanship, especially when his foodstuff was in peril. He

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walked up to the rent in the wall. He raised the rifle a bit higher and

stepped inside, hoping that the beast he had fired at was the only one. It

would be a horrid event to step inside and go face-to-face with another

one. If that was the case, he knew that the creature wouldn’t have to even

touch him to put him out of commission. His surprise and fright would be

enough to do that.

The remainder of the side of beef that he had bought from Charles

Yoke during butchering season was still hanging on its hook, a bit mouse

nibbled, but still nothing to be disturbed about. He reached the wide slab

of wood that he had lain and salted down the hog meat upon, passed it by,

and saw that most of one whole side of beef was missing. This was what

the creature had been toting along with it.

“Christ,” he muttered. He loved beef better than any other, and what

was left would not last him until next season. Now he would be forced to

rely on pork to get by. He worried about the hogs down in the hog lot.

He stepped back outside and walked deeper into the meadow to the

hogpen he had erected in the vicinity of a large post oak tree that shaded

the entire hogpen in the heat of summer. He saw the live pork lying in

rows several yards inside the pen and sighed seeing that they were still

safe.

The only reason for their safety that the enormous animal must have

caught the scent of the meat in the smokehouse and went for it first.

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“Lord,” he muttered low, “I hope that thing moves on. If it hangs

around here for a time, it could wipe out all the meat in the smokehouse.

Then what?”

He hoped that the smokehouse fill would be enough to satisfy it, but

knowing wild animals as he did, he realized that it would probably rather

have fresh-killed meat. Perhaps it would soon move on.

He sighed then, turned and walked swiftly out of the meadow,

through the yard, and stepped up on the porch. The dogs were gone,

probably beneath the house, or so he hoped.

He whistled once sharply. Seconds later he heard the dogs rustling

about beneath the house, and then heard a flurry made by one of the dogs

beating its tail on the ground. He walked back inside the cabin and shut

the door. He found the bar in the corner behind where the door would rest

if it were open. He slipped it in the rungs across the back of the door,

slapped it from habit to be sure it was stout within the iron slats.

He paced the floor for several minutes to disperse the nervous

energy that had accumulated in his system and then sat again at the table.

He sat straining to hear anything amiss from outside, although he knew

firmly that the dogs would sound off much before he grew aware of

anything wrong. He relaxed then, with the dogs on guard, and dragged up

the ashtray with his pipe lying inside it, pulled it to him, and pulled up the

tobacco pouch from the tabletop. He set about then to load his pipe with

his mind working on the mystery that faced him.

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He couldn’t find an answer to what the animal was. He had never

seen anything like it in his life. In fact, he had never even heard anyone

else mention such a beast as this. He was sure that if someone had done so

and if there was an audience the gent would have been laughed at with no

mercy. There was no answer. He felt sure of this.

“What’s to be done?” he wondered aloud. “What happens if that

thing returns?” He heard one of the dogs under the cabin respond to his

voice by wagging its tail against the ground. He smiled at this bit of

comradery that exists greatest between man and dog.

By and by, as if giving up, he sighed, found a match in a shirt

pocket, and scratched it to life on the underside of his pants leg that he

hiked high for that purpose. With the flame from the match dimming the

light of the table lamp he fired his pipe and sat smoking and attempting to

chase away the negative thoughts that this conundrum presented him with.

He smoked his pipe out, placed it back into the medium-size clear glass

vessel that his wife, dead now for four years, had once used as a bowl to

hold baked beans in on Thanksgivings. He had dropped it once since her

death and chipped the rim, and now used it as an ashtray. In the learning

process, he needed to accustom himself to the chore of cooking his own

meals. He had no compunctions about using it as an ashtray since it was in

his sight every evening when smoking and helped remind him of her.

By and by, he drew up his bible and set about to read. The wall

clock ticked noisily away on the wall to the left of the front door, the only

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door in the small building. He looked up and saw that it was eight-thirty a

mere half an hour away from his usual bedtime.

Eventually, he grew interested in the Psalms, and though he had

read through them all many times, he still found something new and

completely interesting each time he took up the book. Tonight, he read

from Psalms CXL., starting as, “Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man,

preserve me from the violent man.”

Then as he reached the passage, “The proud have hidden a snare for

me, and cords; they have spread a net by the wayside; they have set gins

for me.” He reached the word “Selah” indicating the conclusion of the

verse, and the dog, Melvin spoke up loudly.

So rapt had he been in the passage that when Melvin barked, Pugh

nearly fell from his chair from surprise. He stood up gathered his rifle

from the table and stepped quickly to the window.

The yard and the meadow below it were awash in the light of the

moon that was now waning but still threw a bright light. He clearly saw in

an instant that both were empty of any danger. He turned to the door. The

dogs continued barking in loud voices. He opened the door, and not daring

to step outside onto the porch shaded his eyes from the lamplight and

gazed out across the front yard to the road that led into the small town of

Louvin. He peered across the road and to the edge of the woods where he

saw three of them. Three beasts this time, all of them large, some larger,

and all with hair the hung down like spider webs, but much thicker.

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A family it was. A big one, one that was smaller than the really

large one, and one clearly a juvenile, looked toward his cabin. A chill ran

up his spine. He raised the rifle and without any more than this, sighted

down the barrel at the larger beast. He squeezed the trigger and felt the

slight recoil against his shoulder. He saw that he had struck his target.

The smaller beast whistled in a piercing warning—or what the old

man took to be a warning. The smaller beast as well as the young one—the

juvenile turned at the sound of the rifle fire and fled into the woods. He

had hit the larger animal he saw by the abrupt flinching of its enormous

shoulders on the left side of its body. The creature lingered a minute. It

gazed down at the wound made by the 44/40 slug. It then looked

momentarily again at the cabin turned, and ran off into the woods

following the two others of its clan.

Still somewhat jarred by this second encounter he failed to fire

again until the animal was nearing the edge of the woods. He fired then.

But seeing that the creature did not flinch or slow down even a step, he

realized he had missed this time.

“Blame it all,” he said aloud. “I had my chance but missed it in my

tardiness.”

He stood in the doorway long enough for the small frogs, the

creepers, to continue their springtime chirping again. He turned then from

the doorway, shut it, replaced the bar, and walked back to his chair where

he had been reading at the table.

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He usually smoked but one pipe of tobacco of an evening, but from

excitement, he nervously filled the bowl of his pipe again, lit it, and sat

there smoking and thinking but mainly amazed by the events of the

evening. A chill passed over his body, and in time he commenced to shake

from nerves.

He read until his head started to bounce off his chest. He set the

bible back on the table and leaned back in his chair. Pugh realized that he

would get little sleep this night. Sometime later, he relaxed, and without

knowing it, fell asleep slumped in his chair.

Nothing more disturbed the peace of his small world.

He awoke in the morning stiff from sleeping in such an

uncomfortable position. He figured that the creature he had shot, had been

hurt enough to force him to refrain from more mischief during the night,

and hoped that he had hurt it enough that it might die from its wound. But

from the way the creature had run off after receiving the slug, he knew

that it wouldn’t die. Not from that shot it wouldn’t. He had struck it much

too high in the body for it to be a killing wound. Since the attack on his

farm last night had come after darkness set in, he decided it wouldn’t

return until tonight, or at least until another night. The beast might take

some time to heal. But Pugh would be on high alert all the same.

He stood up, went to the cookstove, removed the lid from the heavy

skillet that held the remainder of last evening’s meal. Then after eating

breakfast, he took up the table scraps from this morning’s meal, found his

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rifle, for he was in no way about to go outside without it, not after last

night’s ordeal he wouldn’t. He stepped out onto the porch where the two

dogs lay blocking his way, but they jumped alert when he stepped outside.

The rifle felt good in his hands, and even though he doubted the

creatures would return in the daylight hours, he kept it with him all the

same.

At the barn, he scooped corn into the bucket he used to feed the

hogs with. He turned and headed for the hogpen. After he fed and watered

them, he fed the horses, turned them out, and walked back to the house.

Today he would attempt to repair the damage to the wall of the

smokehouse.

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Chapter Three

The large male had continued to run following the loud noise that

shattered the silence. The report of Pugh’s rifle had frightened him and

his mate and child. He felt the burning sting of his shoulder but was not

bothered much by it. He had felt far worse than this in his time.

Later, he caught up with his mate and son, slowed, and ran on

pacing them until they reached their campsite. He sat down on his bed and

tried to examine his wound more thoroughly than he had at the edge of the

woods. He, of course, was fortunate the man hadn’t hit him again, but he

was completely unaware of the danger he’d been in.

The blood seeped from a hole in his chest several inches above his

male breast nipple on the left side of his chest near the shoulder. He lay

down. By now the wound ached but not enough to stop him. Several

minutes later, the female hovered over him, and she too examined the hole

in his upper chest. The blood was but a seep by now. She need not search

for cobwebs. She made a few soft grunts in her chest, raised up, and faded

silently into the woods with her son following.

The young animal piped softly with the cheeks of his mouth puffed

up, and occasionally whistled, doing this softly from nerves, fear, and

confusion.

The female searched about in the underbrush, evidently looking for

something specific. She finally found what she was looking for aided by a

falling shaft of moonlight that penetrated the heavy leafy limbs overhead

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that aided her great night vision. She bent and dug into the soil beneath a

short spindly bush, and in a few seconds tore the bush from the ground.

She turned it upside down in the shaft of light and satisfied with what she

saw she took hold of the root system growing there and pulled it free. She

slung the roots about, in the air above her head for several seconds, and

this pelted the male child with tiny clods of dirt from the roots and

created a small dust cloud that hovered above his head.

He whistled louder this time and stepped back out of range of the

brief rain of dirt.

She stood erect, grunted to the child, stepped quickly out of the

shaft of moonlight, and without bothering to retrace her steps in, created a

new path on her return.

The mother and child knelt again above the big male who looked up

at them with eyes that had no expression of pain or any other emotion as

if what would happen would happen regardless of what he might do. He

was emotionless as a boulder.

The juvenile sat a few steps behind its mother and watched on with

alert focus, understanding little, but curious all the same.

The female took several roots and placed them into her mouth, not

chewing but allowing them to set inside against her cheek to warm it and

make it more pliable. The shafts of moonlight that fell through spaces in

the canopy looked unearthly or would have to a human. The animals could

have cared less the way it appeared.

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For ten minutes she allowed the roots to warmup, felt them fall

apart in her mouth, placed a finger in her mouth, and withdrew the soggy

mess. She shoved this toward the male. He hesitated for a short time,

staring at her all the while as if the blob on her finger was not worthy of

observation. Later, however, he opened his mouth in agreement with what

she wanted. She placed the roots inside, withdrew her finger, shoved

against the right side of his chest, and pushed him backward until he was

once again lying down. She then placed the remaining roots on the ground

nearby with the likely intention of repeating the process later if he would

allow such a thing.

She stared on with no expression, with no light of intelligence in

her eyes, although it was clear she was sufficiently intelligent enough to

find the roots that possibly would bring about a cure for his wounded

chest.

The youth creaked a few times, creating tiny frog-like peeping

sounds, and presently she heard him fall over. She looked and saw that he

had gone to sleep and fallen onto his chest. She swiveled about then, rose

up, and stood looking off through the eerie scene with the moonlight

plunging through the overhead canopy that stood between her and the spot

where her mate had been injured.

Minutes later she sat on the ground, this time alongside the child,

tugging him against her chest, and this warmed her as well as the child,

which was her intent.

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The big male slept through the night and half of the day. When he

awakened he felt sluggish and as worn out as if he had run hard all day

long. He sat for a long time in a fuzzy haze. Sometime later, in the

afternoon, she placed a portion of the salted pork he had stolen, before

him, and he hesitated none, but took it up and began noisily eating away.

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Chapter Four

In late afternoon Adam Pugh was still busily repairing the damaged wall

of the smokehouse. He heard steps behind him and at first felt a rising

panic in his chest that stiffened the muscles of his heart until he caught

the scent of the cow.

He turned and smiled as he studied the light tan milk cow for injury,

as well as the calf. The cow looked on stupidly, and in time, the calf spun

in a half-turn, found a small growth of clover, and stuck its muzzle into it.

The cow was not injured in any way he could see, and the calf was plenty

healthy-looking. The wild animal, whatever it was, had not bothered them

at all.

“Ahh,” he muttered. “I see you are nigh ready to wean you, little

milk thief, you.”

Pugh enjoyed a glass of milk on occasion as well as butter, and the

thick milk-gravy he always made from it. It was good to see the cow and

calf back in the yard. The grass was growing taller by the day. He didn’t

like a shabby, weed-grown yard, and the cow and her calf would do their

best to keep it under control. At times, he staked out the team in the yard

to trim it even neater.

He had worried about the cow being alone in the pasture with the

calf that way. Now, even though the enormous animal might come around

again if it didn’t die from the wound he felt he had inflicted upon it with

the 44/40 slug, although he worried that he hadn’t struck it a deadly blow.

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“You go on, now, Sally,” he said gently, pushing against her side,

“find yourself a nice spot to graze and get after it. I got work to do. I do

enjoy your company though.”

The cow, as if understanding every last word the man had spoken,

turned and walked deeper into the yard a hundred feet or so from the door

of the cabin. Pugh turned-to again, took up another of the fallen logs,

carried it to the wall, and set it in place, then feeling it was secure, took

up the trowel and the board with the clay and dirt mixture he had mixed

earlier, and chinked it in place.

He finished the repair job just in time to feed the hogs again. As he

carried the slop bucket of corn down to the hogpen, they were screaming

for their slops.

He poured the corn into the long trough on the ground within arm’s

length of the fence and scattered it out evenly so the hogs wouldn’t fight

for it, so much anyway . Hogs fight only when there is another one of its

kind in reach. Other than that, the dumb brutes are not overly greedy .

This was a joke he had heard from his pap years ago.

He walked away from the hogpen. The horses hadn’t shown up yet,

so he stopped and whistled loudly for a couple of minutes, turned, and

walked on to the barn.

He then returned to the cabin, and just as he was about to start

supper, he heard the horses outside the door. He put aside his supper meat,

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and trusting the fire to behave itself, left the cabin to feed his horses and

to put them up.

After supper, he stepped out onto the porch and sat down on the

large block of limestone in front of the porch he used as a step-up onto the

deck of the porch. He sat and enjoyed the sun heading toward the tops of

the trees in the western forest, and saw Melvin and Baker emerge from the

woods. They rarely hunted on the west side, but he allowed this was

because of the fright the large animal had given them, for they had

emerged from the forest on the west side of the cabin.

He chuckled to see them striding confidently across the yard toward

him when last night they were shaking like dropped skeletons in a

sideshow. The nearer the two dogs came to him, the faster they walked

until by the time they reached him they were both twisting their tail ends

violently in pure joy.

He scratched behind their ears Melvin on his right and Baker on the

left of him. He talked to them, a man nearing the end of his life’s journey

as if they were human friends he hadn’t seen in some time and was happy

they had come at last to visit. It was hard to tell which was happier, man,

or dog. They sat and visited until the shadows covered the cabin and

Adam Pugh shoved the dogs to the side, stood up, and walked inside. It

was nearing time to read from the Psalms.

He slept at the table again, however, nothing out of the ordinary

happened. The following day passed without anything of note taking

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place, and on the next night, he decided he would sleep again in his bed,

which was nothing more than a skinny cot he’d bought from the furniture

store in Louvin after the death of his wife, and with himself being unable

to sleep again in their bed. It stood in all its parts against the north wall.

He turned down the cover, fluffed his pillow, and stepped over to the table

to light his pipe and open his bible.

Just as his hind end grew familiar with the seat of his chair, a large

screaming of his horses started up in the barn. He jumped to his feet, and

just as he did so the two dogs sounded off again like coon hounds on a hot

trail. He failed to take his coal oil lantern with him, knowing that the light

would merely blind him, but he did take the Winchester.

He stepped onto the porch and the dogs rushed him. He beat them

down and stepped around them to the ground, figuring they would scoot

beneath the porch. But as he walked cautiously toward the sound of the

screams, he felt the two dogs brush his legs, one to each side.

He entered the barn expecting to be met by the rush of the large

animal at any moment. He raised his rifle, ready to fire off a round, no

matter what might be tormenting his horses, man, or beast. Then one of

the horses gave off the most pitiful scream that had ever heard out of

them. Right away a loud scuffling occurred inside. He stood still, hoping

to be able to see better if he found a way to sharpen-up his eyesight to a

keen edge, against the darker interior of the barn.

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He felt without seeing it yet, that the monster had killed one of his

horses. A sharp crack burst through the air followed the screaming and he

pushed deeper inside the barn with the dogs by now having gone back to

the safety of the cabin but still barking hysterically from the safety of the

porch.

He held the gun aimed ahead of him ready to find a target. His left

foot struck something that would not move. He tripped and sprawled

headfirst across the dead horse. He sat up and spit horse and cow manure

from his lips. He felt about, found the gun that had fallen from his hands

in his fall. He felt around again for the horse. But what he felt instead was

the thin tail of Sally, his milk cow.

He had raised this animal from a calf. She had been under his care

for seven years. He felt like crying for his inability to protect her. He

remembered her new calf. He swung about and headed toward the earlier

sound of the cracking of what he feared had been timber breaking. He

moved toward the back wall, fearing what he would find there.

One of the horses shuffled nervously about in its stall and Pugh

paused a second to touch its forelock. Behind this animal, he saw the dim

outline of the other one.

“Good,” he muttered. “At least I still have my good team.”

He moved on until he reached the wall. Even though he tried to

refrain from cursing his daily travails, he could not do so this time.

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“Dammit. Damn the bastard. He must’ve seen me and held tight

until I entered the barn.”

He remembered the calf and stepped through the large rent in the

back wall the beast had shoved out. He walked around to the left of the

barn and turned the corner staring out across the wide yard. It had seen

him approach the barn and had held tight until Pugh stepped inside.

He saw the large beast in a hard run out across the yard. It had

something slung over a shoulder. He couldn’t see for sure what it was but

in his heart, he realized it was the suckling calf. He heard it bleat loudly

then and knew for sure he was right in his guesswork.

He forgot all safety then and lit out in a full run, at least as full out

as a man his age was capable of attaining.

He lifted the rifle and fired at the beast. But hit nothing but air,

followed by some tree that eventually stopped the slug. He continued to

run after the beast. He reached the edge of the woods and clearly saw it in

the bright light of the moon. He failed to stop at the edge of the woods

where commonsense commanded him to. Stop for his own safety.

He plunged on into the woods, still running, but nearly out of breath

by now. He ran on into the deep brush and the magical scene of falling

shafts of moonlight penetrated the thinner section of the canopy. He failed

to notice the magic in his haste and because he had witnessed as much

many times in the past years, and it now held no mystery for him.

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By and by, he was simply too worn out to run any farther. He

stopped and listened for the crash of brush ahead of him that would tell

him the direction the creature had taken after it reached the woods. But all

he could hear was his own labored rush of his breath, coming and going,

huffing and puffing.

Pugh heard nothing of the beast. Even the insects were silent from

the commotion and racket of pounding feet and the slash and slap of brush

that loudly whipped the old man’s pants legs. If the big animal was nearby

he should have been able to hear it. But he heard nothing of the kind.

In time, his wind returned, and with it his basic sense of safety. He

stood there and stared into the dense woods, with the only light the shafts

of moonlight that penetrated the cover of the overhead limbs, which by

this time in the spring were close to full foliage.

Nearing the end of his lust for revenge, he heard a sound behind

him and spun about raising the rifle as he did so. He thought the beast had

circled behind him and was ready to pounce.

When the noise turned into substance, he saw the two dogs coming

toward him and marveled at how lucky at least one of them had been that

he hadn’t shot it.

The two dogs reached him and leaped upon him with their feet

planted firmly against his knees.

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“Melvin, you old rascal,” he muttered. “Do you know how close you

came to getting shot? How’d you ever find the courage to leave the

porch?”

He scratched both dogs for a bit, and since they still longed for

more loving contact, he knelt and hugged them both, doing so for several

minutes before rising up and walking through them on his way back out of

the woods and to the house. Pugh, as well as the dogs, were extremely

needful of love and company. He was an old man with no one left to even

speak with. It was a hateful experience in the dark, late years of his life.

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Chapter Five

Later, he sat at the table in the darkness and finally went to sleep there.

Nothing more disturbed him during the night. After breakfast, he took his

rifle and left the cabin with Melvin and Baker at his side. He walked to

the barn to see what it would take to repair the damage the creature had

created last night.

The horses were still in their stall. Still safe. He walked past as they

snuffled to him, both with heads protruding over the half wall. He felt

surprised that the damage was not as bad as he feared. He figured because

he had surprised it that the creature hadn’t taken the time to do much more

than create a hole large enough for it to pass through with the calf slung

over a shoulder. Thinking of the calf forced a bright lancing fire of hatred

to spring up within his soul. The calf to him was an innocent animal. But

to the beast, it was nothing more than food.

“Dammit,” he cursed again, then bit his tongue to prevent a full

outpouring of his rage.

He managed to calm down enough to do up the chores. As he fed the

hogs he wondered just how fast the beast could run. Pugh concluded that

surely it couldn’t run as fast as the horses. So he decided to turn them out

and allow them a chance to run away in case it decided to kill them as

well. He took one of the horses, hooked it in harness backed it up to the

dead cow, and hooked up both hind legs, whistled softly to the horse, and

dragged the cow down past the hogpen to a brush pile he had intended to

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burn last fall but hadn’t gotten around to yet. He could have butchered the

cow, but she was not just a cow but a friend. He unhooked the horse, led it

several yards away, although the creature wasn’t spooky and had watched

as he’d burned out other brush piles, he took no chances. It took him

twenty minutes to haul the limbs of brush from its original spot over to

the cow and cover it entirely. When through, he struck a match and since

the wood was well seasoned it took fire immediately. He watched it

perhaps ten minutes and seeing there was nothing but greenery around the

fire, he left it to its own resources and walked alongside the horse back to

the barn. He unharnessed it, and let the other one out of the stall and they

followed him outside and walked off toward the creek below the spring,

not far from the grave of his wife and the empty grave he had dug for

himself last fall.

“Well, at least I won’t have to suffer through the decay of old Sally now.”

He felt good about this but was still hurt by his loss.

Later, he went back to the barn and worked on the damaged wall

until time for the noon break. Shortly before one o’clock, he finished the

repair job and decided not to add extra fortification against further attacks

by the beast by adding logs to it. He had no cow now and had already

turned the horses loose to fend for themselves. He reckoned the team

would come to the barn when they got hungry for oats now and then. The

rest of the barn repairs could wait until after he killed off the wild

creatures in the woods or they left on their own accord or until they killed

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him or perhaps forced a deadly stroke or heart attack on him. One thing

was true, they had to go. They or he one or the other. He preferred that he

kill them, that way he wouldn’t have to worry over whether they might

someday return and continue to belabor his nerves.

As darkness set in, he took his rifle, placed a ladder against one

wall of the cabin, and climbed up to the roof where he planned to keep a

lookout all night long. He had plenty of ammunition for the rifle, and if he

had the right kind of shot, he felt sure he would need but one shell,

although he had a coat pocket of them nearly half full.

Unfortunately, Pugh underestimated what it took to kill a beast of

this size and did so badly.

He brought along his pipe, already packed with tobacco and several

matches. Pugh felt good that he finally was taking a step toward being

offensive instead of being put upon by the creature. They simply had to go

and soon.

What the savages might be, he still had no idea. He had once seen a

picture of a large gorilla, a mountain gorilla the text below the picture had

claimed. This gorilla had been huge as well. Some of them, he read,

weighed over three hundred pounds. This could be one of them, he first

thought, but he soon recalled that the text also said that a gorilla walked

on all fours although they can on occasion walk upright for a short

distance. He decided that whatever the thing was, it surely was not a

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gorilla. This animal was too adept at walking upright and could run

exceptionally well.

He started thinking again about the safety of the horses and

wondered if they truly would be able to outrun the animal in case it

attacked them. He decided that if they had a fair start they could run

faster than it could, but if the thing meant to kill them for food, it would

stalk them and would wait and choose a proper time to make its jump. A

surprise such as this likely would be enough to allow it to catch one of

them. These thoughts bothered him for a time but he finally turned his

mind against such as this and concentrated on the beast that he supposed

would come from the east woods, which was the direction the other

attacks had been launched from.

Around midnight, the air grew chilly and he buttoned up his coat all

the way to the top button, glad that he had it with him, glad for the

warmth.

Later, he grew chillier, fog swelled in small clouds hovering just

above the ground, and remembering that he had fired the kitchen range to

cook supper with, he figured there would still be some fire left in the

range, he hobbled bent over at the waist, being careful not to slip on the

rooftop. He reached the chimney that he had built with new bricks from

the lumber yard in Louvin years ago. He sat down with his back against

the chimney and was rewarded by the penetration from the heated bricks

against his back.

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He lit his pipe and settled back, smoking and without being able to

block thoughts of the creature and what it could be, where it had come

from, and gave all into the thoughts.

The animal was plenty strong, that was a sure thing. It had carried

that side of pork as easily as if its arms had been empty. As he thought on,

he decided that the first thing he should do in the morning was to remove

the twenty-eight gallons of honey that he had stored in the smokehouse in

fourteen two-gallon crockeryware jugs. He meant to sell it to the grocer in

town, which would fetch him a good price, money that he sorely lacked

now with the need to buy a new cow. Art Haines who lived to the south on

the road to town usually had a few extra cows around. He would try there

first, it being but three miles from his own place. He felt some better with

having resolved to lug the honey into the house for safekeeping. He sat

there then and listened to the calling of the whippoorwills.

At first light, he crawled down from the roof and went to the house,

with the hounds crowding around his feet as soon as he showed himself.

He fed the hogs and later ate breakfast and sat at the table, and by the

time he finished eating, he felt so worn out he wondered if he could stay

up long enough to do anything else today. In the end, he decided he would

take a small nap before he tackled the job of fetching the jugs of honey in

from the smokehouse. Those jugs were heavy, and he was an old man who

needed his rest.

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He felt good enough to remove his shoes but then lay in bed in his

clothes. He thought very little before sleep descended on him as if

someone had tossed a blanket over his head.

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Chapter Six

He dreamed of his wife as he slept and all his worries of the past several

days disappeared.

Long into the afternoon, he finally awoke. He sat up, and wondered

why the shadows were long and on the wrong side of the room for it to be

morning. It dawned on him then that it would soon grow dark.

“Bless me,” he said, but with more in his voice than the asking for a

blessing, he sat up abruptly on his cot. He cast about on the floor, found

his shoes, donned them, and stood up. He was still sleepy as he splashed

water on his face, and afterward felt more alert, but with his guilt raging

high at his sleeping all day long, he rushed toward the door.

Melvin looked up from the porch as he stepped outside. The dog had

a look on his face that Pugh figured had to be puzzlement at what he had

done inside the cabin all day long instead of being up and around and

doing his chores that had gone by the wayside since he slept all through

the daylight hours. He was way behind, and as he rushed to the barn for

the feed for the hogs, he heard them screaming as if they were in the pain

of starving to death.

“Perhaps they are,” he mumbled his disgust at his sloth.

By the time he had fed the hogs, the sun was fast passing over the

tops of the western treeline. Soon it would be dark again, and he had done

nothing toward moving the honey from the smokehouse into the cabin.

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More than this, he too was starved, nearly as much as had been the hogs.

He stepped past Baker and Melvin and entered the cabin.

He saw no way he could lug all the jugs of honey inside unless he

put something in his gut first. He fired the kitchen range and sliced up a

large portion of bacon to make his meal with, and all the time regretted

that he hadn’t the means to make a skillet of milk gravy.

After supper, he made up his mind to carry every last jar of honey

inside before he did anything else. Since it was fast onto dark he donned

his jacket again and stepping toward the door, he heard Melvin sounding

off in his deep voice one that was deeper than was Baker’s, which was

how he determined the voice of each of the dogs.

He wondered what was up. He clutched his rifle tighter in his hand

and rushed to open the door. He stepped outside and by this time the dogs

had taken again to their hideout beneath the porch. It was barely dark, and

the creature or creatures had returned already.

He peered through the gloom of early nightfall. The moon was not

yet risen above the eastern treeline, but he noticed its glow behind the

eastern tree growth all the same as he stepped onto the ground. The calf

was small and the animals that it was stolen to consume were huge. The

calf meat would not last them long. Evidently, they had consumed it all by

this time.

He looked toward the smokehouse and watched a swift, darting

figure of a creature run across the yard toward the woods. He slung his

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Winchester to his shoulder and this time took aim. He squeezed the trigger

just as the animal reached the edge of the woods. The rifle cracked loudly

and spat fire and lead at his intended target. But despite careful aim, he

missed again. In place of blaming his failing eyesight, he felt the desire to

curse in response to his failure to hit the beast and for his misfortune to

be attacked once more in this manner. He stood watching in hopes the

animal might show itself again and do so long enough that he could take

extra good aim before firing again.

He sighed, turned away from staring at the woods, then walked on

to the smokehouse worrying with every step taken what all he might find

torn up inside.

He opened the door, and stepped inside, he could see lighter

darkness coming from the south side of the building where he repaired the

damaged wall and found that once more the beast had torn off logs enough

to allow him entry inside.

By and by, he sighed. “I wish he would just learn to open the

danged door.” He said it as a joke, something to ease his foul mood, but

didn’t feel that it was humorous at all.

This time he didn’t even attempt to prevent muttering curses, and

when finished felt as if he might let loose with more in case he saw

something even worse. He looked about inside and felt a strong relief that

all seemed safe, except for four missing jugs of honey.

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This would eat into his profits. This he did not like at all. He had

plans for the money the honey would fetch him. Part of it was now gone.

He sighed as he sought a solution to his problem, one that seemed to grow

daily. What would happen, he wondered, if he brought the other ten jugs

inside the cabin with him, and while he was outside in the daytime,

attending to the hogs or doing some other chore and returned and found

the part of one wall of the cabin missing and more jugs were gone as well?

He decided that if he left the jugs here inside the smokehouse, and

attempted to guard them the beast would surely steal them then. So he set

his mind to lugging the rest inside with him. This was the only answer he

came up with.

He picked up a jug of honey and attempted to pick up another one

but there was no way he could manage this and hold the rifle too, although

the honey likely only weighed ten or twelve pounds a gallon. He carried

the one jug to the house and placed it against the west wall as far away

from the window as possible, for the window he reckoned would be where

the creature would start to demolish the side of the cabin if and when he

decided to do so. He would learn if he went for the door, that it would be

difficult to tear down. He had built it stout to last a lifetime and had

recently reinforced it. He looked about the interior for a better storage

place. The wide shelf on the wall that his wife had used to store her

perishables on as far from the heat of the stove as possible was the place

he thought of first, but after studying it awhile he figured the shelf was

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much too thin and flimsy to hold twenty gallons of honey. So he went

back to the chore of bringing in the rest of the stash. Along the back wall

would have to work until he carried them into town to make a trade-off at

the store.

The dogs continued to accompany him on his trips to and from the

smokehouse. Several trips later five jugs were all that was left in the

smokehouse. He left the dogs on the porch and set the jugs on the floor

with the rest. He paused awhile to rest at the table and sat there for

perhaps fifteen minutes. But as he straightened up to go back outside, he

heard the dogs barking again.

Pugh jumped for the door but remembered he had forgotten his rifle,

turned, and stepped back across the room to fetch it with the dogs raising

cane outside all the while.

He ran back to the door, and on outside. He arrived at the yard just

in time to see all three of the creatures running steadily toward the woods,

all with jugs of honey in hand. The adults carried two apiece, the child

carried one as well and did so with fair ease as it looked to Pugh. He

decided that this creature too would be dangerous to face.

By the time he raised his rifle, the entire family entered the safety

of the woods. He felt so low down that he fired off five rounds as quickly

as he could jack out the spent shell casings. He did this though, despite

knowing all the while that it was too late and that he would just be

wasting powder and lead. When the slugs whistled into the woods, he

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sighed tiredly and sat down on the porch step. This was too much for him

to take. He hung his head, and then decided he was simply feeling sorry

for himself. He raised up by and by and sat there and staring into the

gloom of the forest. The dogs sat one on each side of him, for company, or

for protection one or the other. He was glad to have them with him. He too

was starved for company. The feeling grew worse by the day. He knew

that he would have to go to town or to his closest neighbor the Loops soon

or go crazy from loneliness. But this would have to wait until he resolved

the problem that faced him now.

There had to be a way to stop the beasts. He had to find a way. If

not, his entire food supply would be wiped out. Eventually, he rose up

with his rifle in hand and walked toward the smokehouse to determine

how much if any honey they had left him. He knew there had been but five

left on his last trip, but he was compelled to make sure. He felt certain

that the creatures had carried them all off. The large one carried two, so

did the other one, and the child carried one. That made five. He saw no

way to deny it. This was a fact. Sorry but true.

He stepped inside, struck a match, and surveyed what was left of his

honey cache. It was just as he knew it would be. His entire supply of

honey was gone. Those three inside were all of it. This would not be

enough to buy the supplies he was desperate to buy, and he was unable to

buy the cow he needed now as well.

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He felt like screaming but refrained from doing so. Instead, he

vented his anger in a long stream of vulgarism the likes of which had not

passed his lips since his time in the war.

Later he returned to the cabin, sat down on his cot, and idly stared

outside through the door he’d left open.

“I’m in a fix now,” he said. “I might be able to buy up a cow on

credit. But danged my hard luck soul I hate to do that worse than anything

in the entire world.”

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Chapter Seven

After his first raid on the honey, the big male fetched the lone jug back to

the camp alongside the stream. It was not often that he stayed so long in

one area. He didn’t like these human creatures. He didn’t like their looks.

He didn’t like the way the stank nor the nest they used, made from wood.

But he did like the steady supply of food they left for him, although he

knew that they didn’t actually leave it out for his benefit. For some reason

though, they left it out and unguarded so it might as well have been that

they had left it for him. That was how it seemed to him. He liked this

because it was so easy to pilfer.

He sat down on his bed that he made from the soft limbs of a tree

that he often used to make his beds with because after several days the

bark fell apart and the soft interior, pulpy as it was, turned much softer

and this made an excellent sleeping pad.

A two-gallon jug of the honey set before him and his mate came and

looked at it. She hunkered before it and studied the jug for a time as if

waiting for the male to show her what it was and if it was something to

eat. She soon discovered that the piece of wood, a stopper, would need to

be pried off first to see what was inside, for she knew there was

something inside, just what she didn’t know.

Instead of opening the jug, the big male sat there and watched it

closely as if it might jump up and run off into the woods. Once he

ventured to investigate it, touched it with a finger, and allowed his finger

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to trail down the side. When he withdrew his finger he felt something

adhering to it. He studied it for a time, brought the finger closer to his

eyes. Eventually, he lifted it to his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and licked

it. He jerked back his finger as if he had touched something hot and just

like that he knew exactly what was in the jug. He had found this before

but in trees with holes in them.

He took up the jug, shook it as if he might hear the contents in a

slosh. He heard nothing inside though because of the thickness of the

honey. He placed the jug on the ground before him again and studied it for

a way to get inside.

He studied it for so long his mate grew impatient and without fear

for her safety reached out and drew off the stopper that made a loud plop

and then fell away.

The male gave her an angry glance then as if he might cuff her, but

she pointed to the mouth of the jug. He looked to where she pointed

picked up the jug as if it were weightless, hefted the thing to his mouth,

and swilled at it. He drank for a good long time, with the female looking

on as if despairing of ever getting to share any. She caught the scent of

the honey and she too learned what it was. She had guessed this much

earlier but was not entirely certain.

Finally, he removed the jug from his mouth and looked at her, at the

youth, who by this time, was hovering nearby as if wondering what was

going on, and what was so mysterious about the thing his sire held close

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to his enormous chest with golden drops of liquid on his chest hair shining

brightly in the light of the moon. Unfortunately for him, the ruling male

was allergic to one of the flowers the bees had removed the nectar from to

make the honey with. It had been long ago the last time he had tasted

honey. He had forgotten the bad results that occurred to him after drinking

it.

Again the male raised the jug and drank down the thick sweet

liquid. This time the female looked as if it was a sure thing that her mate

would drink it all, and with her yearning for a taste of it all the while.

The big male drank again, long, and without taking time out to

breathe. In time, he placed it before him with a satisfied look on his face.

Now she dared to touch the jug. The male, however, was still not ready to

share his treasure. He slapped her hand back and drew the jug closer while

he took a break from imbibing the sweet drink.

Eventually, the male took it up once more and gulped down another

long draught, and then set the jug down as if he were finished with it. He

drew farther away from it and rested his head against a small tree.

The female reached cautiously out for the honey and the nearer her

hand advanced toward it the bolder she grew. By and by, she latched onto

it, and when he did nothing to dissuade her—not even a mild vocal protest

—picked it up and commenced drinking as if she were the authentic owner

of the honey.

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In time, she managed to remove it from her mouth and let it rest on

her lap. Honey by now leaked from the jug and ran down its sides, and

landed on her fur as it had his. She paid it no attention though, and went

back to it, and nearly drank it all. She didn’t though, and as if satisfied or

for some other reason, perhaps she felt the child needed to taste it as well,

she motioned him over and indicated he should try it.

He approached in fear, for he was well aware that his mother could

strike without notice and strike hard too.

Eventually, he decided to plunge in all the way. He boldly reached

out as his mother had earlier and drew the jug up close. He tipped it to his

mouth, and when he tasted the honey, he scooted back on his heels. A look

of total surprise and shock spread across his face, and had his parents

been capable of doing so, they surely would have laughed at the

incredulous look on his face.

In a short time, the jug fell empty. The child ran his fingers around

the lip of the mouth of the jug and licked away all the sweetness that was

there. He then stuck his finger deep inside, drew it out time after time,

and later, after finding no more honey on his finger when he withdrew it,

picked up the jug, and in anger threw it back over his head.

The jug struck a rock large enough to withstand the toughness of the

crockery and the side of it broke. The youth turned then to see what the

noise was all about and saw that the side of the container was broken and

the interior was covered in honey. He moved up to it and seeing more

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sweetness there, commenced to lick away at it. He ran his tongue as far

around the broken shard as he could until finally he tossed it aside, and

picked up the rest of what remained of the jug. He could find little honey

there however and tossed it down again on the stone that had broken it

before.

It took him less than ten minutes to lick up all the honey. He then

sat and stared at the broken jug as if it might suddenly present more. But

this didn’t happen, and at last, the child grew tired of the effort, and lay

down and was asleep so fast it was as if a tree limb had fallen on his head

and knocked him out.

The next day all the family could do was long for more honey. But

the male denied them the privilege. In the end, they walked off deeper

into the woods to find a more substantial meal. Later, the male jumped a

deer, ran it down and killed it, slung it over his shoulder as if it were a

small parcel instead of a grown deer. He placed it on the female’s

shoulder and they waited until later on, and another deer headed toward

them. They remained silent and because the wind was coming toward

them, the deer with a large rack approached as if it owned the entire

forest. It came close enough to the trio that it was nothing this time for

the big male to run down and snap its neck with his hand. They then

trudged back to their spot alongside the small creek. They gorged

themselves on deer meat and when they finished they all felt satisfied and

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this satisfaction would last them for more than a day. They fell on their

nest bed then and slept as if they might die from sleeping.

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Chapter Eight

Pugh remained on alert all the time the family of wild creatures were

absent. He expected at any second to see them or at least the large male to

show up and hunt about for more food to steal.

Pugh thought it over for so long his brain was nearly numb from

thinking. He allowed that the beasts had attacked his property and

belongings from anger, perhaps from the want of revenge. It seemed so to

him, and the longer he thought it over the more he felt convinced that this

was true. The beast was out to get him. It could be that the savage animal

sought vengeance because the old man had injured it. Just look at what it

had done to Sally his milk cow. That for sure had to be an act of

vengeance.

Pugh kept a wary out for its return and set his mind to working on a

method to wreak his own vengeance. He also did not like the way the

animal was attacking his sense of peace of mind. He took to cursing much

more often than he had since he had taken up religion following the death

of his wife. He hated cursing, but the more he fought against the habit, the

more he flung curses about as if they were crumbs fed to chickens with.

He had long since stopped trying to keep hens because of the foxes.

He set his mind to remedy the problem of blackguarding. He felt it was a

sign of weakness to curse and especially needlessly the way he had heard

some men do, although he had not yet fallen to such a low level.

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He still thought of obtaining a new cow, buying one on credit. But

this would never work. He knew that as long as the beast was still in the

area it would not work at all. It would be an act of stupidity on his part,

for the beast would simply kill it as it had Sally.

A tear gathered at the corner of an eye and he felt he should let

loose and cry like a child, but he didn’t. He bowed his neck like an ox in a

yoke and denied himself that small relief in his obstinacy.

The longer he thought about how the beast had killed Sally in such a

heartless manner the angrier he grew. If it had carried the cow off and

consumed it or even eaten part of it in the barn if it could not carry its

weight, perhaps he would have felt better about it, but to kill it and just

leave it lay with nothing left for it but to rot away, was surely an act of

revenge.

He read again from the book of Psalms that evening. He searched

for a passage he had read in the past concerning vengeance. He needed to

feel he was justified in exacting revenge on the large brutish beast. But he

was too wrought by passion, to fully concentrate his mind, and was unable

to find it. But he found instead one that read, that he should be satisfied

with God’s mercy, and knew he must be satisfied as the book read, to

rejoice all the rest of his days for the simple act of that glorious mercy.

At last, he lay aside the book, packed his pipe, and sat and smoked,

alone with his thoughts as usual. Peace was hard to come by. He sat there

long after he had knocked the dottle into a hand, held it until it was cold

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and walked to the door, opened it, and flung it out to the night. He saw the

dogs lying on the porch yet and saw by this that the beast was nowhere in

range of their exceptional sense of smell. He smiled at the dogs and

Melvin looked up at him and wagged his tail. He thought of bringing them

both inside with him but thought this would be a foolish act. He only

brought them inside during the coldest of nights. He was not yet that

lonely. At least he hoped not, but this was drawing closer.

He sat a while longer watching the shadow man move on the wall

each time he moved a limb. By and by, he grew weary stood up, and

walked to his cot to sleep.

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Chapter Nine

Peace descended upon the home of Adam Pugh, and for two weeks, he was

not bothered at all by the beasts. He wondered if they might have moved

on. He hoped so. But deep inside he felt they would return. The longer

they stayed away from his property, the more anxious he grew until

finally, he was pacing the floor at nighttime.

He was fast falling low on supplies, coffee, sugar, and tobacco. He

would soon have to call in the horses, hitch them to the wagon, and drive

to town. He could get by without sugar. He wouldn’t like it, but he could

get by. After all, he still had some honey and a bit of sorghum molasses

he’d bough from John Miller from the batch he had cooked last fall.

Coffee would be a harder proposition to do without. He knew for

sure that the one item that would chase him off to town was tobacco. He

couldn’t manage to survive without his nightly pipe of tobacco.

“Just a nasty habit I know but it’s so hard to break. I’m too old to

even attempt to break it. What good would it be if I went through all the

pain and suffering for the foul stuff and to give it up completely and then

just up and die?”

He saw no way to even attempt to stop smoking. So a trip to town

would be necessary. He had several days supply yet of tobacco, a fair

store of sugar, perhaps a week’s supply, and coffee, well, it was second on

the list of the most difficult items to give up. Coffee was growing low,

and it was a sure thing that he couldn’t give up both tobacco and coffee.

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Two days later, Pugh whistled up the horses, hitched them to the

wagon, called up the dogs, and climbed in with them as they scrambled

excitedly to the seat of the wagon and sat next to him. He chuckled to see

them sitting upright on the seat, staring about at the passing scenery just

like humans. As soon as he passed out of sight of his cabin, he felt sure he

should have stayed. Something would happen while he was gone on the

trip. He felt it in his bones. He mumbled a brief prayer for the safety of

his house, raised his head, and forgot all about the safety of his property.

Two hours later, he pulled up in front of the general store in the

town of Louvin. The store was owned by Luman Thomas, but his wife,

Emma, did the bulk of the sales work, she called Luman in from the

backroom only to lug heavy items out to a waiting wagon if the man doing

the buying didn’t want to do so. Many of them did so, but there was

always some who felt it was the obligation of the storekeeper to do this

work, since, after all, the man doing the buying felt it only proper.

Pugh stepped down from the wagon and pointed a warning finger at

his two dogs, and they were satisfied to watch all the activity going on

around them. They watched people coming and going on the sidewalk,

crossing the street, entering and exiting the stores on the block, and took

it all in as if there might be a treat or something waiting for them if they

kept up a good lookout. Since nothing was running about freely that the

border collies felt needed to be rounded up and put in an orderly fashion,

so they looked on in peace.

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Pugh couldn’t rub two pennies together to save his soul, but he

often ran a small tab from Emma. He had always paid up on time, and so

he had no doubt that she would back him for the small order he needed

today. Had it been a large order, such as a shotgun or perhaps a breaking

plow or harness for his horses, well—he wouldn’t even dare ask for that

kind of credit especially since the wild savages stole most of his honey

supply.

He had a brother-in-law still living in Darling, Delaware, although

Pugh’s sister, the man’s wife, was now dead. Occasionally he received a

letter from the man, although they came mainly close to Christmas. It was

a long spell to Christmas he knew, but he walked on down the sidewalk to

the post office anyway, mainly wanting to talk to an acquaintance if he

was so lucky as to meet up with one.

He opened the door to the post office while the little brass bell

above the door rang out sharply and loudly in contrast to its tiny size. He

caught the scent of the building, a stuffy, closed up type scent, that

reminded him of civilization and mobs of people. The hardwood floor was

recently waxed and this added to the scent. Suddenly he felt a surge of joy

in the pit of his stomach. It made him feel as if he still belonged to

society, even in a small way, and this felt good. This made him feel he

was still a man, and not a creature of his own making, which he sometimes

felt he was, what with his living so much alone. He was still a member of

the family of man while in Louvin.

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There was a new employee behind the counter he saw as he

approached the section that was separated by thin bars of brass.

“Hi, there,” he called out and felt he might have spoken too loudly,

which was another problem with living alone in the wilderness.

“What can I do for you, sir,” said the young man behind the barrier,

the counter itself was a slab of onyx striped in black and white jagged

streaks, that reminded Pugh of lighting strikes. He liked this about the

post office. It was nearly as elaborate a pattern in onyx as was the counter

of the bank, although he had only been inside that building two times in

his life. The man looked to Pugh as if he might have a bit of owl blood in

him the way he peered at him through his eyeglasses. The glasses caused

his eyes to appear much bigger than they really were.

“Could you check back there for a bit of mail for me?”

“The name, sir?”

Pugh felt like laughing at his mistake. After all, his dogs both knew

him, every living thing on his farm did as a matter of fact, and that was

what mattered in his world.

“Pugh,” he muttered. “Look for Adam Pugh, please sir.”

“Yessir. Will do.”

The young man turned and was about to walk off, but Pugh said, “If

I have something back there for me it’s probably from Delaware.”

This stopped the employee. “Delaware, do tell. I’ll just have a look-

see.”

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Pugh followed the disappearing footsteps as they grew less

pronounced through the distance, and the heavy scent of the building,

which by now was joined by the odor of paper and perhaps ink drifting out

from behind the counter. A few minutes later, he followed the sound of

the man’s footsteps as they grew louder headed his way.

Adam Pugh was fixing an apology in his mind for making the young

man take a few extra steps, So he nearly fell over when the man returned

with what could be nothing more than a letter in his hand.

He came close to speaking aloud his astonishment and was prepared

to argue that surely this letter did not belong to him. But, who could this

be from? The only outside acquaintance he had left in this entire wide

world was his brother-in-law in Delaware, and it was far too early in the

year for a Christmas card and annual note from him.

“Here you are sir,” said the owlish clerk, and slid the letter across

the top of the slick onyx counter creating a soft zipping sound.

Pugh felt he should slide it back to him, so great was his assurance

that the letter was not for him. The young man had made a mistake.

He picked up the letter and held it against his chest for a second as

if he feared that if he looked too intensely at it that it might not bear his

name on after all. By and by, he had to check though. The clerk was

waiting for him to perhaps say something. He looked at it. Sure enough, it

was postmarked Darling, Delaware. More than this, it had his name on it,

and in the upper left-hand corner of the letter was the name Ben Grimes,

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his brother-in-law, the man who had wed his sister, Melvinia. He looked

away briefly and then turned back to the missive. It still bore his name

and the name of Grimes. He could doubt it no longer. He folded the letter

and placed it in a shirt pocket. No way would he read it in here. Not with

the clerk looking on, reading his facial expressions.

He made to leave and the clerk’s voice stopped him. He looked up

at the clerk with a look of question on his face. The clerk lifted the

wooden divider that blocked the entrance to the rear of the post office. He

walked quickly toward Pugh. A bright smile spread wide across his face.

A true smile it seemed to Pugh.

“Sir, I noticed that postmark. It was one I’d not seen before. I

would give you two pennies for it. Darling, Delaware is one I don’t have.

You see I’m a collector of them. Odd name it has as well, which makes me

want it more.”

Pugh dragged out the letter again and looked at it. It looked like all

the other postmarked letters from Delaware he had ever received.

The clerk took Pugh’s hesitancy as a sign he was holding out for

more than two pennies. He said, “All right, all right then, sir. How’s about

if I give you a nickel for it? I really would be happy to own that postmark,

sir. It is quite unique.”

Pugh looked again at the front of the letter. It was nothing more

than a letter. He couldn’t understand why anyone would give him a nickel

for it, but if that was what the man wanted, he wouldn’t argue with him.

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“Sure thing,” he said. But do you have the means to remove it

without opening it? I don’t want just anyone to be able to read my letter,

you know.”

“Oh, no sir. I wouldn’t read it, not at all. That’s against federal law.

I guarantee you that I can remove the postmark without opening the letter.

Let me have it, please.”

Pugh looked at him again as if trying to find the trickery in the

negotiation. Presently, he passed it to the clerk’s hands, and the man

disappeared behind the counter before Pugh could drop an eyelash.

The clerk returned directly with the letter and a broad smile still

upon his face.

“I certainly appreciate this. Let me tell you, I do.”

He handed over the letter with one hand and laying upon the open

palm of the other one was a shiny new nickel.

Pugh took the letter and the coin as well, stuffed the letter back in a

shirt pocket, and the coin in a pocket of his overalls. He left the post

office building with a flurry of mysterious thoughts raging through his

mind.

He approached the wagon, and the dogs saw him and started barking

out in greeting. Their tails were in constant motion on the seat, but they

managed to mind their manners and remain seated.

“You old rascals need to hush now. I’m going inside here and do a

bit of business and we will soon light out for home.”

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Emma frowned a bit when Pugh asked her for credit. But in the end,

she agreed and placed his coffee, sugar, and tobacco in a box and slid it

toward him. Pugh had always paid his bills before, so she evidently felt

safe to carry him on the books again. She made out a ticket on her small

pad and passed it to him, and he quickly signed it.

“The bill should be paid by the middle of June, Mr. Pugh,” she said

to his back.

This stopped him, and over his shoulder, he said, “Yes ma’am. I’ll

be back by then and pay up.” He figured the sale of his pigs would be

more than enough to pay her back. He hated to make debts of any kind and

only did so when it was absolutely necessary. This time he felt was

necessary.

He thought of stopping by and talking to Slim Burris, the

blacksmith, and a long-time acquaintance. It would be good to talk to

someone about his unwanted family of visitors. But what would Slim

think? Likely the blacksmith would think that he was growing old and was

losing his mind. At times he thought perhaps he might be doing that very

thing, but with his dead cow, the missing calf, and the honey and the

fright inflicted upon his two dogs, he knew for sure he wasn’t yet gone

over the edge into senility. He too had been plenty frightened. He took to

the wagon seat and swung the team about and headed for home.

As he neared the road that led up to Ben Loops’ house, he felt a

strong desire to turn in and go up to the man’s place. He might be able to

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strike a deal for a cow, but when he considered that the beasts still

remained in the area it would be fruitless to buy one just now. He felt sure

the beast would return and kill it as well. He continued the homebound-

trip and soon felt most of his problems slide from his mind. The day was

mild, the sun was shining warmly, the dogs were both happy and smiling

wide smiles of wonderful peace and contentment, or so it seemed. He too

was content.

Two hours later, he reached home and drove up to the barn, and by

the time he unharnessed the horses and pushed the wagon back out of the

way against the south wall, he felt as if he had been gone for at least a

month, perhaps more.

The dog creatures were glad to be home, he could tell by the way

they ran ahead of him and took up their positions on the porch.

“Lordy,” he muttered as he shoved past them and into the cabin,

“this old cabin sure looks like home to me. Smells that way too.”

He placed his purchases on the table and went back outside. It was

time to feed the hogs. So he went for the bucket to scoop up the corn to

feed the hogs before they started screaming their heads off.

After the feeding, he sat at the table and removed the letter he had

received from his brother-in-law at the post office. Ben Grimes started off

by hoping he was well and all the usual well wishes that he always did,

but later in the letter, he got to the meat of why he had written to him.

Ben was lonely, it seemed, and wanted him to come to Darling, Delaware,

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and live with him. His brother-in-law couldn’t imagine why he wanted to

live so far from civilization, and that he would feel so much better if he

but came to Darling and lived with him. Ben had a workshop where he

built furniture for a living, which had been his life’s work, but now he

also made the items for the pure enjoyment of remaining busy so he didn’t

have to spend so much time alone to think of Pugh’s sister, Ben’s wife. He

said his large house often hemmed him in and it sometimes made him feel

as if he was losing his mind. Well, Pugh knew that feeling and all too

well.

Grimes made the offer seem so appealing that he was nearly given

over to the idea of selling his land and taking Ben up on the offer. But he

felt that he would grow tired of living in town. After all, he’d spent

twenty years in the woods, and saw no way he could spend the rest of his

life cooped up in town. Not even the thought of learning a new craft held

much enticement for him. Likely after a year or so after his arrival there,

he and Grimes would grow so tired of each other that they might take to

hiding out so they didn’t have to look at each other. It sounded good,

though, at first. He knew though that it wouldn’t work. Adam Pugh was

not made for city life—he was not even made for small-town life, which

he knew Darling in fact really was.

His wife? How could he just up and move off? He didn’t dare

abandon her. Not with her in her grave on the small knoll above the

springhouse he had built for her to take her tedious work to, or even when

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she relaxed with her crocheting basket and needles and go there in the

heat of a day in summer. She had loved to do that and was so happy he

had built the little rock house with the spring gushing cold air from

inside. Melvinia always opened the door for that purpose.

“Ahh, Woman, I’m so glad I could do that for you. I know you had

but a few luxuries in life. Thank you, God, that I was able to do that for

my dear wife.”

This made him feel even lonelier, this thinking, which he supposed

might even be a way of feeling sorry for himself, and perhaps it was. He

was not really sure what God would think of him for that if it really was a

weakness of character. Surely it wasn’t a sin. Was it? Could it be? He had

plenty of sins to be absolved of, but this, surely not.

It had been nice of Ben Grimes to think of him, of his lonely life.

Perhaps it would work, living in town. Close to people where if he wanted

to talk all he had to do would be to open his mouth and let the words fly

and rip. Ben would be near to hear him. He wouldn’t be forced to talk to

himself the way he often did here in his cabin by himself. He lived a

lonely life it was true, and only came here to the wilderness after the

insanity of what he had endured for three years of madness in the war. All

the blood, the actual witnessing of guts scattered on the ground as if these

men he had killed had been born for nothing more than to be the defenders

of the rich man who had sent them all onto this bloody field with death for

breakfast, for noon, and for supper as well.

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“Oh Lord,” he muttered, “the sins I committed.

“If I had it to do over, I would have run away. I would have run to

another country to live in.”

But as soon as he felt this, had muttered the words, he felt guilty.

But why he wondered, why should he feel guilt that he had killed for the

benefit of other men who likely felt they were above killing for

themselves or of being unable to do so?

“Well, that’s the way it seemed to me. Not at the time, it didn’t. I

thought I was doing something grand, being younger, and not very smart. I

didn’t feel that at all. So I guess there was no way I would have fled the

country. Not if I thought I was doing the right thing by doing so. These

thoughts have just come to me later in life. Besides, where would I have

gotten the dough to travel to another country—even to Canada?”

Suddenly Pugh clutched his head in both hands and with his mind

filled with gloom said, “But why, Lord? Why should I have felt guilty if I

had fled?

“Lord, God, please forgive me of all my sins. Sins that are so

horrible they often give me chills remembering them. I am so, so sorry for

all the blood I shed. Those young men were no different than I was. Some

of them would be still living today if I had not gone to war.”

He sat there after that, trying to find enough peace to read from the

Psalms.

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After twenty minutes alone, trying to forget his sins, he finally took

up the book and read from it. He read for thirty minutes, then set the book

aside. He picked up his pipe and tobacco sack, filled his pipe, struck a

match, and lit up. By the time he finished his pipe, he sat a bit longer and

watched the shadow man move on the wall, but only when he was the first

to move.

At last, he sighed with more tiredness than he would have had he

pitched hay in the barn loft all daylong.

He felt better and later stood up, moved to his cot, removed his

clothing, and fell into bed exhausted.

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Chapter Ten

Three days later, the creatures still hadn’t returned.

“Have they gone?” he said aloud to both dogs who sat on their

rumps and looked at him with eager eyes. “Gone for good? My lord, I do

hope so. Wouldn’t that be a blessing, though?”

*****

The large male couldn’t stop his desire for honey. He popped the stopper

from another jug of the honey he and his family had stolen. The two other

creatures sat nearby on their heels watching and waiting for their turn. He

lifted the jug of honey that likely weighed twenty-four pounds, a bit more

counting the jug itself, as if it were nothing. To him, it was nearly

weightless. He drank so long and deep it seemed he would drown himself,

but finally, he withdrew the jug, rested it on a knee, and waited until he

felt the need for another pull. He looked at his mate and child as they

waited in rapt eagerness for their turns. The child looked as if it might be

ready to start squirming in dire impatience.

He drank again, and this time, he nearly emptied the container. He

didn’t though and withdrew the jug, and sat it on the ground away from

him, which was a signal for his mate to take her turn.

The female reached out and hefted the jug, drank until she could

drink no more before taking time out. Finally, she removed it. She rested

it on a knee as her mate had done earlier. By now the child was actually

jumping up and down in impatience that looked as if it was in pain. His

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sire tossed a small twig at him. It struck him on the chest and this stopped

his jumping.

When she stopped drinking there was precious little left. She set the

jug on the ground for the child who leaped on it as if it were a rabbit he

had pursued and ran off its feet. He lifted it and drank and found that

there was little left. He withdrew it and slammed it down hard on the

ground as if to break it, but it failed to do so. So he took it again to the

rock he had used before and broke it, and sat there spooning out the

gloriously sweet nectar from the broken shards with his long fingers. In

time he tossed aside the last fragment of the broken jug and sat in a

sullen, unsatisfied mood. His mother reached out apparently to stroke the

long fur on the back of his head, but he slapped her hand away. She

slapped him back so hard that he tumbled over backward. He sprang to his

feet then and rushed off into the brush. He walked away huffing in his

chest and attempting to bark as loud as his sire, but he was still too young

to do so. He whistled all the way until finally, he disappeared into the

deep shade of the hardwood forest.

The small family had no intention of leaving the area any time soon,

not as long as they still had honey in the jugs, other foodstuffs in plentiful

supply around, and they still hadn’t invaded the hogpen yet.

They were well aware that it was there, but for some reason or the

other, they hadn’t bothered to deal with it. After all, those creatures were

filthy. They stank. Worst of all, they were so noisy their grunting and

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screaming hurt their ears. The big male had watched the hogpen before

several times. He sat in the shade of the woods, watched the old man carry

food to them, and listened to them scream and fuss with each other, even

when the man spread the food out evenly in the long trough. He noticed

that the human didn’t stay long with the animals but poured in the feed,

turned, and left as soon as he emptied the bucket. He often made three

trips to the pen with slops for the noisy creatures, then made several trips

to the nearby stream and carried water to them as well. All the while the

screaming continued so much so that the big male often covered his ears

with his wide, enormous, and leathery hands. Several times they were so

noisome that he was forced to jump up and hurry off into the woods and

get away from them so far off that their raving was blurred enough that it

ceased to torment him. He saw them as food, but he would need to be very

hungry to bother them. They were too noisy and stank, they were also

stockily built, and looked quite heavy. He could carry them—he had

carried far heavier burdens than they were, but still, it would be difficult,

and right then he would leave them be. They were there for him just

waiting until he felt needy enough to face the challenge of dealing with

the filthy beasts. On top of the stench, there was the noise they created

and this was the worst feature about them. They did have an excellent

flavor however for he had fed upon the meat from such creatures before.

*****

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Pugh released the horses and watched as they trotted off into the field

where they rolled in the grass to dry the sweat that had accumulated on

their backs from the work with the wood he had transferred from where he

had chopped it and stacked it last fall. He liked to watch the horses roll

about as if they were colts. This made him feel good and satisfied that

they enjoyed their tumbling, which he somehow decided was their

payment for his using their labor.

Later, he fed the hogs. He walked off to the creek afterward and

filled the bucket, and by the time he had returned the hogs were finished

with their meal and one of them had even lain down in the shade to nap.

He poured in the water and carried two more buckets to them before he

figured this would tide them over. He then took up his bucket and walked

back to the cabin, dropping the bucket off at the barn on the way.

He fixed supper, and by the time he finished eating, he washed up

the plates he’d messed up, then sat again at the table. It was nearly time to

smoke and to read from his book of Psalms.

Later, after reading until he was sleepy, he took to his cot, glad that

things had returned to normal. He had little trouble falling off to sleep

because the work he had done today had made him sleepier than usual.

A week later, and still living in peace with the beasts, he decided to

check on his corn-grow. After breakfast, he took his rifle, whistled up the

dogs, and his walking stick which he also used to kill copperheads with,

for there was no way he would waste a 44/40 slug on a lowly snake. He

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walked off toward the lower field, where he had planted his corn earlier in

the season.

He noticed that it was nearing time to dig the potatoes as he passed

by the garden, and decided to do that next week. The rest of his garden

was still much too young yet to make, although he’d already had a small

mess of lettuce from the hotbox he had built and set up closer to the

house. He had done this as soon as he felt sure there would be no more

frost. He loved to wilt the lettuce with hot bacon grease poured on top.

It would soon be time to weed the garden. Already the grass was

beginning to cluster. He walked on the rest of the way to the cornfield.

He found that the corn was up already and likely had been for

several days for it had been some time since last he last checked on it. He

liked to sit and watch the corn gleam bright green in the morning

sunshine. He sat there on a large stone enjoying the sunshine, while the

dogs hunted in the woods behind him. He sat there for an hour, then

whistled up the dogs and when they showed up, he took out for the cabin.

He had the corn now to worry about. The beast if they lingered long in the

area would eat it all, even before it was even ripe.

He had felt joyous on the trip to town, but now, for some reason, he

was struck again by fell loneliness. He considered the proposal his

brother-in-law had given him in the letter that he should move to

Delaware with him, and not stay so far away from civilization. This would

be nice, perhaps for a short time, he thought, but it was highly likely he

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would soon grow tired of living with someone else, even when his wife

still lived he had spent a lot of time out in the fields or barn finding work

to do because the cabin seemed much too crowded. Not always of course,

for his wife was a treasure and a blessing to him. But sometimes he would

do this, and later he felt guilty and wondered why he had done such a

thing. He missed her more every day. Now he regretted the time he’d

spent away from her.

The beasts were still in the back of his mind, and he puzzled over

what to do with them. That was if they were still around. How could he rid

his place of the creatures? They loved the easy pickings, he knew, and the

honey must’ve been a special treat. This was the lure that kept them

nearby, he was sure of that. The honey was nearly gone, so he wouldn’t

need to hide it better than he had already. He wondered then about the rest

of the foodstuffs of his they coveted. Was there a way to protect the rest

or would they simply carry it off piece by piece until it was all gone? He

didn’t really know, but the very thought of that large beast stealing him

blind while he could do little about it irked so much it was nearly painful.

He allowed that he was lucky they hadn’t come while he was gone

into Louvin. They could have stripped him bare. Could it be they weren’t

that watchful of his comings and goings? It seemed that they were, but if

so, and they watched him go off to town in the wagon, why didn’t they

come for the rest. Perhaps they weren’t even smart enough to keep tabs on

him, but he doubted that. He was certain that they were smart indeed. In a

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way, they looked and even acted human or human-like. He wondered then

after killing one of them and saw that they were practically human beings

much like himself, what would he feel like? He’d killed too many men

already in the war. He hated the thought of killing any more of them, but

if these creatures were bent on wiping him out, he had better stiffen his

mind to wiping them out first.

He had felt a great deal of relief to return and find the cabin

unmolested. His small stash of honey was still sitting on the floor along

the wall. The beast stank to high heaven, so if they had been in the house

he would have detected their odor as soon as he opened the door on his

return, or actually, he probably would have caught their foul odor if they

had been anywhere near the house. Just having them in the yard would

have been enough to have given away their presence. He was sure of this.

What had the big creature passed up that should have been easy for

him to steal? The hogs, of course. Why hadn’t they taken them yet? He

had no idea, but this was himself thinking from the viewpoint of a human

being. Perhaps these beings or whatever they were had tried hog meat in

the past and didn’t like the taste.

“Let’s hope that’s the case,” he muttered aloud.

Pugh had to find a way to stop the animals from taking off with all

his property. The big one could carry one of the young shoats easily

enough and Pugh wasn’t just right sure he couldn’t make off with a grown

hog. That creature was big, heavy with arms on him the size of a full-

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grown tree limb, and shoulders even larger. The thing could run and run

fast. In the end, he decided that surely the creature could carry off a full-

grown hog with ease.

Pugh grunted and followed it up in a mumble, “Let’s see how fast

he can run when I catch him with a slug from my Winchester ‘73.” He

chuckled low with the image in his mind of the beast tearing out for the

woods on one-leg. This image goaded his conscience and he felt a small

tug of guilt at the thought. After all, he had become a God-fearing man

since he left the Army.

The simple thought of being stolen from imposed on him a good

deal of mental agony. He had done many bad things in his life, sinful

things, but one thing he had yet to do was to steal, and another was to kill

something from a craving to kill. He had no lust to kill in him. He

reminded himself of that and felt a surge of pride that he had no such sin

nagging away at him.

After supper and his time with the Psalm book, he sat back and

enjoyed his pipe. The tobacco smoke curled up, passed the shaft of light

from the globe of his table lamp, and eventually carried on up to the

ceiling. This was a time for planning, with his pipe and with the peace

that had fallen over his cabin, and by the time he had smoked the pipe out,

he had decided that he would set up boards with nails driven through them

and ring them about the hogpen. Perhaps this would be enough to force

them to forget about the hogs, and even if they came nowhere near the

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hogs what would it hurt to place the traps around the entire pen? The

worst would be that he might accidentally step on one of them, but he had

always been sharp of eyes about where he placed his feet.

“I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ll carry my hoe down to the garden and

weed it, and then come back to the barn and get busy building my little

surprise for that big brutish beast.”

He felt better with his decision, and knocked the dottle into a hand,

carried it to the door, and threw it outside. The dogs looked up at him

when he opened the door, and their eyes shone brightly in the lamplight.

He spoke to them both, calling them by name, for they each recognized its

own. He took to his bed and fell asleep almost instantly like a child that

had played outside all day long.

The following morning sun brightened the interior of his cabin and

this as always awoke him, and old Pugh found he had spent a restful night

and nothing bothered him at all.

“Thank you God for the wonderful rest you gave me,” he said aloud

in his morning voice which was always as rough as a rasp when he first

awoke.

After breakfast and after he did up all his morning chores, he took

his hoe as planned and went to the garden plot. He first weeded the

tomatoes, which were only a foot or so tall, then the rest of the vegetables

in their turn, which was a routine for Pugh.

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Finished, he put his hoe away and dug around in the scrap lumber

pile until he found ten flat boards of approximately four feet in length.

“I’ll separate each one,” he muttered as he worked. “That way while

the pen won’t be completely ringed this will likely be enough. Can’t wait

till that big devil gets his just reward. He’s had his way around here long

enough. It’s my time now, gent.”

He hammered seven nails into each board, and after he finished each

one, turned it over with the nails protruding upward from the wood. A

great trap, he felt. Finished, at last, he took the wheelbarrow that had been

on the house side of the barn, wheeled it to the boards, loaded them all,

and pushed it out of the barn and off down to the hogpen. The hogs

greeted him with subdued voices for they were still sated and still a bit

dumb from their meal, lying in the sun at rest.

He placed the boards along the outside perimeter of the pen, making

sure they were placed equally distanced apart, with none too close to its

neighbor, or none too far away. Pugh was a stickler in this way.

He finished and rested back on his heels and checked out his

project.

“This will get that old big boy, I reckon. He comes around messing

with my animals he’ll pay through the foot.” He chuckled at his little pun.

Satisfied with what he saw he pushed the wheelbarrow back to the barn

and set it back on the house side and made sure it was well beneath the

overhanging shakes of the roof to be protected from the rain. He then went

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to the cabin, heated up the coffee from breakfast, cut up a couple slices of

bread that he had left, checked it well for mold, for it was old by now, sat

at the table, and ate and drank his noon meal. The bread was nearly gone.

He had no more eggs to bake with. Belle Loops, Ben’s wife had given him

a dozen some time back. Now they were gone. She had promised him more

bread soon.

He pushed back from the table and seeing his tobacco pouch and

pipe in the center of the table, had a sudden urge to smoke. He beat down

the urge though, knowing that a habit started was one that would need to

be broken.

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Chapter Eleven

Pugh checked his traps each day as he fed the hogs. He saw no blood on

any of the boards and none of the nails were bent or none out of place.

“That gent ain’t been here yet,” he said aloud and both dogs looked

up and stared at the old man for a time, then he called to them and they

went back to the cabin. He hadn’t seen the creatures in some time now and

was beginning to breathe easy, figuring they had gone on to more

promising pastures. But he put little faith in this thought though and was

sure they would be back. Perhaps they are still working on the honey, he

allowed.

*****

The truth was, however, that the large creature had been stricken with a

bad case of diarrhea. He had sucked down too much of the rich honey that

he was allergic to and being unused to it, had fallen ill. The female

wondered why her mate was simply laying about, moaning a good amount

of the time, and on occasion springing off into the brush to empty his

grieving bowels.

The large male was coming out of his lethargy and illness though

and moving about a great deal more than before.

The following morning the male, got up and strode off into the

woods. He was getting hungry for meat and hunted about until he found a

recent deer trail, took up his place of watchfulness behind a large post oak

tree and, sat and waited. He waited for several hours with nothing

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happening, but he was a patient hunter and continued to keep an eye out

for one of the deer that had worn the path in the soil here. This had always

been the way it was since he had grown to a size he could tackle a deer,

which by this time in his life was little more than a small effort on his

part.

He waited through till the sun was in the highest part of the sky and

still, no deer showed up. This didn’t faze him, however. He stood waiting

with his eyes far up the trail in the direction he expected his prey might

approach from if approach it did. He didn’t know why he felt sure of the

direction the deer would take but he was sure of this. He had absolutely

no idea what caused him to be so sure of the direction the animal would

come from, but he felt it was true and he had never been wrong. He was a

creature of keen instinct that never failed him.

An hour before dark, he heard the deer then saw it—a grown male.

It came on in its soft steps, mincing along with all its senses alert, which

was its intuitive, inborn power that always stood on the lookout for

danger.

The male beast though was such a creature as well, one that relied

on a pattern of behavior that was characteristic of its species. It was more

than that though and he had some reasoning power other than pure

instinct.

Five yards before reaching the tree, the deer detected danger. It

spun about, slipped a bit in the small stones in the trail with its hind feet,

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regained control, and leaped ten feet ahead, and was already in a full-out

run headed back the way it had come with all the power of its sinewy

frame.

The beast though was faster and had had the advanced knowledge

that sooner or later something good to eat would appear. He overtook the

deer in less than fifty yards and brought it down with one powerful blow

of a closed fist to its neck.

He knelt alongside its body and ripped its ribcage apart, reached

inside, and pulled out the liver, while the deer was still trembling from

nerves that continued after death.

The big male, attack the liver with extreme hunger. The warm blood

ran from each side of his mouth, and he grunted his pleasure with each

bite. As soon as he finished eating the liver, he picked up the deer, slung

it over a shoulder as if it was weightless, and walked back toward their

camp. Minutes later, he arrived back with his family. His mate raised her

head to see what he had, but uncurious at what she saw she dropped her

head back onto her arm as she sprawled out upon the ground.

A little later after feeding, he shoved away from the carcass and

squatted on his heels several feet from it. The youth watched on from

expectant eyes but didn’t approach the feast on the ground. There was

perhaps half the carcass left.

The male watched on for a short time and when it saw the child was

not going to make an attempt at sharing the meal, he grunted, stood up,

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and walked off into the trees to the small creek that wended its way past

their camp.

Minutes later, the child stepped tentatively up to the carcass, looked

toward his sire as if looking for permission to dive in.

The male didn’t charge the youth in ferocity but remained where it

squatted with water dripping from its lips.

The child took from this a sign that it was all right to eat, and soon

settled down on its heels and tore chunks of meat from the deer and ate

with apparent ravishment. It was a hard life for the juvenile and rarely did

it have a full stomach.

The youth ate and ate. Finally, he felt full enough to move away

from the deer. He rose from the ground to its feet and walked farther off

down the stream to not invade the space of the big brute. He walked

downstream until he was out of sight of his sire and of the camp itself,

and knelt and sucked up water in large gulps.

The male walked back toward the bed where his mate lay. He

squatted and stroked her back. She moved away from his hand disturbed

by his advances. He scooted away from her and took dropped on his bed.

Later, during the early evening, his stomach was busily digesting

his large meal, and he took this time to wonder, although not in the usual

way of human thought but in brain pictures. His mind went back to the

hogpen. Still feeling the noisy creatures would be good to eat, he figured

it might be worthwhile to kill one. After all, he had spent some time

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studying the creatures and by now was not so put off by their nasty odor.

In the end, he allowed that soon he might try them. They were heavy for

sure, but he had carried heavier creatures than the hogs. He called up

pictures of a large horse he had killed some time ago and carried for half a

mile, before stopping to rest, and by the time he arrived at his destination,

he came in dragging the horse. He had little doubt that he was capable of

carrying just about any of these animals. Horse meat was much too stringy

for him however but he would eat it if necessary. He would try the hog

meat first. If needed he would kill one of the horses. It took a long time to

consume a horse, and this might best be saved for winter.

Soon, he allowed his brain to fade away like the sun going down,

and he fell asleep.

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Chapter Twelve

It puzzled Pugh that the creatures hadn’t disturbed his makeshift trap. He

expected that after a week, the creature would have returned. He had seen

its tracks on the nearby hillside where he figured it sat and studied the

hogs, and he knew it was keenly aware of them.

He figured that there was still abundant wildlife in the area and it

was killing and eating them. In the winter a portion of the game moved

away and found a sheltered valley out of the wind, where it was not so

cold as it was here.

Two weeks later, the corn was growing higher, his vegetables were

progressing nicely. He couldn’t wait until he had a mess of tomatoes. Just

the thought caused saliva to ease from his jaws onto his chin where he had

to keep wiping it off with the back of a hand. He missed Sally his old

cow, but what he really missed was the milk gravy he could make from her

milk, had she not been killed, or murdered, which is how he thought of it.

“Just murder. That’s what it was, I tell you. Common and vicious

murder. That poor old gal didn’t hurt anything her whole life through. A

shame and a pity, for sure.”

Pugh still had no idea what the creatures were. They had to be some

type of gorilla he reckoned. But he had never even heard of gorillas living

in this part of the world.

“Perhaps they escaped from a zoo somewhere, took to the wild, and

lived off the land.”

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But with thinking that he realized that it would be incredible that

the male could manage to lure a mate along with him. Surely the zoo

people kept a better eye on their beasts than to let them escape—two of

them together, and perhaps even a child. He was unable to believe this.

At times, he wondered if he should have spoken to someone in town

about the creatures. The sheriff could have come out and taken a look

around the place.

“Nah, those big-footed, noisy townspeople are much too clumsy to

hardly stalk a deer, and I reckon these creatures are much warier than a

deer. Nah. I could’ve stopped by the neighbor though and spoken to him.

Perhaps he has seen them as well. But as usual, when returning home, I’m

in too big a hurry. Shame too. I would’ve enjoyed the conversation.”

In the end, he allowed that no one would ever believe such an

incredible tale.

“They would’ve figured I was losing my ever-loving mind. And

perhaps I really have. Too much alone, I reckon.”

*****

The season flew by, the garden made, the corn was up and growing. Soon

it would be time to gather the crops. He was already eating tomatoes and

the cucumbers he had planted was more than he needed, besides that they

often gave him indigestion, but he planned to feed the remainder to the

hogs. Hogs loved them, but hogs love anything they can clamp their teeth

on.

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The mornings came later, the sunset earlier. It would soon be time

to pick the corn. He had weeded them a good long time and it was now

time to pick. It would take a few weeks altogether to do it all. The

beehives were likely full by now, he knew and this was tedious work and

took even more time than working out the corn. He decided though, to let

the honey alone for now. He wondered occasionally why the beasts didn’t

show themselves. He felt they were still in the area, for he had often seen

their enormous footprints on the creekbank.

“Why,” he wondered aloud “didn’t the beasts attack the beehives?

Well, maybe they don’t like to fight them. They can sting like the dickens

too.

“But it’s a rare mystery to me. They might still be eating what they

stole from me. It wouldn’t be easy to eat so much honey and do it so

soon.” He decided then that this was the case. They saw no need to rob a

beehive and subject themselves to hundreds of bee stings when they

already had a good supply. He hoped that when their supply ran out that

they might just decide to journey on. He hoped this was the case.

Whatever the reason they didn’t show themselves it was all right by

Pugh. His nerves were much steadier than they had been earlier in the

year.

“The longer they stay away, the better I like it,” he muttered.

One evening while at the table with his book of Psalms, he reached

out and picked up his smoking material, pipe, and tobacco, and filled his

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pipe. He lit the pipe, and just then he heard the most awful screaming he

ever had in his life, and he had heard plenty in the war. This was not like

those screams that always seemed to him to be a pleading for mercy. This

screaming raised the hairs on his arms. His neck hairs stood at attention,

and he grabbed up his rifle from instinct where he had placed it across

from him on the table.

He put his thumb inside the bowl of his pipe and smothered the live

coals and placed it back on the table. He stood up with the rifle in hand

and walked cautiously to the small pane of window glass on that side of

the cabin and looked out. The moon was on the ebb so he was unable to

see anything moving outside, but the sound had come from down in the

field. It had to be from the hogpen. He moved to the door, opened it and

the dogs rushed him and nearly knocked him off his feet and they charged

inside with him.

Pugh knew exactly what had screamed. One of the beasts, it was.

Had to be. He had never heard them vocalize before and was surprised that

they could even do so. If so, why hadn’t they done so until now?

“Dang it all, Melvin, what are you doing? My word. You got better

sense than to charge me like that. What if I’d fallen and broken

something?”

But the dogs by now were huddled behind the stove as far from the

door as possible. He scoffed at their cowardice and stepped out onto the

small porch. He pulled the door shut and waited until his eye grew

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accustomed to the darkness for the brightness of the table lamp had

blinded him.

He listened. Heard nothing. Not even the few insects remaining

were active, nor the whippoorwills. He saw nothing moving.

“Well, I suspect that screaming shut up the bugs and whippoorwills

for a time.”

He waited on the porch in the evening chill for fifteen minutes, and

when nothing more was heard or seen, he pushed back the door and

entered the cabin.

He sat again at the table, lit his pipe again, and smoked for a time.

He then called to the dogs.

They still wouldn’t come out from behind the stove where they

evidently reckoned they were safe from all things except perhaps

doomsday.

“I swear I ain't never seen such cowardly dogs. Ain’t this the

bulliest thing though? The bulliest ever in the world.”

Ten minutes later, the dogs showed themselves. First came Melvin,

then Baker. They stood by Pugh as if he might ease their fear.

Nearing bedtime, Pugh got up, whistled softly for the dogs, walked

to the door, opened it, and turned about to let them outside. But evidently,

they had no thought or desire to go back outside. They slinked off again

behind the stove as beat down as he had ever seen them.

Pugh shut the door and took up his chair at the table.

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“Saw nothing to beat this, ever,” he muttered in disgust.

It was time to go to bed and now he was feeling uncommonly

fearful. He put off his bedtime although he feared he might be creating a

bad habit.

“What would Pap have said about such as this. A man afraid to go

to bed?”

But still, he sat there and even thought of building another pipe. He

put that thought aside though with recalling the old saw that having a

second pipe would be just another habit to break, as his pap used to tell

him.

He looked at the wall clock, heard it tick off the minutes until the

end of all time, and saw that it was already thirty minutes past his usual

time for bed. He forced himself erect and started toward the bed.

A loud thump on the roof stopped him. His breath caught and locked

up in his chest.

“Is that damned beast on the roof?” he said aloud, for he felt sure

this was what was behind the screaming as well as the loud thump.

He waited another moment, held the rifle across his chest the way

he had while an infantryman in the war.

And then a louder whump sounded off to his side at the door. He

spun and raised the rifle. The beast was at the door.

“Either that or he’s chunking rocks against the side of the cabin.”

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Another one struck the door, and this one was louder than the first

one. Then another one struck.

Pugh’s breath shut off in his windpipe, and now he trembled from

fear. The dogs moaned behind the stove as if they had been struck with

one of the stones.

“No rock has come through that door,” he said in a choked voice.

“There ain’t no hole in it. None will either. I built that door stout.”

He stepped back to the table, drew the lamp closer, placed the flat

of a hand behind the globe, and blew it out. He sat then at the table, glad

that he had snuffed the lamp. For he was facing the window. No sooner

than thinking this thought than a large stone hurtled across the room, hit

the floor two feet from the table and rolled underneath it, and struck his

left heel in its passage. A loud shattering racket accompanied it as the

fragments of the windowpane struck the floor and scattered about the

room.

He leaped to his feet. For now, he fully expected the beast to tear

down the door and come roaring into his cabin and kill him where he

stood.

He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and it weighed a hundred pounds,

he thought. At least a hundred pounds. His wind chuffed in his chest as

loud as the strained voice of a locomotive attempting to conquer a long

steep grade.

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He stood there waiting with the urge to lower the rifle to provide

him relief from the strain of holding it to his shoulder for so long and

under the strain of muscle tension. He waited longer. He continued to

tremble. The clock carried on ticking off the time as if nothing in the

whole wide world was wrong.

He stood there for ten more minutes and sat down again in his chair

in the dark. He heard the teeth of one of his dogs chattering in fright. This

bothered him, for he hated that any of his creatures suffered, from fear or

any other reason.

“Hush now, pup,” he said. “It’s okay. You’ll be all right directly.

All of us will.”

The dog continued to noisily chatter its teeth. He stood up and

walked in the dark to the wall, knelt, and felt around until he found the

nose of one of the dogs that he realized by feel was Baker. He caressed

Baker’s back in wide strokes. By and by, the chattering stopped.

He stood up and said, “You gentlemen will be okay. Be okay in a

few minutes. You’ll be okay, Baker. Don’t fuss so.”

He stepped back again to his chair and sat down, still with the fright

of his life working away at his nerves.

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Chapter Thirteen

Twenty minutes later with no more rocks crashing against the outer wall

or on the roof. He began to breathe easier.

He said, “Now I’ll have to board up that window. Them damned

beasts. I’ll have to kill them now. Dammit all to hell.” As soon as he

muttered this outrage, he regretted it. “Forgive me, good Lord. And thank

you so very much for preventing me from taking your precious name in

vain.”

Thirty minutes crept by with the slowness and pace of a turtle that

had nowhere in mind to go and with no prospects for achieving anything

worthwhile if it managed to get there.

“Is it over, Melvin?” he called out to the dog in the dark. He heard

the slight rustling of what he took to be Melvin’s tail wagging, brushing

gently upon the floorboards. “That’s a brave old gent. We’ll be fine

directly. Them beasts will head off again into the woods. But we have to

find some way to kill them. I can’t handle much more of this old business.

My heart won’t take it. No sir. Not at all.”

At ten o’clock he felt as sleepy as a child and longed to take to the

cot, but truth be told, he was afraid to. Afraid to lose consciousness to

sleep, and if the attacks were to start again and worse if the creatures

rushed inside, he wouldn’t be alert enough to raise the rife in time and

they would kill him.

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“I reckon it ain’t nobody that’s ever ready to die. Ain’t nobody tired

enough to just give in and give up. I’m a man who loves the Lord, and

someday I’d like to zoom off to heaven and live with him and rejoin my

wife, but right now, well sir, to tell the truth, I just ain’t ready. Right

now, I’ll have to stay awake and alert as long as I possibly can.”

The next thing he was fully aware of was that both dogs were at his

knees, and it was full daylight outside.

After breakfast, he slipped several extra cartridges into the pocket

of his lightweight jacket. Took the Winchester and the dogs, mixed up the

mess for the hogs, and hoofed down there with last night’s dew heavy on

the grass and the weeds of the ditches.

One of the boards with the nails sticking up from it was missing.

“Well, this explains it, I reckon,” he said. “That beast stepped foot

on one of the nails, and this set him off. That was the screaming I heard,

and all the other frightful antics that beast raised.”

It seemed the animal had intended to steal one of the hogs or one of

the pigs. He stepped on the nail and that was that or so he allowed.

He trudged back to the barn with a wary eye out in extra caution in

expectation of seeing that big red-haired beast come out of the woods,

screaming and headed right for him. Last night’s episode had frightened

him so much that he was still upset over it.

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He entered the barn, put the bucket inside the granary with the dry

feed-mix and the corn, and got busy building another trap, for he had seen

nothing of the lost trap in one of the ditches between here and the pen.

He took the trap back again and placed it in the exact spot the first

one had been when the savage creature stepped on it.

He raised up from setting the board back in place and both dogs

started barking in mild voices. He knew that whatever they were barking

at was nothing fearful. He relaxed.

Directly, he heard the clopping of the feet of horses, the rattle of

chains, the clatter of what he recognized as loose boards in the bed of a

wagon. His heart soared with joy, for he saw a wagon come in sight, the

horses stepping high and upon the seat with reins in hand sat his neighbor,

Ben Loops.

He stepped toward the road in his eagerness to converse with this

man or any man as far as that went and waited with a wide bright smile on

his mug.

Ben Loops leaned back on the reins and halted the wagon’s

progress.

“Well, bless my hard luck soul,” Loops said. His smile was broad

and bright as well. “I’m glad you’re home. Durned if I ain’t I would have

hated to get here and find you gone off somewhere. How you been doing,

old-timer?”

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Although both men were old, Ben Loops always addressed Pugh this

way. Ben Loops was likely ten years younger. This didn’t bother Pugh in

any way. He was overly happy to see another human being.

“Oh, about the same, Pugh said. “Same old thing, terror by night,

arrows by day, as the good book says.”

“I heard them, hog creatures, crying out a good long way back up

the path. Been feeding them things enough?” Loops chuckled at this, for

he knew that Pugh had a tendency to overfeed his hogs.

“No sir,” Pugh answered. “It ain’t nothing like that for sure.”

“I come over here for one of the fattening pigs the same as last

year. Need some good bacon pork, enough to last me and the little woman

all winter. ‘Tis getting on to fall, you know. I sold off all mine—well,

they were all called for, that is. Don’t know why I always manage to do

this. Must be greedy.”

“It is getting along in the year,” Pugh answered. “I don’t like it

none but why fuss about what can’t be changed?” He paused then and

spread an arm and hand toward the pen. “I got some good ones in that

bunch, Ben. For sure. Make some mighty fine bacon too. Hop on down and

take you a look.”

Ben Loops climbed carefully down from the wagon, turned to his

neighbor, and said, “My hopping days are long past.” He chuckled at this

and Pugh joined him.

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They walked toward the pen and left Melvin and Baker touching

noses with the horses.

Both men stood and studied the hogs for a good long time, then Ben

said, “Got mine picked out, Pugh. See that big white one, that tall one

with the pink nose?”

“Yes, I do, Ben. But I’ve been aiming to take that one for myself.

That one will make good bacon, tall as it is.” Pugh was angling for cash.

He hoped that Loops had some, but he honestly doubted it. Cash was hard

to come by in these woods. It would be mighty nice, he knew to have some

cash to carry with him into Louvin on his next trip. It would make

Emma’s eyes light up if he flashed it before her on his next trading day.

“Hope you’ve got cash, Ben. Been needing some.”

He watched Loops’ shoulders sag in disappointment.

Ben said, “You know durned well I ain’t got no cash, Pugh. Who

does? Doubt if the bank even has any, hard times like these.”

“Well, then, what you got worth trading?”

“I figured on helping out with your corn crop, mister. Might could

do a piece of other labor as well. Could help with the bees too. You ain’t

yet broke into them boxes, have you, sir?”

“Not yet. No, I haven’t.”

“Well, what do you say?”

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“What sort of labor were you thinking of, Ben? Got a few logs I

need to put back up. They fell from the back wall of the barn some time

back, and I haven’t got around to fixing the mess yet.”

“How many logs you talking about? If they ain’t too many of them,

we could put them back up today.”

“Come on, we’ll go up to the barn and you can judge for yourself.”

Pugh turned then and struck out for the barn, while Ben Loops

climbed aboard his wagon, and hied up the horses.

“Wait up, Pugh,” Loops called out. I’ll carry you up there in this

wagon.”

Pugh raised a hand in flat refusal of the offer and said, “That’s all

right, Ben. I’m in somewhat of a hurry.” He laughed briefly at this.

Later, they stood in the barn with Ben’s team of horses standing in

the doorway of the walkway rattling the chains occasionally and stamping

their feet from lack of motion more than anything else, for the horseflies

were fast disappearing for the season.

“Shoot fire, Pugh. I reckon we can mend this wall in an hour.

Maybe less. That is if you don’t get too much in my way.” Both men

chuckled at this and set in to replace the logs.

Ben Loops missed his predicted time by thirty minutes, which Pugh

already knew was how it would turn out. Loops always overestimated his

working abilities.

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Later they drove both wagons down to the cornfield and commenced

gathering the corn. Pugh finished loading his two hours later and set in

helping Ben Loops. Twenty minutes later both wagons were loaded and

ready to go to the corncrib.

They finished the unload and stood on the ground and dusted off

their pants legs.

“Let’s go in and I’ll fix a bit of dinner, Ben.”

“I’m always ready to eat a good bait, old-timer. Let’s go.”

“I don’t know how great the bait will be, Ben. But it’ll fill your old

belly up more than it is right now. I’ve been hearing it rumble like a tater

wagon for some time now.”

Inside the cabin, Loops saw the broken window pane. “How in the

world did you do that, Pugh? I can see by your floors, that you ain’t

swung your broom about too hard lately, and that’s for sure.”

Pugh wasn’t about to tell him the full story. He was a man not

willing to be made fun of and had he told Ben the truth he would have

accused him of losing out to age.

They worked on the corn until nearly dark, and instead of having

Ben drive home in the dark, he called a halt to the work for the day.

“Getting late, Ben,” he said. They had just unloaded their third one

of the day, and it looked as if they still had at least two more in the field.

“I reckon you’d better head on home, Ben unless you plan on spending the

night with me.”

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“Nah, got to get, old-timer. Belle would be up all night waiting on

me. Ain’t spend a night away from her, since we got hitched.”

Both men dusted their pants legs, finished, and Ben Loops took to

the seat of his wagon and backed it on outside.

“Be back early in the morning, Pugh. We’ll knock out that little

scope of work and break into those bee boxes.”

Pugh raised a hand, and not knowing he was prouder of Ben’s work

or the gift of his company.

“I’m right proud of your help, Ben. Lord knows it too. I certainly

appreciate it.”

“Be back tomorrow, Pugh. Have that big legged hog all tied up for

me I-golly. I plan to drive it up a ramp into the wagon bed, tie its feet,

and carry it on home with me. I mean to do so before dark tomorrow

night.”

“I’ll be up and ready in the morning, Ben.”

Ben Loops raised the reins over the backs of the animals and

dropped them smartly on their backs and they left the barnyard and hit the

path toward home at a brisk trot.

*****

The next morning, Adam Pugh gave each horse a share of grain and hied

them back out to the yard. He decided that Loops would need some extra

to carry his pig home, so they decided that he’d return the following day

and finish up the work they had left. They drove off down to the pen in

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Ben Loops’ wagon. They placed a wide board against the wagon’s tailgate,

and with both dogs standing nearby, the tall hog didn’t tarry long on the

ground but scurried right on up the ramp as if it had done so before.

Together both men tripped the hog and with it on its side, squealing loud

in protest, Ben Loops tied its legs with a length of heavy twine.

Later that evening with Loops gone home with his pig aboard his

wagon, Pugh allowed his chest to swell with pride at how much work he

had gotten out of Loops in exchange for the bacon pork. He fixed and ate

supper. He left the dogs on the porch and hoped they would be satisfied to

stay there all night, if nothing disturbed them, of course.

He finished his Psalm work for the evening, pushed aside his

father’s ancient bible, and stuffed his pipe full. As he smoked he felt more

relaxed than he had for some time. Today had been a glorious day, and

after suffering through the long night before, he thanked God for this

great gift of peace.

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Chapter Fifteen

The sun was just breaking the treetops in the east woods as he and Ben

Loops drove back down to the cornfield to finish up. In two and a half

hours they had both wagons loaded and were driving back to the granary

to dump their loads.

Later with the corn in the barn as well as the bee boxes emptied, all

that was left for Pugh was to shell the corn and crack it on a homemade

corn cracker that he had bought from a man named Elbert Willis in

Louvin. This was work that required a lot of repetition and not a lot of

hard physical labor. He would do that gladly. For with the help of Ben

Loops he was already farther along in the work than he would have been if

he’d been made to do it all by himself. He didn’t regret the price of the

hog he’d paid Loops off with. He hoped to drive the young fattening pigs

to Louvin to trade at the stock barn unless he got lucky and sold them on

the street first. Perhaps he’d even get a few dollars in hard currency.

*****

The male beast lay on his rough bed for two days after tearing the sole of

his right foot on a nail down at the pen that held the noisome creatures.

This after he had rocked the old man’s house savagely that same night.

His mate had doctored him again with the same herb she had applied to

the shoulder that Pugh’s bullet had grazed earlier in the year. The hogs

had a hold on his thinking now for some reason. He longed to steal one

but didn’t like all the racket they made. But he was completely fascinated

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by them. He had continued to return to their pen until he stepped on the

nail.

He was hard to live with as he recovered, and the child walked

cautiously when his sire was sitting up and out of his bed. So the child

slipped off into the woods by himself as often as he could. He needed to

say out of his way. He didn’t enjoy being cuffed around. His mother

though kept her eye on him and he had little chance to slip off. He had

done so a few days back and while waiting on a tree limb for the turkeys

he had heard them scratching the underbrush for acorns that had fallen

from the trees. The turkeys soon made the mistake of passing underneath

the tree limb he sat on.

He landed flatfooted in the exact center of the flock and was

surprised at their alertness. Although they could see little, they had good

hearing and evidently an extra keen system for danger.

The next thing he knew the air around his head was alive with

turkey wings that beat his face fiercely as they caught air. Dust and dead

leaves sprang up after them as if to fly off too.

The youth managed to grab one by one wing and was nearly beaten

to death with the opposite one. He finally caught the big Tom by the neck.

He yanked off its head and was sprayed with a bright spray of blood.

His mother had seen him approaching, and she wore a frown of

displeasure on her face that warned him to step carefully. However, when

she saw the turkey under his arm she relaxed and her facial muscles fell

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slack on her stern face. He ripped off all the bird’s feathers, and as soon

as he finished his mother took the animal from him. All she left for him

were the feet and a few strings of meat that attached the wings to the

body.

The next day, his mother watched him closely and he was aware that

he would not be able to sneak off again. So he walked to the edge of their

small area of the encampment, sat down, and watched both adults, with

guarded eyes.

Soon enough, he gave up his idea of vanishing into the hardwood

jungle. Today was not his day to hunt. He wanted very much to

accompany his sire on one of his hunts, but so far the large adult had not

given any sign that he could do so. His sire, he realized would teach him,

but only when he felt he was ready. All in its time. Right now, he was still

too young, but only his parents felt this. The juvenile felt for sure he was

plenty ready. Finally, he fell onto his back and drifted off to sleep.

At dark, the adult male allowed he was able to get up and around.

He stood up and left the camp without looking back. His mate uttered no

protest, nothing could be done, she knew. She merely watched him fade

into the shadows and soon disappear.

He walked farther away from the open space that lay before the

strange structure that belonged to the human. He followed the creek down

to the field. He had excellent night vision and located the horses. They

grazed in the pasture between the human’s structure and the hog pen. In

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time, he felt he was far enough away from the big animals that they

couldn’t see him, and with the wind blowing toward them, they couldn’t

catch his odor.

The half-moon was often covered by thin clouds that prevented the

full light to strike the earth in this area but he was able to see nearly as

well as if it were daylight. The clouds trickled slowly past the moon as if

they were reluctant to allow the large ball of light to shine at its fullest

measure.

He stopped twenty-five yards from the hogpen, and for once they

were silent. He could see them in the spacious pen, lying about in clusters

of three and four, occasionally more.

The beast knew now what to look for, and where the trap set by the

human would be, for he felt that surely he would replace the one he had

carried off and tossed into the bushes with an instinctive gesture meant to

hide it from the human. He had been sorely angered when he stepped on

the nail and had vented his anger by screaming at the top of his voice. He

hated to be hurt, which was usually an act of his own negligence but in

this case, he had been blameless and the feeling of injustice disturbed

him. He had cried out more as an act of instinct, surprised by his pain, but

his chest had filled with hatred for the human, for he knew the man was to

blame for his injury.

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He walked silently up to the pen, found another board with nails

sticking up from it in wait for him to step on it again. But he learned by

repetition and his lesson had been one he would not quickly forget.

He squatted, picked up the board, placed it to the side out of his

way, and stepped over the low fence, and approached the nearest pig, a fat

one that lay on the outer edge of the ring it had taken up as if it were an

outside guard.

He knew better than to simply pick up the fattening pig, for they

were noisy creatures, to begin with, and if he did so, the creature would

scream so loud that the human would hear it easily. Making sure not to

cast a shadow across the pig’s face, he bent and brought down his large

knotted fist, and struck the hog behind its left ear.

The fat pig merely squeaked in a quiet voice, trembled for several

seconds, and then lay still. After the animal stopped quivering, the beast

caught it up in both hands, held it against his chest and walked to the

fence and stepped over it, and stalked away. He reached the creek and

crossed it in two large strides, climbed up the small knoll that bordered

the creek, and walked quickly off toward his camp.

He had intended to carry the pig all the way back and perhaps share

a bite of the liver with his mate, but his greed, as well as his hunger,

overcame him. He dropped the young animal and before its stomach

stopped sloshing he bent and ripped apart its ribcage as he always did

with the deer he caught. He tore out the liver in a hurry to get at it. He

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squatted beneath a large sycamore tree and with a faded shaft of

moonlight penetrating the overhead limbs still partially adorned with

leaves, ate the liver, and grunted his pleasure all the while.

The blood made him thirsty and he figured that it would be quicker

to return to camp to drink than to return to where he had crossed it

moments earlier. He picked up his kill and hurried off through the woods

and back to his camp.

He dropped the deer meat on the ground next to his mate and walked

off to the stream fell on his belly and gulped down water as if he was

dying of thirst. Blood always made him thirsty. By and by, he returned to

the meat he had dropped and saw that his mate had not attempted to eat

yet, he grunted his approval and she tore the domesticated animal apart

even more with her hands and ate with loud gulps and chomping of teeth.

In time, he joined her and they ate their fill.

The child awoke, alerted by the scent of fresh meat, sat up, and

watched his parents as they squatted on their heels before what was left of

the pig. He remained on guard, knowing better than to make a move

toward the meat until he received permission from the female or his sire.

She grunted her permission and he walked over and fell on the food

as if he had never eaten in his life before this time.

Later, they were all sated, their stomachs ceased rumbling and soon

they were all sleeping, snoring but not loud enough to give away their

presence even though nothing in these woods was fierce enough to try

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them. This was merely a vestige of a long-gone time when there were

larger and fiercer beasts around than they were.

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Chapter Sixteen

“Dammit all to hell,” the old man said. He felt guilty for cursing, but he

simply was unable to contain his anger. He saw where something had

moved one of the boards with nails in it. He then counted the hogs. He

came up one short. “Dammit all.”

The dogs at his side caught the scent of the creature that had

invaded the hog pen and they clung to the old man’s legs for protection.

“Bless you. Both of you, but why on earth didn’t you sound off last

night when this devil came a-stealing?” He knew it was not their fault,

after, all they were herd dogs not guard dogs. He reached down and patted

each one then rose with his rifle at his side. He went nowhere these days

without it. Not even to the john behind his cabin.

He tracked the beast and in the deep grass. This was an easy chore,

for the beast was enormously heavy, which bent the grass and pressed it

into the ground leaving footprints that were easy to see, even though his

eyesight was growing weaker by the month. He tracked it all the way to

the creek and waded across and up the small rise of ground that led away

from the creek.

He found where the creature had placed his burden on the ground.

Old Pugh thought by this that it had gotten tired, and stopped to rest. But

he saw small slivers of red meat with blood on the leaves as well and

figured the thing had merely stopped to consume the choicer meats, which

was the same trait in wild animals as well as human beings.

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In time he lost the tracks in a rocky space of ground where nothing

but the small cactus with the yellow flowers that bloomed from it earlier

in the year. He circled the rocky area, keeping his good eye on the ground,

and when he completed the circle he stopped and looked off deeper into

the woods.

“Which way did he go, Melvin?” he muttered. Both dogs whipped

his pants legs with their tails, one from each side. This was all they did,

however, no way would they move away from the old man’s side.

He stood there and muttered occasionally, mainly cursing his bad

luck and the good luck of the creature. Finally, a large wave of fear shook

his body from head to foot. The woods seemed almost dark as night, for

the day was cloudy and the woods filled him with deep gloom and despair.

“Let’s go boys,” he muttered, swung about, and with the dogs near

him at every step, he walked back to the creek and stepped across it and

up to the hog pen. He replaced the board the thing had moved, then picked

up the bucket he’d used to grain the hogs with, although by now with the

creature wise to its purpose it was more of a danger to himself to be

stepped on by accident. As he walked back toward the barn, he heard the

hogs as they protested again for more corn. Hogs, he had learned, were the

hungriest, most ungrateful creatures in the whole world—well, he figured

outside of humans.

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“Damn if they wouldn’t eat the shoes right off a man’s feet,” he

rumbled in a foul mood, and this time he didn’t even notice that he had

uttered another curse word.

After he finished these small chores he sat in the cabin awaiting

Ben Loops to return to fetch him enough jugs to hold all the honey that he

now held in a fifty-five-gallon wooden drum in the barn.

At last, he heard the dogs bark in a welcoming voice, heard the

snuffle of a horse, the jingle of chains. He stood up and crossed to the

door, and pushed on outside.

Ben Loops looking much like an elf with his long white beard down

to his chest, sat on the wagon seat, smiling as if Pugh had just turned a

double somersault for his own amusement.

“Told you I’d bring these jugs by today, old-timer.”

“I had no doubt you would, Ben. I’m glad to see you too. I swan but

I am.”

The warm sense of comradeship at seeing Loops’ return almost

forced Pugh to tell the man about the beast that had taken up residence in

his woods, but he decided against it. After all, what could Ben do that

would help him? Very little, unless he wanted to volunteer to sit up all

night long with his rifle and guard his place for him. He knew that this

wouldn’t work. Loops like himself had his own place to care for. Besides,

he would spread the word that the old-timer was losing his mind. Adam

Pugh didn’t need that?

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Ben backed the wagon into the breezeway of the barn, and both men

set about unloading the jugs.

Later, they stood among the grounded jugs, and Pugh said, “What

do I owe you for the jugs, gent?”

Loops smiled and brushed away his question with a dismissive

wave.

“Nah, my pap used to keep bees but when he died they all took to

the wild before I could tend to them. Anyway, I ain’t right crazy about

that kind of work.”

“Well, no. I can’t allow that, Loops. This is a lifesaver to me, I’ll

tell you true. I need to ease my conscience. So how can I repay you?”

Ben Loops shifted on his feet, placed a hand on his right hip, and

said, “I tell you what, old-timer, I reckon you can use them jugs as long as

you want to for free. Well, not exactly free, I told the little woman I’d

fetch her a jug of your honey. So what about if you give me a jug of that

stuff, and we’ll call her even. How’s that sound?”

Pugh still felt he was beating the man, but he said, “I haven’t heard

a better offer in my life, Ben. I’ll give you all the honey your little woman

can use. Anytime you need some, just fetch me back your jug and I’ll

replace it with a full one.”

They shook hands on that and Pugh set to work. He filled Loops’

jug so he could carry it home to his little woman.

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Loops left then, and as Pugh watched him leaving, he regretted then

that he hadn’t gone ahead and told him about the damnable devils that

made their home in his woods.

Pugh decided to sit up that night and guard the hogpen. He would

soon use the dogs to herd them to town to trade. He didn’t want to lose

any more of them. He needed many supplies and the hogs, as well as his

honey, were the only things of value he had to trade. At dark, he shut the

dogs up inside the granary where they scurried to the top of the corn and

lay down to nap in peace.

The next morning, Pugh hoofed on down to the hogpen, and with his

rifle slung over his back by a heavy piece of twine, climbed up a nearby

red oak tree and sat there in his heavy coat to wait. He hoped to shoot the

big red devil tonight. The sooner he was shed of the beasts the better he

would feel, so would the dogs and all the other animals on the place.

The moon was hiding behind the clouds, and it had grown chillier

than it had been back in the early spring when he first sat on top of the

cabin and guarded it against the beasts. This time he lacked the chimney

to warm his back, and the night was longer than any night he had known.

Well, at least since his war years. No night was longer than one of those

nights, especially when he caught guard duty, which he often did.

He couldn’t stop his thoughts with so much time on his hands. The

worst times of his lifetime pursued his peace and to defeat his off-mood

he set his mind in thought. He figured that if somehow he could build a

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pen that was capable of keeping out the invasion of foxes he might be able

to keep a few chickens. The eggs would be good and the young fryers in

the spring would be mighty tasty. His chin became damp from the saliva

that was born of such thoughts.

Sometime during the long night, he fell asleep and only awoke when

the hogs in the pen stirred about at daylight and grunted in hunger. He

counted them and when he saw that they were all still present and

accounted for, he sighed tiredly and skinned down the tree. He nearly fell

as he went. It had been a good long time since he had climbed a tree. He

reckoned the last time was when he was squirrel hunting, shot a young

gray that hung up in a limb, and unable to bear the loss of the tasty young

meat climbed up and fetched it down with him in the chest pocket of his

bibs. This was still when he was sort of a young man, and his wife still

lived. He knew her love for young squirrel and had undertaken the climb

with no regret, for he would never begrudge her anything in the world.

But today was a different time. Age had carried off most of his vigor and

especially his skill of tree-climbing.

He returned to the barn, released Melvin and Baker from the

granary, picked up his bucket filled it with corn, for now, the granary was

choked full with it, and carried it down, and fed the hogs. Later, he ate

breakfast and later pondered what else he could do that would stop the

devilish beast from stealing any more of his pork. There was no easy

answer to this puzzle though. He just had to be more and more alert.

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That night after he did up all his nightly chores, having fed himself

and the dogs as well, he set the dogs at watch upon the porch and sat with

them awhile. Later, stepped inside found his bible, and afterward smoked

his pipe.

Again, he locked up the dogs in the granary and watched them

scramble to the top of the corn. Although he hated to he picked up his

ladder, trudged back down to the hogpen with it, leaned it against the side

of the red oak tree, and climbed it to the nearest limb. He felt better than

he had the night before because tonight he didn’t have to skinny up the

side of the tree, then back to the ground in the morning.

The night was as long as the previous night, and at daylight, he

counted the hogs and seeing none were absent, he took down the ladder,

placed it on the ground behind the red oak and went to the granary,

carried down several buckets of corn, and with the dogs at his side, fed

the noisome creatures. Next, as always, he watered the hogs from water,

he hauled over from the nearby creek by the bucketful.

He made the nightly vigil a regular occurrence, and after a full

week of lost sleep, stiff and sore joints, and chilled fingertips, he figured

that tonight, the hogs would just have to guard themselves. He was tired

to the bone of this duty.

That night, he slept like the dead.

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Chapter Seventeen

The big red-haired beast journeyed to the hogpen each of the nights that

Pugh kept his vigil. He caught human scent long before he even reached

the creek, and from the deep brush that grew on the bank above the creek,

he squatted behind one of the thick bushes, pushed a limb to the side, and

sat and waited to see how long the human would remain in the tree where

he had easily spotted him, waiting and watching Pugh with animal

patience.

He returned the following night. The human still sat in the tree, and

on the third night, he left early, slipped silently back to his bed, and fell

asleep while the puny human sat on his tree limb guarding the hogpen.

After a week, the red beast walked again to the hogpen, with the

expectation of seeing the human once more sitting on his limb in the dark

like an owl. This, however, was not the case. The man was nowhere

around. He wasn’t in the tree, wasn’t hiding on the ground, for he scanned

the complete area with his keen night-time vision. He was not exactly

afraid of the human, and physically he could tear him apart, but there was

something about the popping sounds that accompanied the sharp sting in

his shoulder earlier that frightened him. He realized that whatever the

fearsome stick-like thing was it was capable of doing even more damage

than just sting him.

By and by, he spotted the man’s ladder, the thing he had used to

scale the tree with, lying on the ground behind the red oak and figured by

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this that he was not on guard. To be careful, though, he waited for another

hour to make sure the human wouldn’t be coming to the hogpen tonight.

Eventually, he stood up slid down the bank to the creek, crossed it,

and headed quickly across the pasture to the pen. He stopped several yards

from the enclosure to see if all the hogs were sleeping because he found

them to be watchful creatures in the past, and seeing that they were truly

all asleep, he easily stepped over the fence that stood no more than four

feet in height, selected one of the animals, knelt at its side, and killed it

with a heavy blow of his heavily padded fist. He carried it out of the pen,

back across the pasture, over the road to Louvin, sloshed through the

creek, and scurried up the small knoll, with the hog slung over his

shoulder, carrying it as easily as a man would a small sack of oats.

The big animal, battled with himself again as he had the first time

about whether to allow his mate to enjoy a taste of the liver and like the

first time, he lost the battle. He dropped the pig to the ground with a loud

liquid sloshing sound of the contents of its stomach, opened its ribcage as

easily as if he had just pushed a small sapling out of his way. The liver

tasted if anything even better than the first one had, and there was more of

it.

After finishing the liver, he sat awhile upon a small rock for a few

minutes savoring the strong, bitter taste of the bloody meat, and then

slung the hog over his shoulder and trekked back to camp.

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He woke his mate. She sat up and he saw the displeasure on her face

for being awakened, so he placed the hog at her side. This brought her

firmly awake, for she like the male was a creature born to eat. She sat up

abruptly.

The child too awoke and watched his mother eating, he sat up as

well but made no move toward the meal she was gulping down. He merely

watched on from dull, sleepy eyes. The sweet scent of the fresh-killed pig

caused him to drool in hunger.

The red male reached out a hand and touched the child, and the

youth sprang to his feet and fell on the meal alongside his mother with

almost as much gusto as she had used.

Then deciding that the two had eaten all they needed, the red

animal, grabbed the pig or what was left of it, from the other two, moved

off several yards, squatted, and with a warning look from his eyes to his

family members not to bother him, he ate and ate until only the bones

were left. Later they all lay back and slept.

*****

Pugh finished his breakfast and with an extra spring in his step from being

well-rested, he gathered his herd dogs, the bucket of corn, and left the

barnyard.

He poured the bucket of grain into the long trough that he had made

from a hollow log of an oak tree several years back and stood and counted

the hogs as they greedily ate their morning meal. Counting with the

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conviction that the creatures would all still be present. He finished

counting, and saw that one was gone, he once again counted them. This

time too he found one was absent. His heart lurched a bit in surprise but

set in to count again. This time he took extra care.

He finished counting by and by and stood with his hands on his hips

and watched as if the missing hog might be hiding somewhere in the

barren pen, with nowhere to hide except the shed they used when it was

raining. He easily saw that it was empty. Finished again, he removed his

floppy hat, scratched the top of his skull, placed it back where it

belonged, and suddenly flew into a rage.

Pugh kicked the closest fencepost savagely. He stepped backward

several yards and cursed in an angry venting of his rage.

“That devil. That devilish sonsabitch, has taken another one. The

bastard. The no-account bastard. That dirty sonsabitch. Watch every

damned night for a week. Nothing happens. Miss one night and this is my

reward.”

He kicked the fencepost again, waited for his toes to stop aching,

and kicked it again and again, and all the while he cursed aloud to the

heavens.

The border collies dropped their tails, stiffened them, and placed

them firmly up against their stomachs. They hurried off fifty yards into

the pasture, and feeling safe for now, stopped, sat, and watched the mad

antics of the riled old man.

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At last, his rage fell back to a more normal and manageable state.

The old man felt defeated but with the rage much dissipated, he walked

slowly around the pen. He reached out and shook each fencepost, tested

the boards to see if any were loose. He carried himself all around the pen,

testing each board and post. That hog hadn’t just escaped the pen and took

to the woods. That red beast had stolen it. There was no doubt about it.

He concluded his inspection and stopped at the place where he had

begun. He removed his hat again, and once more scratched his head. He

felt as used and abused as he had in his entire lifetime.

“Man works himself nigh unto death,” he muttered. “What does he

get for it? Cheated, stolen from. That’s his reward. The sonsabitch. The

god damned unholy bastard. I’ll kill that beast if it’s the last thing I do.”

He still had to finish feeding the hogs. So he carried the bucket

back, refilled it, returned for another, and this time when he poured the

contents into the wooden trough, he felt some better for the exercise. He

was more able to think calmly. He decided to track the beast again, and

this time he vowed to find the place where they took refuge, for he felt

sure they had a nest fairly close by.

He attempted to run the dogs back to the cabin, but they only fell

back out of range of a stone in case the old man figured he should stone

them as he had done once before. They moved closer as he crossed the

creek and seeing the old man was not bent on stoning them now, they

followed along a few feet behind.

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Pugh found the spot where the red fiend had stopped and eaten the

pig’s liver as it had done to the first one he had absconded with. He

hunkered and noticed the bloody pieces of meat that had dropped from to

the ground in its haste. He sat on his heels, Winchester in hand, butt plate

firmly planted on the ground next to him. He had no desire to be caught

off guard. This beast would kill him in a second. He had no doubt of that.

The creature’s arms were frightfully large and powerfully built. His dogs

sat behind him, still afraid to sit alongside their master. They watched his

every move with somber eyes, ready to jump and run with any sort of

aggressiveness from the old man.

After several minutes of sitting, staring into the woods with rapt

attention and muttering curses occasionally, he stood up, hefted his rifle

to his chest, and stepped away from where the beast had eaten its tidbit of

meat.

He walked for what he felt was at least thirty minutes and still with

the footprints clearly visible in the damp leaves on the ground, he

stopped. He huffed a bit, sniffed the air like one of his dogs, searching for

the scent of the animal, for he had noted before the horrible stench that

lifted from it. The scent had died off by now.

“Dammit,” he muttered, “I thought sure I would have reached their

den by now. My word.”

Pugh, however, was unaware of just how quickly these beasts

covered ground and how far they traveled before they decided it was safe

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enough to rest. What to Pugh was a long trip, to them was but a short

distance.

He walked on for another half hour. He stopped again.

“Here I stand over an hour from home and still haven’t found the

red devil. I still have work to do too. Have to carry all that jarred honey

to the house. Hell’s fire, it must be nigh noon. I’m hungry. Better get on

home, old man Pugh.”

He turned then and headed back toward his cabin. After thirty yards

or so, he stopped and yelled out in his loudest voice, “I’ll get you yet, you

damnable devil, you bastard. I’ll do that very thing.”

He waited and listened until the last echo faded away, and turned,

and whistled to the dogs, and they hastened up to him and walked one on a

side of the old man.

In the morning after feeding the hogs and his pups, he took up the

iron pot he used to boil water in on butchering day and rolled it from the

barn down to the pen. For today was the day. There would be one less

fattening pig to drive to market after this day. It was time to butcher. One

hog would do fine for him. In fact, he already had enough bacon left in

the smokehouse to last the winter through, but he didn’t really enjoy old

bacon—it already had a mild rancid taste to it. He built up a fire next to

the hog pen, circled it with large stones, set the kettle on the four stones

inside the circle, then took his feed bucket to the creek and carried up

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water and poured it into it time after time until the black vessel was full

to the brim.

He set the bucket upside down on the ground alongside the fire. He

sat down on it fetched out a large pocket knife he would use to draw

deeply across the pig’s throat with. He then took a stone out of a pocket

of his overalls and stroked the blade of the knife with long even pulls and

pushes. Ten minutes later he sighted down the knife’s blade. He saw that

it was likely as sharp as it would ever be, folded the blade, and put it

away. The stone followed the knife, and he stood up and walked to where

he kept the scaffolding on which he would hang the hook that was

attached to a pulley and chain. Afterward, he sat and rested a bit. He knew

from the past, that it would take over an hour for the water to roll and

buck in its vessel. So he walked back to the barn and mended an old

harness rig that lasted him long enough for the water to boil. After this, he

walked back to the fire and found the water in a strong heavy roll. The

water needed to be in such a heavy roll as this before it worked good

enough to slick the hairs on the pig’s body.

It was time.

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Chapter Eighteen

He walked to the pen’s gate, whistled for the dogs, and when they arrived

eager to help, he downed the gate and stepped inside with them. He

touched one of the pigs on the back and the dogs herded it outside, and

held it close by the kettle then for these two creatures were intelligent and

were well-acquainted with shepherding work. He had used them before on

butchering day. He erected the gate again, and walked quickly to the pig,

placed one arm beneath the young animal’s chin, yanked it upward toward

him, and with the knife in the other hand, sliced deeply and efficiently

across the creature’s windpipe. Blood gushed forth from its neck as if

from an artesian spring. The animal ran in a circle on the ground. The

circle grew slower and slower as the blood flooded forth and splattered

the ground loudly all the while. Finally, its feet folded on it and it fell

straight down onto its stomach with a loud whump and did not rise again.

Next, he quickly slit the belly of the hog and slid the guts out of its

interior being careful to protect the liver and other sweetmeats, kidneys,

liver, and the rest. He then attached both hind legs to the hook with a

piece of wire and took up the chain that operated the pulley system. Over

the fire-blackened kettle, he situated the hog, and when he had it in the

precise position needed, he slowly lowered it into the boiling, splattering

water that at times splashed his pans legs. His overalls, however, fit him

loose because he had lost weight as well as muscle. So he wasn’t scalded

as was the hog.

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When he deemed it time he lifted the carcass until it hovered above

the kettle and then went to work with his knife. He scraped the hair from

the animal’s hide in long pulls that went from the head down to the feet.

The foul odor of the filthy hogpen rose up from the animal’s hide as he

scraped the tough, wiry hair away. But he was well used to the odor from

childhood and was not put off any by it.

He would use nearly everything from the creature, including the

head, as well as its feet. Later, the pocketknife grew dull from the abuse

he received from the resilient hair. This was at a critical time since if

allowed to cool the hair would be much harder to scrape away. Pugh

dropped the knife, picked up his butcher knife from the ground, and with

losing only a few strokes continued the job.

He finally had the hide as slick of hair as it was possible to make it.

He plunged the blade of the butcher knife into the still boiling water and

lowered the pig to make reaching it more accessible, he cut away the

upper hams, then the lower ones, which were heavier than the front ones

and cumbersome to handle. He placed this all on the ground in the grass to

prevent excessive dirt from getting on and in it.

The dogs watched on as if they were guarding sheep, and at first,

they even kept the flies away, although this late in the season there were

fewer of the pests around. Soon though the flies took command and the

dogs were unable to keep up, which bothered them a great deal. The old

man laughed as their frustration grew more prevalent by the moment.

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Then having all the meat cut off, and on the ground. He walked

back to the barn with his bone saw and the butcher knife. He whistled

sharply all the time for the horses. By the time they arrived, he had the

wagon situated well and he attached their harness and hooked them to the

wagon. He then trotted them back to the pen.

By evening, he had all the meat lying upon the flat table he used to

salt them down inside the smokehouse. It took him an hour to salt down

the meat, rubbing it in thoroughly with a clean rag he had fetched from a

small cabinet in the cabin. By the time he hung the heavier meat up he

was worn out. So much so, he first thought that he would forfeit his

supper, and just go on to his bed. But his stomach began to sound off and

he fixed up a sparse bite to appease it.

Later smoking, he felt better. Tomorrow he would finish up his

work, and the following day would be market-day.

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Chapter Nineteen

Pugh made a day of fetching all the jugs into the cabin, and when he

finished, he sat down on the table chair and looked at the crop of honey he

had fetched into the cabin. The honey jugs stood out from the wall for

what he guessed to be eight feet and ringed the kitchen range. He had left

only a narrow path by which to reach the range for when it was time to fix

a bite to eat. There was precious little room left inside for movement let

alone even one more jug of honey. Since he would be needed on the

ground to help the dogs herd the hogs, he had no way to carry it all off to

town to trade to Edna at the store. The horses would have a free day

tomorrow. But the red beast was still his major fear.

“Well, sir. I suppose I’ll just have to live with this mess until I kill

that devil out there in the woods. Kill the devil or till he kills me”. He

chuckled at this little joke, for he had been trying to kill the animal for

some time now.

That evening, sitting with his pipe, he knew that he would just have

to take the dogs and herd the rest of the pigs into Louvin. If he didn’t the

red fiend would kill all of them.

Though he had firsts decided to trail the pigs to market tomorrow,

he vetoed that move.

“I’ll do that in a few more days. It’ll take me that long to shore up

things around here. When I do it all to my satisfaction I’ll drive them

animals off to town.”

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He knew he couldn’t make it through the winter without the

supplies he needed from town. He would have to make the trip for sure.

He figured the beast wouldn’t be back for another pig this soon

since he had taken but one, so he decided to stay the night in the cabin.

But he knew that if one more pig came up missing he would have to get

them on the road right away.

“I didn’t raise them fattening pigs just so I could shove them down

the mouth of that big beast. Got to get them on into market while I still

have them.”

That evening, he went to bed and woke up sometime in the night

feeling a horrible sense of persecution. He searched his memory to find

what was bothering him. What had woke him up in the middle of the

night? This hadn’t happened to him since his wife died.

He leaped from his bed and hurried across the floor to the table, lit

the lamp, and took up his book of Psalms for he had forgotten to read

from it and this hadn’t happened to him either. Not since the passing of

his dear wife.

“What caused such a thing as this to happen, you reckon?” he asked

the ceiling after he’d read from the book and returned to bed. Soon, his

mind relaxed and he fell asleep as if nothing bad had happened at all.

The next morning he trudged to the hogpen, fed them, and when he

found none missing he sighed heavily in relief. He had no idea what he

would have done had one been missing. He came close to giving up on

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finding the lair of the beasts and fixed his mind to move his pigs to town

as soon as possible.

He put the feed bucket up, and spent the remainder of the day in the

granary, cracking corn. He finished up for the night, save for the chores,

and saw that he still had another day’s work before he finished cracking

all the crop. This was exactly what he figured it would take him to do the

job. The horses returned to the barn that evening as he put up his feed

bucket. He grained them and planned to use them the next day. So, he put

them up in the stall so they would be in easy reach when he called for

them. He went back to the cabin and stirred up a bite of supper. The dogs

were on the porch in relative peace.

“You gents will earn your keep around here right soon,” he called

out loud enough they heard him as he passed into the house. Soon, two

tails beat upon the wood of the porch in a steady and lively tattoo.

He finished cracking the corn, fed up the hogs smiling in the

satisfaction that they were all still here when he counted them. Still

smiling, he carried his bucket to the barn and put it up.

He spoke to the dogs as he walked toward the cabin, “You true

gentlemen need to rest yourselves right good tonight. It’ll be a long old

day tomorrow. He patted them at the door, and they sat on their heels with

smiles on their faces as he disappeared inside.

He awoke a bit later, and struggled out of bed, fussing to himself

that he was getting lazier and lazier each day.

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“I reckon I’m just getting old,” he said. “That there’s the only

answer.”

At four a.m., he prepared breakfast, ate, fed the dogs, and then the

hogs. By then it was half-past five. He tore down the gate and signaled the

dogs. They moved into the pen in the gloom of early morning and

separated the market pigs from the keepers, the two brood sows, and the

old boar, which would be the start for next year’s market-hogs.

The dogs were strict disciplinarians and allowed the pigs no

leniency, but kept them all together, and nipped their heels each time they

attempted to veer from the path.

Two hours and forty minutes later, they reached the town of Louvin.

Fifteen minutes after they reached Louvin with the hogs milling about in a

tight circle wary by now of the sharp teeth of the dogs, a crowd had

gathered and the men picked out a pig.

Pugh was a shrewd trader. He allowed none of the men to know how

much any of the others had offered, and always managed to get the best

price given. These men, townspeople as they were, had jobs in the mill in

town and didn’t have time to raise their own hog meat and relied on men

from the surrounding countryside to do as much for them. They were

satisfied, and so too were the sellers. It looked to him like he wouldn’t

need to pay the barn a seller’s fee after all. This swelled him with delight.

Later, after all the picking and haggling was done, he found he had

received a fair supply of cash dollars, with only two offers of trade-work

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to be done in the spring when the mill shut down for machinery inspection

and repair, he felt he had done right well for himself. He now had hard

currency to go along with the lonely coin that the postal clerk paid him

for the postmark with that had taken up occupancy in his pants pocket

since last summer. He stalked down the street, looking in each shop

window to see what all they had added since his last trip to town. Seeing

little that was new and none he could afford to buy, he moved on to the

general store, stepped inside. Emma was well aware that the old man had

fetched in his pigs to market and had watched him sell them all, so she

had a wide smile of greeting on her face as he stepped up to the counter.

“Need to pick up my tab, Emma,” he announced, feeling good that

today he would shed himself of the debt he owed her. Adam Pugh sorely

hated to be beholden to anyone. So, this lifted a heavy burden from his

soul. Emma drew forth the small record book she had written all his

purchases on for the last several months. She shuffled to the proper page,

tore it off, handed it over. Pugh looked it over, to be sure, for he had

learned that Emma sometimes fudged with her pencil. Although many

times he had had to correct her arithmetic when it was in her favor. Even

then she hated to admit she’d made a mistake since she had been a school

teacher before she got married. In the end, she always accepted that he

was right, and she was in the wrong. Her face always grew bright red

though when this occurred.

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Nothing like this today. He paid up and took to selecting the

supplies he needed for the winter. They would have to do him until next

spring because he didn’t like to go off to town in the short days of winter,

besides that the trail was oftentimes covered with snow, and this made it

hard traveling for his horses. It was a long cold four-hour journey, to town

and back with the wagon.

As he was set to walk out the door, she questioned him about the

honey he always brought in for sale, for it was a big seller, “Where’s the

honey, Mr. Pugh. Already sell it? You know I always buy it from you.”

He waved his hand at her, and said, “Nah, I had no way to drive the

wagon and help the dogs with the herding, so I’ll have to bring it

sometime later, please ma’am.”

He pushed out the door then and was ready to strike out for home.

He noticed that the same coin he had come to town with was all that

abided in his pocket. He chuckled at this. “You’re going to be mighty

lonely in my pocket this winter, old man. I’d hoped you’d have a few

friends after today, but it wasn’t the case. Such is life. Such is life.”

It was less than an hour to dark, as he passed his hog pen. The old

boar set up a howl to beat all howls, for it was past his mealtime. Then,

having disturbed them, the two sows joined in as well.

He put away all his supplies and left the cabin in a rush, picked up

the coal oil lantern that hung on a peg in the barn. He fed the hogs by its

pale yellow light. The dogs were loyal and hung by his side all the while,

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and were fine company as always. There was still a good deal of grass

growing in the pasture so the horses strayed off from the barn when he

turned them loose. He fed his dogs and then trudged tiredly back to the

cabin. He still had supper to make.

“There ain’t no rest for the working man,” he muttered and pushed

on inside. He picked up the table lamp, shook it, and found that it was

practically empty. He went to the cabinet took out the kerosine jug, filled

the thing, and then lit the lamp.

By the time, he finished his meal he felt so tired from the strenuous

walk, especially on the return trip because of the heavy pack he’d carried,

that he felt like going to bed without reading from the Psalm book, but his

conscience would not allow him to do so. He had already backslidden by

taking the Lord’s name in vain and his conscience had teeth like those of a

rabid wolf.

He nodded off twice while he smoked, and when he finished it,

shoved the pipe to the side, he doubted he could even make it to the small

cot that set amid all the jars of honey.

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Chapter Twenty

With the pigs gone now, except for the boar and the two sows, his chores

were shortened a bit, but he still arose at the same time and doubted he

could sleep much past his usual time even if he tried. He tended the

horses, checking their feet to see if they needed attention for they usually

spent hours on the gravel bar in the creek down where the water gathered

deeper than it was closer to the house and this sometimes wore their

hooves down a bit. They each had long toe growth so he took up the hoof

file and the knife and cut away the extra growth. He hated this duty

because it required a great amount of bending over, and this was hard on

his back. When he finally finished and raised up, it took him five minutes

to fully hold his back erect. But this was only old age he knew and fussed

a little but not overly much.

Two weeks later, he still hadn’t had a visit from the large red fiend.

This didn’t allow him to relax, however, and wouldn’t until he was

satisfied that they were gone on to different parts, he couldn’t breathe a

lungful of air without feeling a hitch of fear in his chest.

Several days later, while in the barn tieing off sacks of cracked corn

he hoped to trade to the men in the area, for they sometimes weren’t

cautious with theirs and would come to him to see if he would sell them

some of his, he heard Melvin alert. Next, he heard the song of chains and

the clatter of loose floorboards. He stopped what he was doing and

stepped out of the granary and on down into the breezeway.

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Ben Loops pulled up close to the barn, halted the team, and stepped

to the ground.

“I was hoping I’d find you home, Pugh,” he said.

This came close to firing up a loud bark of laughter from Pugh. “I

ain’t got nowhere to go, Ben. Where’d you think I’d go off to, me a man

who works hard at what he owns and wants to keep on owning it?”

“Well, I feel some better,” Loops said and stepped inside the barn

with the older man. “It’d be a sorry mess to travel an hour one-way and

find you gone off somewhere’s.” Loops handed Pugh a package he held in

his hands. “Here, old-timer. Belle made you two loaves of bread.”

“Well, bless her good old heart. You tell her I’ll dance at her next

wedding.” Pugh laughed then and took up the bread and held it near as if

it was the dearest gift ever.

“I’ll tell her that for sure, old-timer.”

Well, we’ve all made our share of futile trips in the past a time or

two, Ben. But since I’m here, this is not the case now.

“What brings you away from the stove. A raw old day like it is? Or

did you just come to fetch the bread to this weary and hungry old man?”

“More or less wanted to visit, old-timer, but I do need to question

you on something that’s been bothering me.” Ben Loops carried his rifle

in the crook of an arm. This was unusual for him. So, Pugh felt a bit of a

chill crawl up his spine. He couldn’t say why, though.

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“Having trouble, are you? Need some help, I’ll do it, whatever it is.

I ain’t busy at all since I herded them pigs off to town.” He didn’t dare

ask him the question he longed to. For he was not about to admit what

he’d seen in his woods and in the yard this casually.

“Nah. It ain’t nothing like that. I saw something last week that got

my hackles up a bit. I was down by the creek seeing could I flush a covey

of quail, but what I saw instead was some tracks.”

By now, Pugh knew exactly what Loops was going to tell him—

without question, he did. But he said, “Tracks, Ben? What kind of

tracks?”

“Biggest danged tracks I ever did see. I ain’t got no idea what made

them either. That there’s what’s got me worried. Pugh.”

“Cat tracks were they?” He was evading.

“No sir. Hell no. They were like the footprints of a giant human or

something. I mean they were huge.”

Pugh didn’t want to admit what he knew yet, so he evaded even

more. “Seeing spooks, Ben?”

He watched then as the usual calm demeanor of his friend turned

cold and almost hateful. “Damn it, Pugh, had I thought for a minute you’d

treat me like this I danged sure wouldn’t have come over here flapping my

lips this here way. I guess I’ll just get on back home. I ain’t never told

Belle about this here, but I guess now I’ll have to.” He turned about then

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and walked off toward his wagon, kicking dust up in anger. “I hope

nothing happens to her while I’m gone.”

Pugh stopped him just as he reached the wagon. “Sorry, Ben. I—

well, let’s go to the house. We can go over this thing at the table. Might

be a bit warmer in there, and I can heat up the coffee from breakfast.”

Pugh led the way to the cabin. Behind him, Loops was still in a foul

mood. Pugh could almost feel his anger.

Pugh heated the coffee from breakfast, and when it was hot, he

fetched Ben Loops a cup and carried one for himself. He slid Loops his

steaming cup toward him and sat down on the extra chair he dragged up to

the table. He then removed his jacket, looped it over the back of his chair,

and sat down.

“Look here, Ben,” Pugh said. “I’m right sorry I said that. I’d like to

hear the rest of your story. If there is any.”

Ben Loops blew on his coffee and stirred up a cloud of steam and

forced it up and away from the mouth of the cup. He sipped then.

“That there’s all, old-timer. I saw those tracks. Hell’s fire, that was

a big enough shock for me. I’m right frightened now. I got to get on back

home to Belle to make sure she’s still safe as soon as possible. Probably

shouldn’t have left her by herself to start with. But I had to consult

someone else. I was fixing to ask if you had seen anything like that. But,

since you scoffed at what I told you, I reckon I know your answer already.

So I don’t even have to ask now.”

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“There’s the sugar bowl there, Ben. If you use it in your coffee,”

Pugh said. He sipped his own coffee and leaned back in his chair, but he

certainly wasn’t relaxed by a long shot.

Loops waved away the offer of sugar and drew on his coffee once

more. “Used to use it, but I’ve done without it so long by now, I lost the

taste for it.”

A long silence spread around the table, but by and by, Pugh broke

the silence, “Remove your wrap, Ben. Keep it on inside and it’ll seem

twice as cold when you go back out. Loops took his advice and draped his

coat over the back of the chair as Pugh had done.

“Anyway, Ben, I have to admit that I have seen something here that

is mighty curious. Actually even worse than that.” He allowed his eyes to

travel around the room for a while putting off telling Loops about the

creature he had started thinking of as Big Red and his family. But in time,

he found nothing to delay him any longer. “I’ve seen the creature that

made them tracks you saw, Ben. Some reason I didn’t want to admit it.”

Loops settled his dark eyes on Pugh then and waited for him to

continue.

“It’s been here. In my yard. In my smokehouse too. Tore enough

logs off the building to step through. That’s part of the work I had you

help me with when we made our swap. I had a large slab of hog meat, left

from last year’s butchering still hanging in there. That beast stole it right

out of my smokehouse. I watched it carry it off into the woods. I got a

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shot at it, and I think I hit it a bit. It slowed down some but didn’t stop.

The thing’s still alive and frisking about the woods getting into my stores

whenever it gets hungry.”

Loops’ eyes brightened with interest. He leaned forward and placed

both elbows on the table. His cup of coffee steamed up between them and

into his face. “You ain’t joking me, Pugh? I wouldn’t stand for that.”

“No. There are other things I’d rather do than to lie to you, Ben. I

saw the creature and he’s big. In fact, he is over eight feet tall. And is

heavy to boot. That thing stole two of my fattening hogs and carried them

off. He didn’t return for a week, maybe more, after I shot him.”

“You see it carry off your pig? Really?”

“I didn’t see it, but he did the deed and later I tracked him. He

walked for a long spell carrying that hog and finally dropped it aground

and tore it apart and ate what I reckoned was the animal’s liver. I saw

small pieces of meat on the ground between his feet, where he squatted to

eat it. After this, he picked the creature up again and carried it off.”

By this time Loop’s coffee quit raising thick steam clouds as it had

earlier. His coffee was cooling. He studied Pugh intently, still not

convinced his neighbor was telling him the entire truth, the way it looked

to Pugh. But he listened on. Finally, he said, “What kind of creature is

that strong, old-timer? To carry a hog off on his shoulder?”

“The very kind that made them tracks that you saw the other day.

That’s exactly the kind. You had enough or do you want to hear the rest.”

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“I ain’t got nothing better to do right now. Tell away.”

“There’s a family of the creatures living around here, Ben. A

female, and a youngster along with the big one. That youngster is big

himself. Big and strong-looking.

“They came into my yard one night. Melvin and Baker started

sounding off and scooted back under the cabin like it was in the coldest

part of winter. They were scared nigh unto death. I tried my best to shut

them up but they kept it up. By and by, I peeked out the window.” Pugh

pointed to where he had boarded up the window to keep out the wind after

the beast had thrown a rock through it. It would be a while before he

could replace the pane.

“I looked out the window and saw them. Later, they stole five of my

jugs of honey. The big one, the one I took for a female, and the little one.

I figured was a child.”

“You saying they did that after I helped you rob your bee boxes?”

“No sir. This was before that. So I didn’t lose any of the new honey.

I think there might be two jugs left out there. That’s the reason for so

much honey in here with me. Can’t walk for it, hardly.”

“Why is it you didn’t mention it to me then? You didn’t say nary a

word.”

Pugh sighed then, sipped his coffee again, and found it was cooling

quickly. “For the same reason you held it in a week before telling anyone

what you saw, I reckon. You wouldn’t even tell Belle. I thought you’d

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laugh and tell me I was getting old and was seeing things. ‘Tis nobody

wants that, Ben, although it’s likely true that I am getting old. I admit

that.”

“You’re right there, Pugh.” Loops sipped his coffee again. “That’s

exactly what I figured you’d tell me when I came to you. Say I was seeing

spooks. Sure enough, that’s what you did say. But had I not seen those

large footprints I wouldn’t believe you right now. What you are saying is

a hard thing to believe.”

Pugh continued. “At least one of them returned later on and stole

more honey.”

“How about your window? How’d that happen?”

“This was later. I worried about my hogs and set him a trap.”

“That’d take a lot of work, Pugh, to build a trap big enough to

capture that thing. If it’s as big as you say, and I see no reason you’d lie.”

Pugh chuckled at the image of such a large trap. “Well, it wasn’t a

trap to catch the thing in. I was more or less mad and didn’t want him to

get my pig creatures. Shoot, Ben, I rely on them to buy my winter

supplies. I’m sure you know that.”

“I know. I know. Go on. I gotta get on back home before dark. Belle

will be scared half blind.”

“I took up some old scrap boards I had in the barn, and knocked

nails in them, carried them to the hogpen. I laid them upside down so the

nails would be sticking up and anything that wanted to come snooping

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around my pen would likely step on at least one of them. And that was

exactly what happened, Ben.

“A few nights later, I heard the most horrible screaming. Coming

from down in the pasture, it was. My herd dogs, set up yowling and

scratching at the door, like they do when it’s colder than they like, and

want to come inside. I stepped to the door and opened it and they rushed

beneath my feet so fast they almost knocked me down. They ran to the

back wall and sat there, shaking like they’d eaten a mess of peach seeds

and were trying their best to pass them. They were that frightened.

“I figured it was one of them beasts done the screaming. Well,

minutes later after the screaming lay, I got another shock. I heard

something strike my roof.

“I thought what in the world was that? That frightened me right

good, Ben.

“I can see why, old-timer.”

“You don’t know the half of it, gent,” Pugh said. I fetched my gun

and sat back at the table. Then the next one struck the door, and this

continued three more times I think it was. Could have been more, but

three dents are still in my door on the outside. And three rocks lay there

close by the steps.

“Just as I caught back my breath, a rock came sailing through the

window, rolled under the table, and grazed my ankle.

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“I was so frightened, Ben, that I sat up all night at the table with my

rifle in my hands. Nothing more happened after that though, not that night

at least.

“I tell you what, Ben,” Pugh said. “I never go anywhere now

without my gun.” He pointed at Loops’ rifle that was upon the table to his

right. “I see you got yours, so you got a fright yourself.

“Later the monster stole another of my young pigs. I was so mad, I

took off tracking it, and didn’t stop like I did the first time.

“I tracked it for over an hour, and finally figured I’d better get on

back home since I had work still to do. I was getting things wrapped up

around here so I could herd the pigs to market.”

“I wonder if we could track them back to where they holed up,

Pugh? You think we could?”

“Maybe we could, but we’d need to start early of a morning. I got a

hunch they travel a long way since they are so large and carry such long

strides when they walk. Sure couldn’t do it today. Not and get back so

before dark. I couldn’t do up my chores then. The last thing I want is to

be caught out in the woods after dark. Days are bad enough. We don’t

know what we’re up against, Ben Loops. No money could force me out

there after dark.

“You want another cup of coffee, Ben?”

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Ben Loops pushed back in his chair. Put on his jacket, picked up his

rifle, and said, “No. Thanks, though. But I got to get home. See about my

place and check on the little woman.”

“Well, listen here, think on a plan we might use to get the creatures

in the sights of our rifles. Will you?”

“Yes sir. I’ll do it. You think we better tell anyone else about this. I

ain’t right sure I’m ready to take the punishment.”

Adam Pugh stood up, and followed Loops to the door, “I ain’t

either, Ben. Not any time just right soon leastwise.”

Ben stepped out through the door and walked toward his wagon.

Pugh put on his coat, walked out, and shut the door behind him. He still

had chores to do, although they had been much reduced since he’d traded

away the bulk of his hog creatures. Chores are chores no matter what.

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Chapter Twenty-One

Two weeks passed. No sign of the creatures. Pugh began to relax a bit,

and once even walked halfway to the barn before he realized he hadn’t

brought his rifle with him. He turned about then and quick-footed back to

the cabin and fetched back his rife. He felt much better then.

“That big brute ain’t gone,” he said. “Not just yet he ain’t. He’ll be

back.”

That night, it snowed. The following day, he carried his bucket of

corn to the hog pen and saw the footprints that belonged to the red beast a

hundred yards from the hogpen.

He fed the hogs and walked up to the footprints. He squatted and

attempted to assess their length by placing both hands down beside one of

the prints. He guessed that the length of both hands placed one after the

other as they were was likely over ten inches, maybe even more. The

prints overlapped that by plenty. He rose up then and followed the tracks

until they headed off into the woods. Right then, he had no desire to

follow them either. The snow was over the tops of his boots, and walking

in it caused his breath to exit his lungs and mouth in clouds of steam.

He walked back to the hog pen but saw no sign that the stranger had

come close to them. He breathed easier, as he carried up a bucket of water

from the creek and poured it in the trough. One bucket was enough for the

rest of the animals.

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Eating dinner, he thought about the strangers that had taken up

residence in his woods. By the time, he finished eating and washed up the

plate and cup he’d used for his coffee, he decided that he would try to

track them again.

He locked the dogs in the granary, left the yard, entered the woods,

and with a feeling of dread, followed the tracks. They led him from his

pasture and deeper into the heavy timber and underbrush.

It was still fairly early yet, for he had eaten his dinner earlier than

usual, and he made good time since a child could track the beast—it

leaving such large prints behind. So, he made quick time of it or thought

he had. Much later he stopped on a hilltop and looked down at the river

flowing by far below. He was farther away from home than he thought.

“That’s the Angel,” he muttered. “How the dickens you reckon I

come this far? Just intent on tracking the beast I suppose,” he said. And

walked on, following along the bluff that overlooked the river. He had no

desire to stumble off down the bluff to the river. But from this angle on

the ridgeline, he looked past a shoulder and saw the small caves in the

bluff and old sheltering places Indians likely used in the past.

Minutes later, he crossed the small stream again that ran through his

own property and stopped dead. He caught the odor of dead things. Things

that had decayed until all that was likely left now was the stench of it.

Just then he heard a sound ahead of him. He stopped and raised his

rifle, ready now to defend himself if necessary.

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He heard a small sound like something plopping from a height and

falling into the snow. Carefully, he scanned the trees. Then he saw it, and

his breath caught in his chest. For in a tree twenty-five yards off or even

less, sat the juvenile creature upon a tree limb. Each small move it made

caused a flurry of tree bark to fall and strike the snow. This was the sound

that had alerted him. The juvenile sat on the limb and intently studied

something ahead of it with its back turned to Pugh.

He raised the rifle. Then he saw what the creature was watching and

waiting for and why it had taken to a tree limb. A small flock of turkeys

came scratching straight into the young beast’s ambush. In a few more

minutes the turkeys would be scratching directly below the limb where it

sat. The flock was busily scratching away in the snow and the leaves

below that to get to the acorns that lined the ground underneath the snow

and all the leaves.

Old man Pugh’s finger tightened on the trigger. He heard a loud

bark, like a warning. He looked to the left where the sound originated and

could barely make out the image of the female blending perfectly into the

background—the child’s mother. By now, the flock of turkeys caught air

and their wings seeking escape sounded briefly like a large waterfall.

Snow fell in large flurries as the turkeys flew off, beating against the tree

limbs as they went.

He swung his rifle away from the child then and tried to take a sight

on the mother. He squeezed off a shot but was rushed. He missed, and

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suddenly the brush burst alive with activity. The undergrowth in which

she had been standing whipped savagely about as if a strong burst of wind

had rushed through the woods as she ran off, and stirred up large gouts of

snow as she ran. Pugh now recalled the child he had been watching. He

swung back then and after ejecting the spent shell casing, he sighted along

the barrel back to the limb the child had been sitting on. The child was

gone. He saw the whipping of the limbs of brush where the creature ran

through it, heading in the same direction the mother had taken.

The old man was shaking from adrenaline by now, and he lowered

the rifle, still standing there watching, and with the sound of the

retreating animals still tearing through the brush. He then heard a louder,

deeper sound. A barking sound that was like the one the mother had made,

but much stronger and with more authority, and he knew the male was

directing his family toward him. The sound raised the hackles on his neck

and his trembles continued. By the time Pugh was able to move again, the

sounds of the retreat had long since faded. All that was left now was the

slight ruffle of the wind. No sound sprang from the trees. No bird sound.

Nothing.

He scanned the area beneath the tree where the youngster had sat in

wait for the turkeys to reach him. The snow below the tree was torn up by

the feet of the turkeys as they’d struggled to find enough solid ground on

which to launch their flight. He saw where the youth had climbed up the

tree, and then later, where he had leaped to the ground several yards

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deeper into the brush when its mother had warned him that he was in

danger.

Soon, he found the spot where the mother had stood and warned her

child. Pugh looked for blood but found none. He had missed the female

completely. He knew that would be the case all along.

He trudged through the snow toward where he had heard the male

sound off. After ten minutes, perhaps less, he finally found the spot. He

saw where the large beast had stood and called to his family to join him.

Several yards from this spot he found their lair, where they had taken up

quarters. They had made a bed on the ground from what looked to him like

small boughs of cedar limbs. The cedar limbs were covered by the pelts of

several deer. The bed lay within the small limits of a primitive structure

of small trees. The beasts had made their shelter by weaving small limbs

of the trees together creating an interior they could hunker down in as

well as sleep in during cold and damp weather. The old man was amazed

at their ability to create an artificial abode like this one.

“They ain’t just dumb animals, that’s for sure,” he said.

Pugh studied the closely-woven limbs that bound the structure. He

looked at the ceiling and could see no light penetrating the weave—none

at all. The place looked to be leakproof and for this reason, they hadn’t

bothered to cover the roof with animal hides. He reared upright from

where he’d stooped to inspect the shelter and turned away from it. He saw

many animal bones scattered about the area as if they merely tossed them

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aside when they had stripped the meat from them. Many deer hides lay

about on the ground as well as other bones, some were of the wild animals

they had killed, but he also saw hog bones lying about. By and by he

found the shattered remnants of his honey jugs. He held his rifle in one

hand his nose in the other, to block out the heavy stench that seemed to

rise from the ground like smoke that surrounded him tightly, and which he

couldn’t escape. He continued searching the area as well but was aware

that darkness would soon set in. He had spent a good deal of time tracking

the creatures. Adam Pugh continued to hold his nose. He noticed an

indention in the ground where the leaves had been compressed tightly into

an outside bed. The bed or nest was too small to sleep one of the adults,

so he figured that the child slept apart from its parents.

“Might be the little one is in trouble of some kind with its parents.

Or this might just be the way of it in their society.” He had no way to

know that the youth was slowly being ejected from the family and this was

the first part of the ejection.

He walked all the way around the shelter, which was perhaps twenty

feet in circumference, and ten feet high, or so he estimated.

“My word,” he muttered. “I wonder what Ben would say to this if he

were here?”

He couldn’t imagine a way that a man who viewed this crude

campsite as he was doing would say anything positive about it all. At least

he had admired the tightly woven limbs that made up the fundamental

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principles of the structure and protected the beasts from the elements as

they slept.

The stench of the place nearly caused him to lose his dinner and

breakfast as well, even though he still held his nose to block the foul

odor. It certainly didn’t block all of it, however.

He realized he had to move out right now if he meant to be out of

the woods before dark. He took off walking fast in the snow, steam

bursting from his mouth and nose, and his wind coming and going from

his lungs in rushes caused by his deep fear at, least some of it was. The

walk too was difficult in the snow.

He finally broke free of the woods, about half a mile from his cabin.

He passed by the hog pen still with the feeding ahead. They saw him and

the boar ran up to the edge of the surround that kept him in place and

cried out to him to be fed.

He reached the barn, opened the granary door, and was met by

Melvin and Baker coming in a rush and yipping loudly their relief from

being restricted in the crib for so long. They jumped up on his legs, one

on a side, and yipped their heads off. He petted them, and this settled

them down. He found his feed bucket, filled it with corn, and left the

barn. Outside on the trip to the hog pen, the dogs were scampering about

in the snow, rooting in it with their nose, and yipping away like storybook

Indians.

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The old man was forced to stop half-way to the pen to rest. He

suddenly felt exhausted and wondered if he had enough stamina left to

feed the hogs and to walk back to the cabin. Snow fell again from the sky

just at dark. He saw his breath rising upward to meet the falling flakes,

and finally found the courage to stand up and take up his burden. He felt

great relief when he emptied the bucket into the trough and scarcely heard

the hogs screaming as the two sows fought for dominance over the corn

even though he had scattered it about evenly in the trough, but they stayed

far away from the old boar.

“Shut up you dumb brutes,” he said, as he raised up from leaning

over the fence.

He walked slowly back to the barn, put the bucket in the granary,

and fed the dogs from their separate mix he mixed up from mostly corn

that had fallen to the floor and with ground-up corn cobs that he also

mixed up with it to make the stuff go farther. He always had a few table

scraps left over from his daily meals and would save them up until he had

enough to feed them this as well, although he had none with him now.

He managed to reach the cabin, entered, and lay his rifle on the

table, pulled up his chair, and sat down. He felt so tired and used up he

bent his head to his chest and heavy tears ran down his face from the

actual pain of it, although he choked back any sound. It was completely

dark inside his cabin, snow outside fell in large swirls as the wind shoved

them about the yard. He figured he was safe now and hoped that soon his

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exhaustion would dissipate. He had to find enough strength to cook up a

bite for himself and soon.

By and by, he leaned across the table, slid up the lamp, removed the

chimney, struck a match, and lit it. He leaned back again then and the

shadows on the wall were his only company and comfort, and just now he

felt an urgent need for companionship.

After a rest of ten minutes, he slapped his knees and stood up. He

said, “Old man Pugh you are truly getting old.”

He fried up three times the bacon he usually did, thinking the dogs

would enjoy it too, and reheated the coffee. He finally made his sandwich

with a large heaping of bacon. He placed the plate on the table, sliced up

two more pieces of the bread that Belle Loops had sent him, went to the

stove, returned, and then poured the bacon grease that was still warm from

the stove onto the bread, making sure the thick slices of bacon he would

feed to the dogs didn’t fall from the skillet. He ate then and savored the

grease-soaked bread, making loud eating noises in his eagerness,

chomping now and again on his bacon sandwich, and sipping on occasion

from his coffee cup.

In the morning he awoke with daylight, which at this time of day,

was late for him to sleep. He felt so refreshed from his sleep that he

couldn’t recall a better nap than this one had been.

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Later with the morning chores all done, he called in the dogs for his

company although he needed to do a bit of thinking about what to do

about the beasts and probably should have cherished the peace of solitude.

Melvin and Baker frolicked about him for a time, while he scratched

them on the neck, behind their ears, and eventually they had enough

loving and curled up by the stove where there was still considerable heat

issuing from it.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

The beasts watched from hiding until the human left his nest. The big

male walked around seeing where the man had spent time there. These

humans were small, but they all carried sticks with them that shot some

sort of missile from it. The sound the sticks made was loud, and the

missiles stung his skin. But the pain they issued was not really that

hurtful. Some insects had stung him with a more powerful bite.

In the end, he reached inside the shelter he had built, gathered up

the skins he and his mate used to sleep on, and in exceptionally cold

weather, used them to cover up with. He rose then and gathered up several

more of the skins from where they lay scattered about on the ground. He

didn’t utter a sound but turned and left camp. The female and child

followed. He didn’t stop until they reached a small, faint path on a ledge

that led around the top of the river bluff. In time the path fell downward,

and he took it. After sixty feet or so, the path curved to the north, and the

family continued up it, alongside the tall bluff. By and by, the path led up

again and he followed it to where it leveled off and ran flat but narrow

along the bluff. Eventually, he reached the mouth of a small cave—a small

shelter, really. It was about thirty feet deep, ten feet high, and probably

twenty feet wide.

He spread out the furs, removed some small rocks that would be

uncomfortable to lay on.

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The female carried in her load as well—a large side of the latest

deer the male had killed. She sat down on the bed, and the male did as

well, and even motioned for the child to come and sit alongside him. They

ate then of the deer meat, while the light of day faded outside until the

only light they saw was that on the treetops growing nearest to the shelter

and below their shelter.

The female was puzzled to learn that the male still wanted to remain

in the area after what had taken place today. The child was still alive only

because she saw the man lift the stick and ready it to harm the child and

had warned him. She would have thought her mate would have taken them

farther away from the human. She had set her mind to walk all night again

in their usual routine of travel. But this hadn’t happened. She had a longer

span of attention than the male, but it was but a short time later that she

had nearly forgotten the incident of danger today. She would recall it all

when more danger from a human threatened her family.

The male never did as she thought was wise, however, and she soon

gave up thinking anything at all and allowed her mind to go blank. They

ate the remainder of the deer meat, tossed aside the bones, and lay down

on their mat, and slept the night away.

The next day, the big red beast motioned for the child to follow

him, and they left the shelter with the female watching their departure.

They gained the top of the tall bluff, left the trail, and entered the

woods. They walked less than half a mile with the cold wind from the

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north blowing in their faces and then stopped. The big male sniffed the air

blowing straight at him, then with no scent of food in the wind, they

walked on.

The child stepped in his sire’s footsteps all the time, knowing he

would stay behind until the male barked another command that ordered

him forward. Neither one of the animals felt much of the cold wind

because of their heavy coats of hair, except for what touched their

disturbingly human-like faces. But that skin as well, was inured to their

cruel life.

In the next five miles, they stopped several times. The big male

sniffed the air for food. The child relaxed alone with his sire for the first

time in his life. He knew the big creature had some plan in mind for him.

If not, he wouldn’t have brought him along.

A short time later, the male, stopped again. He stiffened his body as

rigidly as a mass of limestone from the river bluffs. The child too held

himself rigid and still. He didn’t even move his flat nose, but in time, he

caught the scent of meat himself, and would not have moved unless his

sire commanded it.

Minutes following this the sire, motioned the child to lie down. The

sire then covered him with snow and leaves. He then made a sign for the

boy to stay put and walked on. He left the boy behind with a warning look

from his eyes. He meant for the child to stay put with no exceptions. He

walked on for another mile or so, stopped then and sat down, and waited.

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The child had grown this past summer, by at least ten inches and

had put on close to one hundred pounds. He would soon be grown. The

two grown-ups would leave him then, he knew but had no idea why he

knew. These creatures survived by their keen instincts. Didn’t have to

know the answers to anything but just accepted what came their way by

instinct.

The male scented the air again. A deer headed straight for him as if

the wind forced it along. He would wound this one. Let it hobble off

toward the son. The boy would need to do the rest. If he succeeded that

was great, if not, he would track the wounded deer down again and give

his child another chance to kill it. He needed to learn to feed himself.

Minutes later, he watched the deer come straight on toward its fate,

one that had been decided on the day it was born. He heard a jay then. It

cut off its chatter in a choked voice. The big male knew for sure when the

deer would arrive then. He lay tighter behind an oak tree that was still

shedding its leaves in an occasional flurry, torn from the stems by

intermittent gusts of wind. The leaves had clung to the stems tightly all

summer long, now was their time to fall. He saw the deer, a dark form that

blended in with the shadows. It minced on and stopped fifty yards above

where the death lay that awaited it. Having sniffed no scent of danger, it

walked on. The big red animal supposed the creature was headed to the

river to drink. Although the ground was snow-covered and in hard times it

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could eat it for hydration, but since this was not yet the hardest part of

winter, it would journey on down to the large flowing river instead.

The red creature felt his body turn nearly to stone. His breath

stopped, and his every sense of survival came into play. The hackles on its

neck stiffened as well, even though there was little to fear from a helpless

animal such as the deer. It was now twenty yards away, then fifteen, and

when it came within twenty feet of his death, it stopped so fast that its

forelegs skidded in the snow, headed downhill as it was. It fell to its

knees, then regained its footing again, and put its feet firmly beneath it,

and whirled about with its front hooves in the air as it twirled about. Its

rear legs kicked hard against the ground, found solid footing, and tore on

back up the way it came in a desperate race to outrun its fate. The beast

was fast behind and gained on it with each step taken.

Instead of running alongside it and knocking it senseless with a fist

as was his usual method, the beast caught up one of the deer’s hind legs

and twisted. He heard the bone snap loudly in the relative quiet of the

woods. He dragged the bleating deer around until it was headed once more

downhill toward the river. He turned it loose then and watched it hobble

off on three legs with the rear leg on its left side swinging pitifully away

from the break there. The child lay in wait far below.

A half-hour later, he caught the scent of another deer. He waited

again and this time, killed it outright, feasted on the liver, then slung the

carcass over his shoulder and walked back downhill. He now had two deer

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to feast on that would likely prevent him from hunting for several more

days.

The child heard the racket of the hobbling deer. It made much noise

because of its broken hind leg, as he dragged it along, scattering snow and

stones that lay below the snow. He tensed and allowed instinct to rule his

mind. The deer ran on, straight into the trap. The child sprang from the

ground scattering leaves, stones, and snow like the sudden flight of an

enormous covey of quail. He leaped onto the back of the hapless animal

and rode it down. It skidded on its nose in the snow. The animal bleated

pitifully with its last breath. The juvenile struck it three blows of fist, and

eventually, the creature died with a sigh and a sudden involuntary shudder

of its body.

The child was not yet savvy enough to break the rib cage of its prey

and take the hunter’s choice of meat and sweetbreads. It would not take

long however perhaps two more kills and he too would learn this.

He struggled with the carcass until he had it on his shoulder, walked

perhaps a mile that way, grew tired, dropped his burden, then took hold of

one of its legs and dragged it on down toward the new shelter of his

parents.

Ten minutes before he reached the path that led down to the new

shelter, his father overtook him, walking swiftly with the deer on a

shoulder. He felt something swell inside him but had no idea that it was

pride for his accomplishment and for his sire as well.

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In time, he reached the ledge path and wound about the limestone

bluff. He reached the shelter, picked up the deer, slung it across a

shoulder and climbed up to the shelter-mouth, and entered the darker

interior. His sire sat in the rear upon the bedding. He did not even

acknowledge the child with the deer. The mother, though, watched as he

allowed the carcass to fall to the floor of the shelter. Perhaps she would

have felt pride at her child’s ability to fend for itself, but more probably

she would’ve been relieved that he would soon leave them. Perhaps by

spring, it would be time to run off the youngster. This was her duty. By

this time next year, this youngster in their shelter now would be a fading

memory.

The juvenile stripped the hide from the deer, but before he could do

any more than this his father arose and took command of the animal. He

was still the dictator of food and would give the boy enough to keep it

growing, nothing more. Children were constantly hungry, and the red

beast recalled this from the past.

That evening the red beast left the shelter. The boy attempted to

follow him, but the bigger creature chased him away by the issuance of

several loud threatening barks. He turned then and the adult watched him

until he climbed back up and into the shelter. He required no help in what

he was going to do. The juvenile would merely get in his way as he had

been since he had learned to walk. When the child disappeared into the

shelter, the grown animal turned his attention back to the path and started

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walking in long strides, going quickly. It would take him more time to

reach the human’s cabin now that they had been forced to move farther

away. He had fed on the deer before leaving and would require nothing

more until sometime tomorrow afternoon in case he needed to be gone that

long. He rushed along until he reached his old campsite and slowed down

as he stepped carefully around the broken bones and around the broken

pottery of the jugs that had held the honey. He scanned the ground about

the old shelter he had erected for anything of value they might have

overlooked. He saw nothing worthwhile anywhere, and as he vacated the

camp area, he increased his speed, and soon broke from the woods close to

the hogpen The hogs were not on his schedule this time, however, and he

passed by the pen and headed toward the cabin. The tiny creatures that

belonged to the human were a nuisance to him because of their yipping

and snarling. They posed no real danger to him, however, and he would

merely ignore them as always. In the past, a pair of these creatures had

tried to attack him. They had been bigger ones than these puny creatures

that lived with the human though. He had killed both with a mere slap.

With the fall of darkness, the temperature fell also, and it was much

colder now. The wind blew harder from the north and whistled through the

long hair on his head. The cold was still no problem for him. He felt

plenty warm in his red coat of fur. He saw the light seeping from the

cracks where he had thrown a rock through the wall sometime back. Just

then the dogs sounded off.

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Chapter Twenty-Three

Pugh heard his dogs. They created an immense racket but eventually

scampered onto the porch. Soon he heard them scratching at the door. He

picked up his rifle, walked to it. He opened it with one hand, with his rifle

at his shoulder one-handed.

“Get on in here, you rascals, if you’re fixing to,” he commanded.

Baker leaped inside so fast he landed close to the table, an

impressive leap for such a small dog. But Melvin had turned his back to

the opened door and continued to snarl into the darkness.

Pugh reached out and caught him up by his scruff, yanked him off

his feet, and into the house in one swift motion. He heard Melvin’s

skittering feet on the wooden floor as he rushed toward the back wall. He

stepped out onto the small porch and unable to see anything because of the

lamplight from the cabin, he reached back and pulled the door shut. He

stood there for several moments waiting for his eyes to adjust. But then,

he heard the whish of a rock that struck the cabin wall with a loud thump

and raised the rifle to his shoulder.

“If I could see you you bully bastard, I’d fix it so you wouldn’t

come around bothering a man. Now get the hell on out of here if you know

what’s good for you. Hie on now, while you still can.”

Another rock struck and this time it narrowly missed his head. The

stone bounced back and struck Pugh between his shoulder blades. A dull

pain fired up back there, and he felt it strongly this time. He reached

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behind him, found the door latch, tripped it, and backed inside. He fired

off a round, jacked out the spent cartridge case, and fired off another one.

He shut the door then, placed the rifle against the wall, found the bar, and

barred the door. He recovered his rifle, jacked out the spent cartridge

casing, reloaded the rifle, and stepped across to the table, snuffed out the

lamp, and moved back to the stove. It still fired heat, although it pinged

loudly as it cooled down. He lifted the lid, added more wood, then

replaced it and sat down with the dogs at the side of the stove.

The two border collies crawled up closer to him and he heard them

shaking in fear. He scratched Melvin behind the ears, then did the same

for Baker. Finally, after no further threats came from outside, both dogs

stopped shaking.

“Why don’t that beast come around in the daytime. I’d fix him right

proper if he did.” He shut his mouth then and tried to think of some

protection he had with him in the cabin other than his rifle, but after

several minutes of thought, he realized that the rifle was it, and would

have to do. “This here’s enough, I-golly, if I can just get a clear shot at

him.”

He wondered again just exactly what these beasts were. He had

thought them to be gorillas once, but he knew that there were no such

animals as gorillas in this country.

“Then what the world are they. I ain’t got no idea.”

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Never in his lifetime had he heard of such beasts. Not from his

father or any other kin. There had been wildcat creatures and bear too

when he lived in East Tennesse as a child. They were fearful enough, but

nothing like this creature here.

Another rock struck the door then, and he quit thinking, raised the

Winchester, and stiffened. He was sure that any second the thing would

tear down his door, and barge inside.

“Dammit. I hope I get a shot at him. I sure don’t want him to get my

dogs. He’ll take me first, but then he’ll kill my dogs. I don’t want that.

They are good creatures and earn their keep. I would hate it if they got

killed by that big, bad humored bastard.”

The noise of the stones striking the door, as well as the nervous

voice of the old man, struck up fear in the two dogs and they started

shaking again, and now he heard Baker’s teeth-rattling loudly. He touched

him, bent then, and whispered close to the dog’s ear. Finally, Baker’s fear

succumbed to the steadiness of Pugh’s voice.

It fell quiet within the cabin, and Pugh relaxed. He wondered if the

red beast had left. He had started calling him Big Red in his mind He had

no idea why, and there was no way for him to even guess. Why would it

come and rock his house a few times like this and just up and leave? That

made no sense. But wild things, he decided, never made a whole lot of

sense to humans. Even though some men studied them and learned their

habits well, and became the better hunters.

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Fifteen minutes passed by with no further outbursts from the beast.

“Has the left yet, Melvin, you reckon?” he said. Just then the beast

screamed right outside the door. Pugh raised the rifle again, tightened his

finger-grip on the trigger. The old man intended to shoot through the door.

He decided against doing this, however. He figured that the door would be

weakened if he took to shooting through it. And once started how would

he stop? He had fifteen cartridges in the weapon. It was fully loaded. He

would stop when it was empty. Even then, if he could, he would reload.

“I just hope big red devil don’t tear the door down and come

trooping in like he owned the place. But that’s something I have no

answer for. I only hope so.

“Come on Big Red, you bully sonsabitch,” he called out. He

wondered then if he was losing his mind. “Is this here really happening to

me, Melvin? Here I am shouting at my own door.”

He heard the heavy breathing of his pets and knew he wasn’t

imagining things. They were frightened nigh onto death as well. It was

real. Too real.

Half an hour later the dogs calmed down and fell asleep. Pugh

wished he had that kind of confidence in his ability to protect himself as

evidently they had that he would protect them.

“Maybe they are just worn out from fear,” he said, and just then the

loud thump of stones struck the roof. Again, and again, stones struck

above. It sounded as if the sky had opened and dropped stones down on

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his rooftop from high above. “Dammit. That’ll tear off my shingles if he

keeps tossing stones soon.”

Melvin and Baker jumped to their feet and right away fell down and

started attempting to scoot beneath the stove. There was not room enough

under the range to allow them to do so, however, and soon he heard them

scratching on the floor frantically as if to create enough room to let them

beneath it.

“Stop it,” he commanded. But now they had found something to fear

greater than was their master’s harsh voice. They continued scratching at

the wooden floor in extreme horror.

“Stop it, dammit. I said, stop.”

But they continued to scratch away. He had his fill of this though.

He reached out and cuffed the nearest one, but still, the poor frightened

dog continued to scratch the wood. They stopped once, and tried again to

scoot beneath the stove again, but still unable to they rose again and

started scratching even more fiercely.

The rocks stopped raining down on the rooftop, by and by, and the

silence that followed frightened the old man nearly as much as had the

stones breaking the roof shingles.

A few minutes after this the rain of stones ceased, and the dogs

stopped scratching. The dogs quit scratching the floorboards.

“My word on high,” Pugh said. “I’m so glad that you gents decided

to stop that foolishness. I was about to toss you outside with the beast.”

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Both dogs came to him and attempted to sit on his lap, but he

pushed them off. With both of them there, he would have little room to

raise his rifle if the red creature decided to come inside with them.

He wondered then as he sat there huddled with the dogs, just what

had fired the creature up. All he could think of was the nail he had

stepped on. Most animals he knew of would have forgotten it by now. He

recalled seeing his father take a strap to one of the dogs that would not

heed him, and an hour after administering the beating the same animal was

jumping up on his legs again to be praised and petted. It had forgotten its

switching that quickly. This beast outside seemed to hold a grudge. He

knew of nothing except a human capable of holding a grudge.

“I suppose I might hold a grudge too if someone set a trap for me

and I stepped in it. But hell, this ain’t no human. At least I hope it ain’t.

These here strangers ain’t no kind of human. I know so. God wouldn’t

allow any such a thing. I must be crazy, dammit if I ain’t, Melvin.”

Hearing its name called, Melvin slapped its tail against the floorboards.

Pugh scratched it again.

A short time later large thumping sounds erupted and jarred the

south wall of his cabin. He wondered now if the beast was going to tear

down the wall. The cabin wall was made from much stronger and heavier

oak timbers that were much larger than those he had built the barn and

smokehouse with. He doubted the beast could tear it down. He shoved

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both dogs back stood up, and walked to the wall where the beast was still

busily attacking it.

He called out in his loudest voice, “You ain’t going to tear down

that wall, you infernal creature. No matter how big and ugly you are.” The

logs in the walls were the size of railroad ties.

Pugh stayed close to the wall as if he doubted his own words.

“Surely he can’t tear it down,” he said. His voice shook now and

had lost some of its confidence. He merely spoke his own wishes aloud.

Later, the animal gave up on the wall. Pugh sighed heavily in relief. Right

away the sound of rocks striking the roof sounded like doomsday or

Pugh’s idea of how it might sound. He heard the dismal sound of his

shingles above his head cracking and giving away in small bits at a time.

He knew that sooner or later if the animal continued to pummel it with

stones it would shred the shingles, and afterward, the roof would give

away and sections at a time would fall inside with him.

“What can I do? How can I get a decent shot at that damnable thing

without laying myself open to danger?”

He racked his brain to find an answer. Next, he walked to where the

beast had broken the windowpane. He realized then that the animal wasn’t

as smart as he thought at first. If so, it would have already torn off his

flimsy repair job. He decided that if worse came to worst, he would kick

out the boards covering it and fire outside at where he guessed the

creature was standing.

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“That ain’t much,” he muttered but it’s about all I can think of.”

This he knew, would be a last-ditch stand and his only chance to

shoot it down and kill it or to wound it enough that it took to the forest.

The relentless attack continued. Then, at daylight, it stopped as if it

had been raining in great quantities then ceased all at once. A foreign

silence fell upon the cabin.

Still sitting with the dogs alongside the kitchen range, Pugh looked

about, attempting to make sense of things of anything for that matter.

Directly, the dogs got up and walked to the door. Pugh wondered

what would happen next. He too got to his feet, still with his gun in hand,

and walked to the door as well. He opened it just a bit to see if the beast

might still be lurking someplace outside just waiting for Pugh to take the

bait. At least, he thought this the case. He was not quite ready to swallow

the bait and shut the door.

He made breakfast, extra bacon for the dogs. And his rifle lay

across his lap as he ate. He wondered all the while if the creature had

faded back into the woods. He still had the hogs to feed, if they were still

down there, and he feared that they wouldn’t be. If the creature had the

mental capacity to carry a grudge and to act on it, he might come back at

any moment.

“Well, I’m not the worst shot in the world,” he mumbled around his

bacon and bread. “I suppose I’ll have a fair chance at killing it if I see it

before it does me, that is.”

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Nothing was certain in this world the old man knew, but he would

take his chances. What else could he do? His chances were much better in

the daylight hours, and that was for sure. Last night he had been a victim

of the darkness as well as of the wily beast that had attacked his cabin,

but now that it was daylight—well, he felt much safer.

After eating, and washing the few dishes he had dirtied, he took his

rifle, and the dogs and stepped outside into a sunny day. The snow had

stopped sometime during the night. Everything looked brand-new to him,

although snow clung to the trees, especially the cedars, which were in

great supply in the area where he had built his cabin.

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Pugh saw enough stones scattered about his yard that he could’ve built a

small stone wall with them if he’d had a mind to. The roof was also

covered with them, at least on this side. Some of them had fallen back to

the ground along with the snow that had been jarred loose by the thrown

stones and was lying about there.

“That bully bastard has created a good deal of work for me,” he

said. “Lord, it’ll take some time just to rid the area of all the stones.”

He would do that work later, after all, it wasn’t a pressing matter.

Feeding the hogs was though. He went to the granary filled the bucket and

trudged off down to the hogpen, with fear still hugging his heart in a tight

clutch. He looked back from time to time as he walked. He feared the hogs

might all be dead.

But before he reached the pen, he heard the animals squealing their

heads off. The old man smiled at his good fortune. The hogs were out in

the open where they could be attacked as easily as children. Maybe even

easier than children, at least children had enough good sense to run from

danger. After feeding and watering the noisy beasts, he walked back

toward the cabin with the dogs still too afraid to venture far from his side.

Later, he carried lumber to the cabin and worked on reinforcing the

window or where the window had been, that is. He finished the outside

work on the window, carried healthy lumber inside. and fortified the

window there as well. Last night’s attack had frightened Pugh.

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“This might not keep him out,” he muttered to the dogs at his feet,

“but it’ll make me feel some better and will take him much longer to get

inside.”

He finished the window repairs and moved on to the door. The door

was built from heavy wood, much heavier than needed because he had an

excess of this type of lumber in the barn and had used it to build the

heavy door. But now, he decided it needed more muscle and lined the

inside of the door. Afterward, he did the same for the outside of the door.

He was in dire need of safety and he added the heavier timber to ease his

fear.

After the noon meal, he called up the horses, rigged them for the

wagon, then hitched them up. Finished, he drove the team and wagon

outside and up to the cabin where the rocks were strewn about like a

landslide had deposited them there.

The sun shone down on him as he worked and soon, he peeled off

his coat and placed it across the wagon’s sideboard closest to him. He

then picked up his rifle from where he had leaned it against a wagon

wheel then placed it atop his coat, then fell back into a steady rhythm of

work. A rhythm that once reached, felt good to old Pugh, which caused

him satisfaction with the number of rocks he had already pitched into the

bed of the wagon. He worked on as the sun leaned toward the west and as

it colored the tops of the treeline in that direction he decided he had a

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decent load on. He drove to the creek then and tossed the stones into the

dry parts of the creek.

He halted his labor as if coming out of a trance state, noticed that it

was nearly dark and that he must feed the hogs, and give the horses their

share of oats as their pay for the faithful job of work they had done on

this sunny but cold day. The falling sun now cast an orange glow above

the trees as it descended below the horizon until tomorrow. He couldn’t

see the final descent because of the woods in that direction, but the orange

glow was proof enough for him that he decided to finish up with this load

and call it a day.

As he drove the team to the barn to store away the wagon as well as

the leatherwork, and chains necessary to hitch the animals to the wagon,

he noticed that there was still a small load of stones still scattered in the

yard, close to the cabin.

“That fearful beast will keep us all busy,” he muttered to the dogs.

“He returns tonight and fills the yard with stones again. We’ll have a

daily job before things are done.”

Melvin and Baker bent their ears toward his voice every time he

spoke. They were his only audience of course and all the prevented him

from thinking he was talking to himself, which would not sit right with

him.

After stalling the team, for he would need them again tomorrow, he

dipped up a scoop of oats for each of them. After this, he filled his bucket

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with corn and carried it down to the hogs. They met him with an

outrageous racket, for he was a bit late.

“At times I think them blamed hogs own me, Melvin.” He said. The

small black and white dog Melvin switched the old man’s pants leg with

his tail when old Pugh pronounce his name. “Curse me for a bully liar if I

don’t.” He chuckled then, but briefly, for his bones were aching from all

the bending and squatting, lifting and tossing he had done.

He put away the bucket, closed the granary door, and walked to the

cabin. This time, he didn’t even consider if he should allow the dogs

inside. They were already waiting for him to open the door, and when he

did so, they rushed inside as if the cabin belonged to them. They were still

frightened from last night’s ordeal, and Pugh had no intention of turning

them out. Even though they would be safer far back under the cabin than

inside with him. He figured they needed his company as much as he did

theirs. He shut the door behind him, and when it shut it sounded different

than usual. It had a much heavier sound now and this caused him to smile

in satisfaction. His reinforcement had been good work.

“We did a jolly good job, boys,” he said. He walked to the range,

added wood to it, filled the coffeepot with water, set it on top, and walked

to his chair, removed his coat, and hung it over the back of the chair.

He fried up enough bacon to feed them all, even though he knew

full well that his companions would eat until they fell down if he fed them

enough. He carried the plate of bacon heaped high to the table, set it

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down, and pointed his finger at both dogs in a strict command for them to

keep out of the grub until he was ready to dole it out. He lit the table

lamp, and took up the coffeepot, with the water, boiling by now in a heavy

roll, took up a heavy enameled cup, and carried it all to the table. In times

of cold weather such as today, Pugh drank hot water, in place of coffee,

and this warmed him even more. He ate his bacon and Belle Loops’ bread.

Later as his own shadows on the wall were accompanied by those of

the dogs when he or they made a move. It was time, he lifted the heavy

bible, torn in places, the leather bindings crumbling from years of use,

and sat there close to the lamplight, and read.

He read a few extra passages tonight to make up for the short shrift

he had given his readings before. He always slept much better after

reading his bible, and if the extra passages were an indicator, he would

sleep well this night.

In due course, he shoved back the bible, packed his pipe, lit it,

leaned back against the backrest, and smoked and enjoyed the peace and

quiet, with the only sound so far, the gentle snoring of his dogs lying by

the stove, which pinged in a steady climb and in a joyful voice as it grew

warmer.

Later, he shoved back his chair, stood up, checked, and made sure

the bar was in its proper position within the iron loops embedded deeply

into the heavy timber of the doorframe. It was nearly time for bed. He was

tired from his ordeal of the night before because he’d scarcely gotten a

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nap let alone a good sleep. His bones still ached from his daytime work.

He needed a good long rest to heal what ailed him. He walked to where he

had fortified the window. The job he had done he felt was adequate, but it

needed even more work. He did not feel completely at ease with what he

had done to reinforce it. He bowed his head and prayed aloud.

“Dear God in Heaven, I thank thee with the overwhelming gratitude

of my heart for the generous safety You gave me and the animals in my

care from last night’s evil that assailed this cabin, Lord. I also ask that

You look over me and my house tonight for there is an unholy presence at

large in my woods, in my fields, and on all my property.

“I know that it is best to offer thanks than to ask for assistance,

Lord, but tonight I fear I will be set upon by outside dark forces and I

often fear I’m not man enough to turn aside all-out assaults on this house

and I now request your help.

“Praying fervently for Your blessing, my God, I ask that You

protect me and mine in this hour of my need.

“I humbly ask this in Your name and thank You for all the blessings

You’ve given me in my lifetime. Please care for my dead wife, and the

child we had that died. Amen.”

Thinking of his wife and the dead baby girl that had died from

smallpox shortly after birth forced tears to run down his face.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

He lifted his head off his chest, and just as he did so he heard the sound of

an enormous blow strike the door. The sleeping dogs leaped up as if their

leg muscles were made of springs. They ran in short circles and then up to

Pugh.

He hefted his rifle. pointed it toward the door, ready to do

considerable damage to whatever had made the racket. He reached across

the table and drew the lamp to him, and blew it out.

The dogs whimpered as if they were pups instead of the four and

five-year-old animals that they truly were.

He felt like whimpering himself. He had truly been shocked that the

beast had returned this soon. He now figured the only thing that would

prevent his coming around in the future was for him to put some lead in

his heart.

“Get out of here you beastly bastard,” he yelled out. He jumped to

his feet, stalked to the door, and fixed his mouth to issue a further

warning, but just as he did so, another blast upon the door, forced him to

take two steps backward.

“Lord, what shall I do?” he asked.

He had asked God for his protection, and by and by he relaxed and

decided that it was in His hands now. His decision would be His choice

and more praying for help would be redundant. Behind him, the dogs

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whimpered even louder. He felt sorry for them but was unable to do much

except call out to them in hopes it would calm them.

“Hush boys, you’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” But his hopes were

dashed for the sound of his voice seemed to excite them even more.

More stones bounced off the door, and he stopped counting after he

heard six of them bounce off and strike some of the stones that were

already lying on the porch and grated loudly in the collision.

After ten more minutes of this, the ruckus fell silent. He wondered

what was next. Right away he heard stones strike the roof on the opposite

side of the cabin. This continued for so long that he felt like slapping his

palms across his ears to block out the sound. He didn’t though, fearing

that if he didn’t hear the stones striking, he wouldn’t know for sure just

where the big red devil was located, and he needed to know this to prepare

himself in case the beast forced its way inside with him in a surprise.

The attack lasted until midnight. It stopped then as if a bell had

rung to announce that now was the time to halt all outside activities. This

he didn’t believe, however, and stood in the center of the room, rifle

raised and ready. After a few minutes of silence, the dogs came to him and

stood by his side.

“Is the beast gone, now, Melvin?” he said, He was instantly

rewarded by a tail slap on his pants legs. The dogs were calming down.

Perhaps the monster really had left for the night.

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“Well, he’s likely done enough damage for one night,” the old man

said. “He can take the rest of the night off if he’s of a mind to. That’ll be

just fine with me.”

Pugh felt good that he could at least still joke where there was little

to joke about. “I fear though that he will soon be back. I’ll be ready for

you, you runagate. Be ready,” he called out this last toward the door.

He added wood to the fire and sat again at the table with every

muscle in his body heavy with the fatigue of holding his muscles tense for

so long. His nerves were shattered from such tension. The attack had

taken place probably around five- o'clock and had just ceased at midnight.

Seven hours under siege was a long time to hold every muscle tense.

“He’ll be back, he repeated.

Two hours passed without any further racket. No thrown rocks.

Nothing. The old man sighed in relief and felt his tension melt away. But

just as he did so, Melvin sounded off. He rushed in circles as he had

earlier then scrambled up to Baker who was scooted as close to the stove

as he could be without singing the hair of his back.

Both dogs snarled occasionally but then they fell silent, and as they

did so, old man Pugh relaxed again.

“Likely he’s gone to the smokehouse again,” he mumbled. “Damme

but I hope he doesn’t make off with all my hog meat.”

Pugh was still working on last year's meat, but it was rancid and he

had almost decided to consume it first before he ate the fresh-killed pig

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meat first. It would be a long winter if he had no bacon. Rancid meat was

bad but not nearly as bad as no meat.

“Bread and coffee ain’t much. In fact, it’s poor bull if you ask me.

Besides that, the two loaves that Belle Loops gave me will soon be gone.”

He heard the tails of the two dogs beat on the floorboard in answer

to his voice. This caused a warm swelling sensation to fill his chest. He

was thankful for the company of his dogs.

He placed the rifle across his lap, leaned back in the stiff, upright

chair, and felt his muscles relax completely.

He sprang from the table, raised the rifle, fearing another attack.

The dogs leaped up as well, but they were shaking their tails in friendly

response to his sudden action. He had been asleep without knowing it. He

usually had a slight warning before dropping off. This time it hadn’t

come. He finally saw daylight entering the room through the small cracks

in the work he had done to the window. He figured it was good that he had

turned off the lights last night. The light seepage would have given away

the fact that the window was a weak spot. He placed his rifle on the table.

Now that daylight had broken, he felt much safer, for he could now see

what to shoot at.

“I’ll fix the cracks today,” he said, went to the stove, and cooked up

breakfast.

After eating, he took his weapon, and the dogs and stepped outside

to be met by an exact duplicate of the bright sky of the day before. He

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hoofed down to the smokehouse fearful of what he would find. He looked

at the wall on the south side of the barn where the beast had entered the

small building before.

“Damme for a tramp,” he uttered. “Just as I feared.”

The wall had a large rent in it, and he walked up alongside the

fallen wall, stepping over the logs that were scattered about on the

ground, and entered the smokehouse.

He staggered backward, nearly fell over the dogs that by now were

snarling low in their chests at the heavy odor of the accursed monster. He

recovered and took a closer look inside. But his first look should have

been enough to do him in.

The beast had stolen both sides of his fresh ham supply, and all that

was left now of his store of meat was one side of old bacon. The red beast

had also befouled the smokehouse with defecation.

“Thank you, God,” he said, “for preventing the creature from

stealing this old bacon side.” He felt a mild relief from uttering those

words, but not much. He hoped he wasn’t losing his faith.

He now had the wall to repair, which would take several hours. But

deciding that he would just leave it be until he cleared his yard of stones

again. He figured if the creature returned tonight and filled it again, he

would quit picking them up again until he killed the beast or until it killed

him one or the other.

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He fed the hogs, returned, harnessed and hooked the team to the

wagon, and worked steadily until noon. He took a break then to eat and

got back after it as soon as he was done eating. Snow from the last storm

still covered the ground and this made his feet cold from treading in it all

day long. As the night neared, he put up the wagon, the harness in the tack

room, and still with work to do the next day, he put the horses up and fed

them. He wanted the team nearby tomorrow.

“What else, oh Lord?” he said as he and the dogs walked tiredly

down to the hogpen to feed them.

Finished now with all his chores, he grew tired again. Too tired he

knew, for he once could work hard all day, and still be fairly fresh when

he finished the chores of an evening.

“Just getting old,” he said. “Just getting old. Well, I had plenty of

warnings things would come to this pass. Old men told me all this when I

was still able to leap up and over a four-rail fence. I didn’t believe them

then. Now I see it’s true. Every parcel of it.”

He sat at the table after supper, and by the lamplight, he read from

the book of Psalms. But he nodded off several times while reading. He

decided to give it up for the night and packed his pipe. After he smoked a

pipeful, he felt somewhat better and a bit refreshed. He decided that it was

likely sinful to give up on reading the Psalms but to go ahead and smoke

instead.

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He hadn’t yet asked for forgiveness but felt a sudden pain of regret

in his chest for not doing so. The pain in his chest continued and finally,

his conscience forced him to do so.

“Dear God, please forgive me for the desire of pleasure to overrule

my duty to you, and smoked when I should have read my Psalm book.”

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Chapter Twenty-Six

After raiding the smokehouse, the red beast carried off his prizes of two

sides of pork, one slung over each shoulder. He hadn’t been hungry since

he and the child had taken two deer recently and they still had some of it

left. But he always made it a practice of taking food when it was

available. This is what he had done.

He reached the family’s new camp in the shelter on the bluff above

the river. He walked inside and dropped his load to the floor. He then took

to his bed. His mate rose when he dropped the food on the floor, took it,

and placed it farther at the back of the shelter against the rear wall.

He rose sometime after daylight and looked around. The child was

not in the shelter. He looked perplexed as he noticed the missing child.

His mate pointed to the outside. But there was no way for him to know

just where outside he really was.

He felt tired by all his activities from the evening before. He lay

back down and soon fell asleep again.

*****

The juvenile was out hunting. Since he had learned some of how it was

done, he felt a rise of pride for his new-found skill. Even though he

lacked his sire’s permission, he felt entitled ever since his father had

given his permission earlier and had taught him how it was done.

He walked a few miles away from the bluffs and searched for a deer

trail he could still-hunt on. He waited in the cold in a relaxed lean against

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a large hickory tree. He felt more at ease now that he was free of his sire

and didn’t have to be forever on his toes to avoid a cuff from the large

adult. He had instinctively taken an uphill route away from the shelter, by

observing his parent that the return trip, if he had a deer on his shoulder

would be much easier walking and because the wind happened to be

blowing into his face. He rested beneath the limbs of the hickory and

watched squirrels scampering up and down the tree with hickory nuts

tucked safely inside their pouches. Not long ago, he would have been

satisfied to kill a few of the little creatures and proudly carry them to his

mother, but not today. He was after a much larger game. Since he had

learned that he possessed the ability to kill larger animals he would settle

for nothing less unless that was all he could locate. The larger game

would take much longer to consume. The youth soon grew weary of the

scampering of the squirrels and nodded off.

Later he jerked awake, instantly on alert. He jumped to his feet and

seeing a deer bearing down the trail he was hunting on, he made ready to

pounce. The large male deer, heavily antlered, came toward him in the

usual mincing pace of its kind. But as it neared the hickory tree that the

youth sat beneath, it stopped and froze up. One moment full of activity,

the next frozen solidly in place, like a small frozen waterfall in the

coldest month of winter.

The youth held his breath waiting for the proper second to pounce.

The deer suddenly shied to the left, spun about, and was in full flight in a

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couple strong bounds. The youth left his place of ambush and going full-

out managed to catch the fleeing animal by its hindquarters, and slid in

the snow as he came to an abrupt stop, still with the deer in his grasp.

The deer swung on his captor, but with only half of its body, and

hooked at the youth with its rack. It missed him the first two attempts but

succeeded on the third try. At first, the youth felt little pain but lost his

balance dropped his arm to break his fall. He lost half of the control he’d

held over the creature’s hindquarters, although he still clung tightly to the

opposite leg. The deer’s eyes widened as wide as possible and made

several bleating cries of desperation and of flawless fear.

On its third attempt to gore the youth it succeeded once more and

connected solidly with the full force of the frantic thrusting of its antlers.

The youth met the jar of the deer’s antlers and felt no pain. Again the deer

struck the youth in the stomach and continued bleating as it went in

circles with its feet digging through the snow to reach the solid earth

below.

At last, the deer found good purchase and rushed forward toward the

beast that was preventing it from escaping and did this with all the

strength of its free legs. The bleating continued, and the goring action did

as well.

The youth was hurt, but so far had not noticed how really badly hurt

it really was. The deer yanked back its head and freed the tines of its rack

from the stomach area of the juvenile. It spun neatly and tried to flee, and

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the youth lost his grip. The deer fled back the way it had come running all

out, tossing dirt, leaves, and snow into the air in its backwash.

The youth attempted to chase it again, but after several yards

without gaining ground, he gave up the pursuit. He turned and walked

slowly back to the hickory tree still unaware of how badly the deer had

damaged him. He sat down and leaned his head against the tree. Minutes

later, he raised his hand slick by now with blood and saw that the blood

was not coming from his hand at all as he had assumed earlier. He felt

intense pain in his mid-section, looked down. Blood poured from his

stomach out of a long, deep gash on his stomach that had penetrated to the

center of the stomach itself. He watched as it ran down onto his lap and

then between his legs where it pooled up on the ground below where he

sat.A foot of gut trailed out of the rupture and lay down his stomach area,

He felt nauseous, bent his head toward the ground and vomited upon

his legs, moved his head to the side, and eventually gushed the entire

contents of his stomach onto the ground. A strong grip of pain seized him

from his stomach up to and on past the chest. He struggled to his feet and

held onto the tree with both hands. In time his nausea passed and he

shoved off the tree and walked down the trail, headed to the shelter, and

to his mother.

The trek took the youth a very long time. He stopped and rested

many times in his walk. By and by, with the blood still oozing from his

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belly, he stopped on the hill that overlooked the river, and the limestone

bluff where they made their shelter.

He located the ledge that wended along the face of the bluff, and

eventually found the entrance to the shelter. He reached it and stepped up

to the entrance and walked slowly inside. He whistled his arrival in a

weak effort.

His sire was awake now, sitting upon the skin of a deer. He scanned

the child for a time, then evidently having seen all that was important to

see with the son, the large male turned away his head as if the child no

longer existed, and continued to eat.

*****

The child went to the very rear of the rock shelter, sat down, and rested

against the wall. His mother stepped up, knelt beside him, and pushed the

boy to the floor with his stomach now in full view. She attempted to push

the foot of his intestines back into his stomach, but the only leaked out

again. She studied it for a few minutes, left the shelter, and walked off,

headed to the top of the bluff. She had seen a large grouping of spider

webs in a small grove of sapling trees the evening before while she was

out. She went straight to the grove. She gathered all the webs and spread

them across the hands and forearms as well. This was an enormous

collection of webs. The largest group that she had ever gathered before.

She returned right away.

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She stepped to the child, knelt again, succeeded in pushing the

child’s guts back where they belonged, and commenced packing the webs

into the large gash in the stomach area. She saw that his, was a fell

wound, but she did not give up hope—yet. Half an hour later, the blood

had eased to a small trickle.

An hour before dark, she checked on him again. The small trickle

had fallen to a tiny trickle. She packed the wound with webs once more.

But the juvenile had suffered an enormous amount of blood loss. His

entire chest was heavy with it where he had smeared it there with his

hands in his discomfort. It was thick on his stomach and had soaked

through the thick hairs there, but was making a good attempt at

coagulating, for it was dried in the places where the blood had lain longer.

She stood up, and moved back to the entrance area of the shelter, and

watched the slow fall of the evening as it gathered in the river bottom

below. She saw nothing but a dismal gray coloring that somehow caused

her mind to turn gloomy as well.

Sometime after darkness, she heard her child moan softly. She went

to him and packed the remaining tufts of the spider web into the stomach

area. This was all she could do. The rest was up to him. It became a

matter of how much he felt like surviving, although she did not know this

in such terms, but felt it by instinct.

The following morning the large male ate and afterward, rose up

and left the shelter. She stepped outside the entrance and watched his

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departure. She watched on until he disappeared around one of the many

turns in the path that led to the top.

She walked next up to the child. She checked him and found he was

sleeping, at least she thought this was the case. In truth, he was in a deep

coma. She too ate, and after a check on the boy once more, left the shelter

to search for a herb that might help him. The blood had coagulated by

now. There was no need to fetch back more spider webs. She needed

something that would heal the child.

She searched by instinct. Seeking for the plants she had used

before. The ones she knew worked well. She could spot the worthy ones

from a distance, and this eliminated the need for closer inspection, which

saved time. The plants were well known to her, and she recognized them

with leaves on, or like now, with barren limbs. She stripped bark from a

willow tree, then continued her search. She searched for a certain herb,

which was elusive, and seldom grew in clusters, so if you found enough of

the roots that were needed you often must search for a long time unless

you were lucky.

Later, she drew fully erect, looked all about her, and realized that

she had strayed farther away from the shelter than she had first thought.

She had good night vision but not so good as to distinguish the plant she

needed from any other ones.

She turned, secured her willow bark beneath an arm, turned about,

and walked off toward the river bluff and the shelter. She reached the

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bluff, and entered the shelter, she noticed that her mate was still gone. He

often went out for a night or so at a time. She never knew, of course,

when he might return, or if he would indeed return at all.

She checked the boy. He still breathed but very faint it was, and she

realized that he was in grave danger of dying. She returned to the front of

the shelter where there was more light than at the rear where the child lay.

She found a flat stone that she could use, lay several pieces of bark on it,

picked up a nearby fist-sized stone, and pounded the bark. Minutes later,

the bark lay shredded, she tossed it outside the shelter to discard it as

unworthy of her plans. placed another piece on the flat stone and worked

on another piece of bark. This time, the bark not only shredded but turned

extremely dry as well. She continued to pound it and finally, the shreds

turned into a powder, soft and easier to swallow.

The female gathered the dried bark in a hand, went to the boy, and

saw that he still lived. She lifted his head, forced open his jaws, and

placed a portion of the powder on his tongue. She held his head erect for

several minutes with a finger on his neck to make sure that he swallowed.

In the end, she found that he didn’t swallow, but the powder soaked onto

his tongue and was ingested in this way. She waited a minute for the

powder to disappear from his tongue, and when it did, she placed more of

it on his tongue. This time, however, the powder trickled out from a

corner of his mouth and fell onto his chest.

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This distressed her. The boy must consume a large amount of the

powdered bark, she felt. She had seen from past use of the bark that it

sometimes caused the blood to flow again, but it would stop, and the

effects of the drug would be greater than was such a small loss of blood.

The results of this drug usually came quickly, within minutes. But the

child needed to down more of it than he had now, and each time she

placed more on his tongue it fell away in saliva when it dissolved on his

tongue.

Her pile of powdered bark grew smaller and still, he would not

accept it. She grew frantic by this time and muttered deep grunts and tiny

yelps in her chest from her distress. Finally, she raised the boy’s head

once more, placed her own head as close to him as possible, and still

allow enough room for her hand. She timed his breathing, and because the

intakes were slow, she timed it perfectly. She placed the dry powder

beneath his nostrils and saw that he breathed it in. She did so again and

again. She only mistimed his breathing a couple of times, and when he had

ingested all the powder, she placed his head back on the floor as gently as

possible.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

A short time before dark, the male returned to the shelter. He walked

inside and on by his mate bearing a deer over each shoulder. He gave no

notice that he had even seen the child. He dropped the deer onto the dirt

and stone floor at the rear of the shelter. He had already eaten the livers

from each deer and was not hungry. He took to his hide, and almost in an

instant was snoring.

The female glanced at the juvenile momentarily as she walked by

him. She picked up one of the deer, took it to the entrance of the cave, and

gutted what remained inside the deer, and in four swift movements of her

hands stripped away the hide and flung it outside where it fell over the

side of the bluff and disappeared into a large sycamore tree far below that

held the hides of several more of them. In the morning what few turkey

vultures that hadn’t gone south, would eat all the meat that still clung to

them. In a few days, if they hadn’t moved on yet, and she doubted this,

she would climb down to the sycamore and knock them to the ground for

bed covers. The old ones were beginning to rot and to stink even more

than she could stand.

She tore off a large portion of the meat that covered the backbone

of the deer’s carcass and feasted on it. Later, she stepped to the rear, knelt

alongside the child, reached out, and placed a hand gently on his forehead.

She lifted her hand and sat back on her haunches. The boy’s forehead was

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hot with fever. She worried that soon he would die. But there was nothing

more she could do for him. She’d done all she knew to do.

During the night she slept alongside him and fretted each time he

moved. Just before dawn, he started making frantic sounds, as if he were

frightened. She felt his head. His fever raged now, like a bad forest fire,

she had once witnessed as a child. It seemed nothing in its path was a

match for it. This was what she felt now about his fever.

She sat up and rocked on her heels in distress but made no sound.

Not even when her mate rose from his hide gaping widely in a yawn and

stepped to the carcass of the deer she had skinned. He saw that she had

been bold enough to eat part of the backstrap without permission. He

ignored her high-handedness, however as he sometimes did. He fed on it,

then stood up and walked to the rear of the shelter, took up the other deer,

and dropped it at her side.

She took it to the entrance and quickly gutted the thing with several

scoops of her wide hands and tossed the hide over the side. Her mate by

this time was walking quickly up the path, leaving again. She reentered

the shelter and thought no more of him.

The snow started at daylight. She lay beside the child and watched

it fall outside, where some of it landed on the small ledge that ran along

the bluff’s face, the rest disappeared below, and soon hid the skins

clinging to the sycamore limbs she had tossed away earlier.

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She watched on as the falling snow calmed her and brought her

peace and finally, she was snoring away.

Later, she awoke, and with her first instinct looked out of the

shelter. The snow fell even heavier than before she dropped off to sleep.

She felt such grief that she hadn’t known since her mother had died just

before her mate had taken her away from her family. Her family lived far

to the north, and since she had gone with him, her mate had continued to

move. He might stay a month, perhaps three months. He might stay a day,

but eventually, he got up and moved on while she followed. This day had

been different. It seemed to her as she’d watched him disappear up the

bluff path that she should have gone with him. But she hadn’t because of

the child.

Her mate would not return. Her instincts told her this and she

believed it surely. She had noticed how little attention he paid to their

child as soon as he stumbled in holding the large gash in his stomach.

Surely, he had decided at that time that the child had been given a wound

from which he would not survive.

She would not leave the shelter until the child died or until he

recovered. She had a five-or-six-days’ supply of food. So, she would stay

until he died or until the food ran out, or until her mate returned. If the

food ran out, she would get up and find more—if the child still lived, that

is. If he died, and her mate had not returned, she would leave and find

him. It was the instinctive thing for her to do.

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Twenty-Eight

Pugh felt much better two days after the last attack on his cabin. He

figured that maybe the creature had found his revenge and would leave off

with the stonings. He entered the smokehouse intending to clean up the

defecation left behind by the beast. He placed the flat blade of his shovel

on the floor, beneath the enormous quantity of dung which was practically

as large as the droppings of a cow and stank much like an empty boxcar

that had previously held animal hides. He scooped it up on the blade, and

by being disturbed and when the time-hardened interior of the pile found

outside air it refilled the small structure with its horrible stench. He

dropped the shovel, spun about, and rushed outside. He bent in half as the

gagging command told him to throw up, but by some minor miracle, he

managed to fight off the instinct.

He stood up straight and was immediately assailed again by the

horrid odor leaching from the smokehouse. He immediately walked off

with Melvin and Baker. They stepped over to the springhouse and sat on a

flat rock he used as a front step to enter the small springhouse. He peered

at the grave of his wife, and an empty grave alongside hers that was for

his own body.

Since he now had no cow to provide him milk. He had nothing that

needed cooling, including butter. The small house was empty, but in the

past, he’d noticed that the beast had already checked it out. He had left

his tracks in the snow.

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“That damnable beast has snooped inside every structure on the

place,” he muttered and listened to the beating tails of Melvin and Baker

as they struck the ground in a return greeting as if he had spoken to them

instead of to himself.

He chuckled then. His dogs often looked at him with such

intelligence in their eyes, that he expected them to take up speaking to

him in his own language. So far, they hadn’t and he knew that if they ever

did, he knew that he had gone off the bubble for sure.

“Well, gents,” he said, slapped his knees and stood up, “I’ll need to

burn the smokehouse someday sure’s hell. There’s no way that odor will

leave it. We have better work to do today though.”

He went to the barn, harnessed the horse creatures, and hooked them

to the wagon.

He removed stones from his yard till noon, ate, and got back on the

job, and the next time he stopped work, the yard was clean but marred

with his many tracks as well as those of the horses and the imprints of the

wheels.

The yard was clean.

“Them tracks in the snow will just have to fall victim to the sun, I

reckon,” he said, “because I ain’t going to shovel the entire yard.” He

chuckled as if to make sure the dogs didn’t take his joking remark to

heart.

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Later, he removed their harness, fed them, and turned them out. He

saw no need to keep them inside since he wouldn’t call on them tomorrow,

but he left the door to their stall open in case the wind started up and blew

in gusts so cold that they needed to take shelter.

Later, he fed the hogs and put away the bucket. He then walked

back to the cabin with the dogs and whistled them a lively tune as they

walked. They were used to entering the cabin with him now after their

day’s work. He allowed this, and they trotted in as if they had done so

since they were pups.

He built up the stove fire, cooked up bacon, and reheated the left-

over coffee. After feeding himself as well as the dogs, he went to the door

followed by Melvin and Baker. He opened up and said, “Out you go,

gents. Do your business and scratch the door, and I’ll let you back in. But

if you ever make dirt on my floor you’ll be banned to the outside, beast of

no beast.”

He washed up the few dishes he’d dirtied and by the time he stored

them away in the cabinet, the dogs were scratching frantically at the door,

and Melvin was sounding off in his loudest voice.

“Looks like that no-account fiend is back,” the old man said and

spoke with a sad, tired voice. Pugh was fast losing patience with the

beast. He saw no way to contend with his lost patience.

They rushed in between his legs as soon as he opened the door, and

they didn’t hesitate but took to their hiding spot with Baker once again

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attempting to crawl beneath the stove, but with the space much too small

to allow such as this. He had already scorched off some of the hair on his

back but this did not stop him from repeating his efforts.

He shut and barred the door, then sat at the table. He drew up the

Book of Psalms, slid the lamp closer, and attempted to read. But what

with the thought of what Big Red might do tonight and with the shaking

and fear from the two dogs, he could not concentrate and shoved back the

book and sat there as if waiting for an overdue guest.

As he sat there, he wondered now if perhaps he should take his

sister’s husband up on his offer to move in with him, back east. What in

the world would he do in a city, though? He had no idea. And besides that,

the only way he would even consider the move would be if he could take

Melvin and Baker along with him. He doubted the man would allow any

such thing as to take in an extra mouth to feed but with the need of

feeding two dogs as well.

“Well,” he said. “I reckon I’ll just straighten this out later. Right

now, I got better things on my mind, and that is to keep on breathing

awhile longer.”

The dogs continued to issue sounds of mild distress that bothered

him as well. He knew the results of too much stress on a man’s nerves

from his time in the war while awaiting an overdue charge from an enemy

force. He hadn’t like it and he reckoned from listening to the chatter of

dog’s teeth, he realized that they were influenced by it greater than he had

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been. At least he couldn’t recall such stress that his teeth chattered away

like a damaged music box.

He spoke to them in as brave a voice as he could and hoped it

helped them a bit, but doubted it did. He recalled he hadn’t smoked his

pipe yet and with a mild case of conscience for not reading from the

Psalms book he packed the pipe and lit up. He blew out the lamp and

smoked in the dark. He still hadn’t covered up the cracks in the window.

“I’ll do that tomorrow,” he mumbled to himself rather than to the

dogs this time. “That is if that fearsome bastard doesn’t carry me off to

his den and feed me to his babies beforehand.” He chuckled at that, but he

didn’t put much enthusiasm into his weak humor. He sat in the dark with

the only light coming from the bowl of his pipe as he drew on it, as well

as from the cooking range that emitted yellow light onto the ceiling from

tiny cracks in its flat top.

He put up his pipe with great reluctance, for he had gained some

courage from the orange glow of its bowl. He sat back in his chair, with

the rifle across his lap.

Much later, he jerked awake to a loud racket, leaped to his feet, and

saw the rifle lying on the floor, and daylight had penetrated the gloom the

dark night had forced upon it.

“Damme me if I ain’t a tramp,” he said aloud to his audience of two

as the dogs crowded around him. “It’s a miracle I didn’t shoot my danged

privates off just then.”

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He glanced at the wall clock. The hands pointed at eight o’clock. He

plucked it from the wall and listened to make sure it was still running. It

was.

“I ain’t never slept that late in my life,” he said. “What happened

last night?” He had fully expected another attack of stones by the beast.

But this hadn’t occurred. He was in a spin of puzzlement as he rehung the

clock.

After he ate, he took the dogs, the rifle, and fed the hogs. He looked

to the bottom pasture for the horses but didn’t see them. This was where

they usually went when set free to decide for themselves where to go.

He checked the barn. He saw nothing amiss inside. So he took a

handful of lumber, his hammer, and walked to the cabin. It was time to fix

the cracks in the window.

He straightened up after finishing the window problem and studied

it closely for more cracks. Since it was daylight, he couldn’t be sure if he

had boarded up all the tiny openings or not, but felt he had, although

tonight he would check them again from the outside with the table lamp

burning on the inside.

He fixed lunch at noon, and after eating, took his rifle and with the

dogs in trail walked out of the yard, past the hog pen and farther down

into the far pasture. He commenced whistling to the horses, but they

didn’t whinny in answer. By the time he had reached the line where the

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pasture ended and the woods began, he felt a growing concern for his

horses.

He whistled again and continued doing so for at least five minutes.

“Bless me,” he said, “Them horses always come to my whistle. I’d

just better not go down there and find them dead, both of them.”

But he decided that the creature would not be able to kill both

horses. He allowed that if the red devil ran fast enough, he might catch

one of them, but the other one could make good its escape if he stopped to

check on his first kill.

Just then, he stopped. He stared at the snow in near disbelief. There

were the enormous footprints of the creature. Later, he saw where the

horses had spent time beneath a large cedar tree in a large copse. He

tracked them back to the road and saw the torn ground that the horses had

torn from the earth, snow, and dirt alike.

“My God and Savior,” he muttered. “That beast has them on the run.

Did he catch my team? Oh, Lord, but I hope not.”

He reached the spot where the surveyor had placed his property sign

tacked on the side of a large butternut tree. A foot over the marker and he

would be standing on Ben Loops’ property.

Just over another mile and he would reach Loops’ house.

Something in the road caught his eye. He peered closer. A man

came driving two horses toward him, using a small willow switch as a

tactic of persuasion. The horses belonged to him.

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“Thank you, God. Ben Loops caught my team. Thank you again and

again.”

He stopped and waited until Loops reached him, thinking since he

was a bit older than was Loops that the younger man should walk up to

him, even though he was fetching him back his animals from the goodness

of his heart.

“Looking for these dumb brutes, Pugh?” Loops said as he neared the

old man.

“Yes sir, I am. I was right worried that my blamed stranger had

done them in by now. I want to thank you for your generosity, Ben Loops.

That’s neighborly of you. I saw where Big Red chased them. Where’d you

find them?”

“They charged up to my door, old-timer like they expected me to

invite them inside.”

“My word was I ever relieved to see you carrying them gentlemen,

home for me? Truly I was.

“I saw the red animal’s tracks, Ben. Must have given them early

warning he was out for them and they managed to outrun him.”

“Well, this here’s getting downright serious, old-timer. We might

have to hunt him down and kill him where he lives. I’m right sure, he

lives over in one of the caves in the river bluff. I haven’t told, Belle this

but I saw the beast out behind my hogpen. I ran back to the house for my

rifle and by the time I got back he had disappeared. I tracked him all the

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way to my far pasture. It got too dark for me to see. I stopped and went

back home. Now I have to tell Belle. She ain’t going to like this at all.

She’ll be afraid to stay home by herself longer than an hour or so.”

“Let’s hope he moves his family on before we are forced to confront

him in his own den. He’s a rare sight, Ben. I suffered through the war the

same as you did, but I was never so danged scared in my life as that first

night when I saw that ugly red beast standing in my yard under a full

moon. I swear it’s true. I took to calling him Big Red in my mind.”

Pugh paused then and watched as Loops attempted to pack his pipe,

but the wind blew half of it away. By and by, he finished packing the bowl

and lit up.

“Well, sir what now?” Loops said and puffed his pipe. The smoke

trailed out behind him in a long tail carried by the north wind blowing in

his face. His head was covered by a wool scarf that held down a wool

winter cap. The neighbor looked off to his right side, puffed his pipe

again, spat, and then said, “Gracious, Pugh,” he said, “We got to do

something about your creature.”

“I suspect he likes the easy pickings around my place. I told you he

stole two of the porkers I’d penned up to fatten for the market, didn’t I?”

“Don’t recall right now. It’s been a while since I was last to your

cabin.”

The wind picked up even more and blew colder and stronger from

the north. Pugh raised the collar of his mackinaw coat. “What’s been

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happening down on your place, Ben? Seen any more tracks or anything

from the stranger?”

“No, sir, but I did see some tracks on the road, must’ve been where

he chased off your team. Shoot fire, I was in hopes he had moved on.

“If he hangs around much longer might be, we’ll have to gather up a

handful of neighbors and hunt him down. Wait’ll your garden starts

producing next summer. Hell, old-timer, you won’t be able to cut a

cabbage. They’ll steal everything you got.”

Old Pugh laughed in true humor. “That’ll be a sight if there ever

was one. He didn’t steal anything from the garden this summer though.”

“Well, we have to do something.”

“Tell you what,” Pugh said, still chuckling under his breath, “You

gather up the boys and bring them by my place. I’ll go with you. They

won’t believe a word of what we tell them but will see itas a good

occasion to lay on a good drunk and to get out from under the thumbs of

their women as well as just coming out for the romp.”

Pugh watched Loops draw his head deeper beneath the protective

cover of his scarf. He saw tiny specks of sleet strike his neighbor’s face

and bounce away. He heard them strike off the back of his own mackinaw

as well, sounding like baby chicks pecking around the feet of the old

mother hen.

Pugh’s horses were getting anxious to go. He figured they would

take to their stall with no persuasion on his part after their ordeal. But

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what if the stranger returned? The horses would be trapped inside. The big

red devil would get one of them for sure.

Their only safety he figured would be for him to leave the door to

their stall open. At least that would give them a chance to run away. Well,

at least one of them. Pugh figured that if it took a mind to the creature

would venture out, even in the coldest weather. He’d seen the thick coat

he wore. The young one and the female might stay close out of the wind,

and the snow Pugh expected would follow this sleet, but the male would

leave the shelter and dare the elements, humans or any other animal that

attempted to challenge him, and let the strongest win. There was nothing

in these woods to contend with the red beast. That creature had the ruling

hand.

“Well, Loops,” old Pugh said, “I got coffee left from noon in case

you want to go with back to the cabin.”

Loops handed Pugh his willow switch and said, “No. Better not. My

woman told me not to stay out jabbering any longer than I just had to.

That coffee sounds good to me, though. But I’m ready to put my back to

the wind and get on home. This sleet is tiny but it’s fierce, I’ll tell you

that. Going to get fresh snow, old-timer sure’s hades. This one has just

been lying around waiting to be covered up by a fresh one. See you, Pugh.

I need to check on my place. I hope I don’t find that animal there, Lord

save us all.”

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Loops turned and walked off, and Pugh watched a minute or two,

turned and with the wind blowing the stinging sleet in his face, tossed

away the willow switch, and heard the horses walking faithfully behind

him. His dogs were much better than a switch to control his animals, no

matter what.

By the time he passed the hogpen, the hogs let him know that it was

time for him to feed them.

The wind picked up, and the size of the pellets of sleet had grown

now to somewhat larger than birdshot. He reached the barn and Melvin

and Baker headed the horses toward the stall, and then sat on the ground

to watch as Pugh took command. He went to the granary and fetched each

animal a scoop of grain so large it threatened to spill from the scoop. Each

horse had snickered its pleasure as it watched him coming their way.

After this, he filled the bucket with corn, and trudged back to the

hog pen, and tended to his hog creatures before they lost their voices from

so much screaming. Although right then he saw nothing but positivity in it

if this really did happen. Their racket sometimes got to be overbearing.

Finished, he walked back to the barn and once again thought it

strange that the hogs seemed to own him instead of the other way around.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Later after leaving the old man, Ben Loops wondered what he should do if

the creature came to his house again. He had spoken bluff words to old

Pugh about shooting it dead and tried to act as if it weren’t real, but he

had seen that huge beast as well as his footprints, and he knew he was

real. As he walked toward home, he figured that if as a man as good and

honest as Pugh was, and if he wasn’t capable of killing the thing—the

stranger or Big Red as he had called it—then it was likely he might not be

able to kill it either.

He felt much better when his house came into sight. He entered the

house and the heat from the stove nearly knocked him off his feet. He

placed his rifle in the corner by the door.

“Is that you, Ben?” His wife called and then immediately appeared

in the kitchen from the big room where at this time of day, she always

spent time alongside the stove, with her needlework while tending her

cooking by smell.

Ben Loops was suddenly filled with joy by coming inside to his

wife’s voice and the heat of the stove and the smell of supper cooking on

the stove.

He said, “No. It ain’t me, old gal, it’s Old Saint Nick. I saw your

hubby leave and thought this would be a good time for me to pay a visit.”

“Ben Loops,” she said in a scolding voice. “If you ain't’ the most

awful man for devilment, I ain’t never seen it.”

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He chuckled warmly and walked to her.

She slapped him on the hands as he reached for her. But conceded to

a kiss.

He removed his jacket and put it away in the closet.

“What’s for supper, old gal?” he said and reached out for her, a

s she headed toward the stove.

She slapped his hand away again, and said, as she lifted the lid from

the pot that held a hearty stew of deer meat, “If you ain’t just about the

most grabby man ever to breathe. You’re too old for such foolishness as

this all the time, and you know it too.”

He laughed and hugged her, and drawing away from her, said, “How

long till supper? Do I have time to do up my chores?”

“Thirty minutes, Ben, and don’t you be late.”

He put his coat back on, picked up the milk pail, and left the house.

On the path to the barn, he thought about what Pugh had told him

concerning what he had taken to calling the “strangers” living in his

woods. He had been joking when he told Pugh that they should organize a

group of men and hunt down the beasts and shoot them. But by the time he

had finished milking, carried the full pail back to the house, where his

good wife took it from his hands and walked to the counter to strain it

before placing it on a shelf in the storage room a room that was not heated

so it would safely keep until it was ready to consume.

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He left the house again and hoofed back to the barn for the bucket

of corn to feed his three hogs. Two old ones, an old boar and an old sow.

He, like Pugh, had already sold off his pigs in Louvin

After he fed the hogs he walked back to the barn and put away the feed

bucket. When he approached the house again, he was touched by the dread

of needing to tell his good wife about the beast.

The rush of warm air from the kitchen hit him in the face again as

he stepped inside. He felt safe and it was warm and he hoped it would

always be so in his house. But he knew that hard times and misfortune

often spoiled any such feeling of eternal comfort.

“Old gal,” he said to his wife’s back as she stood at the stove, “I

got something to tell you.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, “But tell me later. Right now I’m setting the

table.”

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Chapter Thirty

The female beast lay alongside the child all night long. At first light, she

stirred and went outside to do her dirt. She returned and found the child

making small whistling sounds. He had done this as a much smaller child,

but since he’d taken on size, she had never heard him do so again at least

not in this infantile way. She felt something had changed. She hoped

maybe he was coming out of it but had no idea. Perhaps she had hoped so

because she simply wanted for him to recover. Or maybe he was dying. If

he did die and after she grieved for him for a week or so, she would then

forget him.

She knelt beside him and placed an ear against his chin. His

breathing was the same. It came slow and shallow with much wheezing

involved, and this was not good, but his breathing was the same as it had

been during the night. She was not much bothered about it. She thought he

still had a chance to recover. She had seen so many of her family die, but

he was her child, and she wanted him to live, even though she knew that

her mate would soon force her to chase him off. Still, she wanted him to

live.

In the afternoon, she glanced at the entrance and saw that snow had

started falling in large flakes and would, she knew if it continued this

way, add up in a hurry and accumulate deeply.

She had no idea how long her mate would be gone or even if he

would ever return, though she had no sense that told her he would be gone

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forever. This sensing was a strong trait of hers, and she had relied on it

most of her life.

She still had plenty of deer meat left and so she wouldn’t starve to

death while the youth was recovering, for she was reluctant to leave him

alone while she went out and kicked up a deer out of a large entanglement

of possum grapes. So she would stay inside for as long as the meat

remained. She hated the idea of leaving him alone for fear he would die

all by himself and besides this, the wolves would come around searching

for a weakness in a prey they could kill easily. She could not

communicate with her kind by issuing vocalizations, unlike many others

she was weak in this ability but there were other ways. She was adept at

using facial expressions, and certain whistlings she made could often be

picked up by others that revealed her thoughts, especially those who were

closest to her. She had only a small doubt her mate would not return. If

one took a mate he would stay by her until one of them died, usually.

That afternoon before nightfall, it was still snowing. At least a foot

of it was on the path just outside the shelter entrance. She had gone out

earlier and had seen this although she had known by watching the snow

falling that it would accumulate heavily.

At dark, two wolves stepped inside the shelter. She watched them,

knowing what they were there for. She would not bother them until they

attempted to snag the meat-stash at the rear of the shelter. She would be

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forced to run them off then. There was just so much room in the shelter,

and it belonged to her and her family.

She watched as one of them shook itself and saw the snow scatter

widely from its back and drop to the floor. There were two of them, and

while she had little fear of them, two of them would be a much greater

danger than one. They were mates.

The larger wolf dropped to his belly and watched her watching it.

There was no fear in her eyes and none in the eyes of the wolf. Just

curiosity, if anything, and perhaps not even that. Wolves were

opportunistic and would take what food they could when they found it.

An hour later, she watched as one of them rose from the floor, and

took a tentative step toward her. She gathered a couple of rocks and

waited, and watched on carefully.

Later, she watched as the pair coupled briefly. And when the male

dropped back to all fours he stepped toward her again. She was ready. She

expected a quick flash of action and a quick grab of one of the pieces of

meat, and an even quicker run to the entrance after stealing it. But to her

surprise, he turned away, stepped to the female, and began stroking the

hair on her back with his tongue.

She fell relaxed then, and just as she did so, the wolf charged

toward the rear in a leap that covered a good portion of the shelter and

was soon alongside here. He caught up a large chunk of meat in his mouth

and attempted to spring toward the entrance. But the meat he grabbed up

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was heavier than the muscles of his jaws could handle, and those of his

back and legs as well. He was unable to leap out of her reach but was

forced to walk.

As he tried to pass her toward the entrance, she lifted her rock and

struck him alongside the head. The wolf fell to his front legs, dropped the

meat, yelped loudly and sprang again to his feet, and ran for the entrance.

He’d had enough. Its female ran quickly behind him, and they passed from

her sight.

She sighed roughly and checked the child again. He still breathed,

but his breathing was changing. Slower now, and not as deep.

She feared he would die, and this was new to her. She had first

thought he would linger in his bed, but that in the end, would recover. But

her hopes of this were fading quickly away.

When next she stepped outside the shelter the snow was even deeper

than it had been earlier. She wondered why her mate had not yet returned,

but gave this thought up, and moved back inside the shelter. Perhaps he

would never return. The youngster was still breathing as he had been when

she had gone out to relieve herself. The blood had clotted completely now

and rested upon his chest in a hard crust.

She had no other herbs in the shelter. Nor would she be able to

locate them in such deep snow. She did not even try. It would be a

mistake. What if he died while she was gone? She wanted desperately to

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be at his side if and when he did die. She had no idea why that mattered to

her but she knew that it did.

She wondered again what had happened to her mate. Any number of

things might have taken place. He might have slipped and fallen and

injured himself. Or perhaps he might have abandoned her completely. But

she soon quit worrying about him. He would return or he would not. Time

would tell. Her child was a different matter. He was not fully grown and

in many ways was still little more than a child even knowing that by this

time next year he would be gone and he would need to care for himself.

She’d seen the deer he had killed and hauled in, although she did not

know that her mate had injured the deer first so that he could run it down

and kill it himself.

The female hovered over the boy the rest of the night. Her eyes,

face as well, revealed the fear she felt for the youth. She placed an ear

close to his chest to test his breathing. She raised up still with the look of

concern, fear on her face, but the boy still lived.

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Chapter Thirty-One

Adam Pugh awoke with intense hunger. He prepared breakfast, finished

the coffee, and put bacon in a large skillet, and set it on the stove. He

looked down for the dogs that usually stood one to a side of him while he

cooked, and saw that they were still asleep. He knew then what caused

this. It had snowed in the night. From the way they were sleeping so

soundly he figured the snow lay on the ground in great heaps.

He finished frying the bacon and set it on the table in the large

platter reserved for this, then walked to the door. He opened it and snow

fell inside onto the floor. He peered outside and saw as he expected that

heavy snow had fallen during the night and was still falling. He allowed it

was fixing to stop in another few hours because he could see through it

across the yard and into the dark woods beyond.

He took the broom and pushed the snow to the side, for he knew it

would be a move of futility to attempt to shove it back out onto the porch.

The porch itself stood deep in snow, likely nine or more inches of it, and

this was beneath the small roof that overhung the porch that the wind had

driven in during the night.

He managed to shove the door shut and turned back to the table.

“Gents,” he called out. “Get up you lazy heads. A little snow ain’t

going to prevent the hog creatures, from screaming for their food. We

need to eat up. It’ll be tough on me carrying the corn down to the pen.”

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Later, after finishing his bacon and drinking his coffee, he bundled

up in his heaviest coat and donned his winter boots. He and the dogs

walked out into the snow with the dogs still listless and likely longing for

the good old days, back when it snowed this deep they stayed in their den

bed all day as wolves still did.

He took his time. Snow like this was much too heavy to go at it like

he was killing snakes. He filled his large metal bucket with corn and then

fed the two horses who both were hanging their head over the short wall

of their stall. They weren’t going anywhere today.

He fought the trail slowly. It was a hard go. The two border collies

walked in the tracks left by the old man. Still, they worked at it as well.

Each time they reached a gap left in the snow by the old man’s stride, they

leaped from one track to the next in springs and leaps, which worked them

a good deal.

By the time he reached the pen, the dogs had come more to life and

were leaping high out of the snow to make their way through the heavy

depths. He was worn out and paused to catch his wind before completing

the feeding chore. But just because he was tired didn’t mean the hogs

weren’t still as hungry as ever.

When able to, he carried the bucket of corn to the fence, set it down

there in reach, and stepped inside the pen. The hogs by now were

screaming as if they had been scalded. He tried to turn over the heavy

trough but was unable to do so. So he kicked the nearest hog in the snout

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to force it out of his way. He bent then and started scooping out the snow

with his gloved hands. It took him five minutes to clear enough space in

the trough to provide room for the corn. He stood up then and stepped to

the fence. He reached over the top rail, paused for air, drew up the corn,

and lifted it in a huff of spent air over and into the pen.

He kicked the old boar in the snout again to make room for him and

the corn. He scattered it out in the trough as best he could, and then

pitched the bucket outside. It issued a soft plop as it landed atop the snow

that was attempting to freeze over in a crusted top.

He rested again and then crawled out of the pen.

“Damme I’m glad to get this over with. Come on you salty gents, he

said. He picked up the bucket and walked back toward the barn using the

same path he had built on the way down. The “salty gents” leaped and

played as they went. By now they were fully awake and leaped and

gamboled in the snow, and played at combat as they forged their way

toward the barn.

He put up the bucket. One of the horses whinnied and he stepped

over and spoke to them both. He rubbed their necks, talked baby talk to

them for a few minutes, and finally slapped the side of the nearest one’s

neck. He picked up the wide-mouthed grain shovel, turned then, and left

the barn, with its heavy scents of hay and grain and swarming dust clouds

lingering in his nostrils.

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The distance to the house looked to be a mile away in the snow and

in the blue light of the day. The scene chilled him. The snow had nearly

stopped now and this was good news. By the time he fought his way to the

porch, it ceased to fall entirely.

He stepped up onto the deck of the porch and while the dogs sat on

their tails in the tracks he had left in the snow and watched him scoop up

snow in his shovel and toss it to the side against the wall of the cabin. He

finished cleaning off the porch for the second time this morning and by

now was sweating beneath his clothing. He pushed the door open and

shoved inside. The dogs stepped lively all the way to the stove and

flopped down on the floor.

“Damme, fellers. I’m the one who did all the work. I reckon I ought

to be the one to flop alongside the stove, except for being a bit too hot

just right now.”

Melvin looked up at him briefly then dropped his head back onto his

front paws and fell asleep.

“Sure wish I could do that,” the old man said. He considered what

he had said for a time, then realized that he had nothing much to do until

the evening feeding time. “I see no reason I can’t nap too.”

He peeled out of his heavy wraps, hung the cumbersome mackinaw

on a nail driven into a log to the right of the stove. He could read the

bible he reckoned, but what would he do after supper? He couldn’t smoke

this early so he added wood to the stove, stripped down to his long johns,

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and hit the hay. All three of them hibernated through the afternoon,

missing his midday meal.

*****

Ben Loops had been taken by surprise by the deep snow. He stepped to the

door in his usual garb. Opened it and nearly gasped. The snow was up to

the porch railing

Belle was busy at the stove cooking breakfast and turned to him to

tell him to shut the door because it was dragging cold air inside with

them.

“Ben,” she said, but that this was all she could manage. She too saw

the snow. “Ben Loops, now look at what you did. You let it snow last

night.”

“’ Twasn’t me, old gal,” he said and shut the door. “I don’t have

that kind of power or even that kind of influence. I reckon I’ll need to be

better shod to wade out in this mess.”

“You’ll be well served to wear those tall ones you use in the spring

rains and it so muddy,” she told him as if he didn’t know enough to do

that himself.

He sat, then pulled off his shoes and slipped into his taller boots.

Found his heavy coat, opened the outside door again while she stood with

her hands on hips with the spatula in hand hanging down alongside her

from her fingers watching on from the cooking range.

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It felt like work as he fought his way to the barn. He reached it and

entered, and from habit stomped his feet on the ground and dried manure

of the runway between the sides. He scooped up grain enough to feed both

horses and poured it into their respective feed boxes.

As he walked his bucket of corn to the hog pen he started thinking

about the creature he had seen earlier.

“If the jasper returns he might decide to kill one my horses. He

might even kill my cow the way he did the old-timers. I’ll need to put her

up, I reckon.”

He scooped out the hog trough while they, as usual, protested his

every move, which he figured they thought his work was unnecessary and

done on purpose to provoke them.

Big Red had passed on his hogs. He figured they were safe. The

creature surely didn’t like old hog meat. But the horses were vulnerable.

He walked back to the barn, put up the feed bucket, and turned to the stall

that housed both animals.

“I’m going to leave your door open, fellers,” he said. He did so and

returned to the house. Today, he figured would be a fitting day to snuggle

with his woman. As he started out the door to return to the house, his cow

met him.

“Well looky here. I’ll need to put you in a stall old Jen.”

She followed him inside and he opened a stall door, stepped to the

side, and allowed her to pass inside where it was dry and warmer. He left

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the door open and then walked to the house. She would be safe and warm

in here out of the elements. Let her rest. She had been giving less milk in

the cold weather, so nowadays he only milked her once a day and this of

an evening.

At the breakfast table, she said, “That critter won’t be out in this

weather, will it, husband?”

“He would if he was hungry enough, I suspect. I left the door to the

horses’ stall open in case he comes back, and old Jen too. That will give

them all a fighting chance. The worst he can do is kill one of them. While

he does that the other critters can hie on out of there.”

She ate for a few minutes in silence with the sound of his table

utensils rattling against his plate. She then said, “I believe you could eat

if it was the Judgement Day, Ben.”

“Man has to eat old gal,” he answered. “I reckon it’s a fair trip to

Heaven.”

She snorted at his audacity. “You think you have Heaven in your

future, husband?”

He paused, looked across the table into her round face. “Hope so,

Belle, But either direction it’ll be a long distance. Man needs his

nourishment.”

Later, he sat with his coffee that she allowed him now only at

breakfast and watched as she cleared the table.

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“Ben,” she said. “Can that beast really carry off a horse? That

would be hard to believe.”

He packed his pipe then and considered her question. The beast was

huge, he had seen that, but if he was strong enough to pack off a horse he

had no idea. He lit up, and said, “Nah, old gal. I doubt he can. But I figure

he could drag one away after he killed it.”

She gasped in surprise and clutched at her throat.

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Chapter Thirty-Two

The shelter stood ceiling high in gloom despite it being in the daylight

hours. The snow had stopped falling much earlier in the day but it was

still overcast and dismal. A day of depression, even in the animal world.

The female sat alongside the youngster. He was chest lifted and fell

with his shallow breathing now and she was fearful of his ever again

rising from his bed. It was taking a long time for him to die, however,

likely due to his youth and strength. She longed for more herbs that she

could place on his wound, which had grown infected and swollen with

pus. The wound was an ugly yellow color and ringed about by a jagged red

circle. She continued to care for him but other than staying by his side she

really did not have a thing she could do to relieve his illness. The big

male had returned sometime during the night. She had heard him enter and

then fell back to sleep.

In the morning, he sat up at the rear of the shelter and leaned his

back in a restful manner against the wall. He looked on at his mate and his

son with eyes that revealed nothing of his emotions if he indeed had any.

She wondered at his stoicism. Not knowing that he was mentally put

together different from herself. He did not reveal anything to her or even

to himself. He was a large hunk of walking muscle and hair—a being of

instinct and nothing more. His was a different world than hers. He had the

pressing demand for finding food for them daily as well as the job of

defending them all from enemies of all kinds.

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Later in the morning her mate stood up and exited the shelter.

Each time her son moved a hand or coughed she reached for his

forehead to check his temperature. It always heated her padded palm each

time she felt his flat forehead. She felt sure he would die before nightfall.

But when night did fall, he still grabbed air. She relaxed then and though

she had no way of knowing this the thought that he might recover lifted

some of her gloom that had been in competition with the dismal darkness

of the shelter. She left the shelter as dark fell and relieved her full bladder

then trudged through the snow and reentered the shelter.

Much later the male returned and took to his mat again. He slept,

awoke, ate, and fell asleep again. She sat beside the youth and in time she

fell asleep to the sounds of her mate’s peaceful snoring.

She awoke to a day that was still clutched by the deep shadows of

night. In time, she looked out and saw the sky brighten beyond the eastern

hill. Soon the sun itself burst over the ridgeline and flooded the shelter

with its glorious and most welcome light.

All that day the sun gleamed and ricocheted off the snow in crystals

of diamond sparks of light that she watched fall as frost down into the

valley to the river. The very air itself seemed to speak in crackles and

squeaks as the snow warmed in the sunshine and dropped now from the

trees. She stepped outside later in the day and saw that the snow was

caving in on top.

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That evening the male ate the rest of the food he had lain by. They

had lived off it for the past few days. All that was left were two thin front

legs of deer meat. She watched as he stared outside as if expecting to see

the bloom of spring on the trees. But this was not a thing to look forward

to yet. They were still in the heavy clutches of cold and more sleet and

snow to come.

There was little meat in a hank of deer meat but she watched

carefully and when she found a bit took it on a finger and placed it on the

lips of the youth. It stayed there for a long time, but once when she looked

it had disappeared. This was good for him then. He at least had allowed it

to enter his mouth. She needed to fetch snow and to heat it in her palms

and allow the drops of water to fall onto his lips.

The following day arrived in much the same fashion as the previous

one. The sun ruled the sky and the earth with its golden rays that glowed

in its overwhelming beauty as it caromed off the snow as it attempted to

erase the blue cast the snow had thrown upon the surrounding hills. She

heard ice and snow, fall from the bluff above all day, and heard the soft

plops of heavy cascades of it from the trees where it turned loose and fell

down into the deep gorge below their shelter and land in the deeper snow

below them.

Her child’s condition remained the same. No better. No worse. Her

mate slept all day. With nothing to eat there was no reason for him to

awaken. His hunger would drag him from sleep eventually and he would

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rise up and go off in search of deer or whatever creature that might

venture out yet in the snow and for the same reason that lured him out.

The snow itself still hung on. A great deal of it had fallen from the

trees and she had seen large spaces that had melted in the relentless

warmth of the sun’s rays.

Darkness descended the shelter again. She heard the enormous male

at the rear of the shelter grumble, then yawn. He finally stood up. He

stepped outside and she watched as he voided his water over into the deep

chasm below. Because of his long sleep, he voided water for a long time.

Finally, he finished. He turned and just as it looked to her that he was

going to reenter the shelter again, he turned and walked off up the narrow

ledge that led to the top of the bluff. Each time he left she wondered if he

would return.

She walked outside and ate snow. Afterward, she gathered both

hands full and carried it inside, and sat before the youth with her hands

held above his partially open mouth to fall into when it melted from the

heat of her hands.

*****

The large male walked away from the shelter. His stomach groaned loud

from hunger. He needed to stop the sound. He walked on. In places such

as beneath where the taller trees thrived and allowed more space at the

bases of the trees the snow accumulated deeper than in the brushier areas

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where the snowfall lay in much lesser depths, he walked around these

areas and sought out the shallower sites to walk through.

Still, by the time he stopped and looked at the cabin of a different

human than the old man’s, at last, he experienced the results of walking

this far on an empty belly. He looked on for one of the smaller buildings

like the one that held the cache of meat at Adam Pugh’s place. In time, he

spied it. A structure of professionally processed wood. The structure had a

cantilevered roof that was built to shed snow easily so that it didn’t

accumulate quite so much, which could after some time weaken the roof

itself and cause it to fall down.

The moon was not yet up. The darkness surrounded him in a thick

black blanket. But he was still vulnerable because of the snow cover on

the ground. He would stand out plainly in such snow—black against white.

He heard no dogs barking and harassing him. With that he was safe. He

walked across the same area that he had covered the last time he had

visited this farm.

He saw the faint impression of the road as he crossed over it and

headed up a slight rise toward the building that might hold a stash of food.

He neared the structure in a short time because the hunger in his gut was

forcing him to move fast. He stopped and sniffed the air. The wonderful

scent of meat revealed that there was without a doubt some inside and

lured him toward it.

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The cabin was dark. He approached the structure that held the meat

with caution. In the past, he had found that humans often were in places

they shouldn’t really be, and in places where he sometimes failed to look

for them.

He reached the building and stepped to the side that was farthest

away from the cabin. He stopped and studied the way it was put together.

It was built in a different method than the other one he had broken into

before. This one had less room between the boards between which to place

his fingers so he could reach through and yank them off. His meaty

fingers were much too heavy to do so.

He raised a massive fist, covered heavily with hairless thick

padding that protected the bones beneath it in a stout, defensive barrier.

He struck the board a heavy blow, but not the heaviest blow he was

capable of. Instinct told him he needed to remain as quiet as possible. The

sound of his fist striking the wood rang out across the snow cover, but

because he was on the side of the smokehouse that was away from the

cabin, the sound bounced off across the road and entered the woods where

the trees absorbed it.

His fist punched all the way through the board. His hand went

inside the structure and when he withdrew it he latched onto the top of the

board and yanked it out in one long plank with harsh sounding screeches

that hurt his ears. This gave him more room to remove the next board and

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on and on until the hole he made was large enough to accommodate his

bulk.

He stepped inside and was met with the wonderful scent of meat. He

saw halves of hogs hanging from a large plank nailed to the roof and at

each end at the walls on either side. He grabbed up two halves, tossed

them both outside, and turned back and took down two more. He carried

these with him outside. He slung them over his shoulders and bent then to

the other two, and did likewise with these two, stacking one atop the

other. He left the smokehouse and by the time he reached the field where

the man with the stick had chased after him sometime before, he stopped

and ate until the groaning of his stomach ceased. He picked up his heavy

load once more and marched off across the field and felt much stronger

with each succeeding stride he took.

He reached the shelter after an hour of hard walking. He entered the

shelter and lay the meat on the ground. With no sign that he had even seen

his mate. He walked to his bed and fell on it and soon was sleeping and

snoring in peace once more, his mission accomplished.

He had seen no game to take so he had done the next best thing

except that it was much more dangerous. He had fetched meat enough for

perhaps four full days. That is if his mate didn’t eat too much of it.

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Chapter Thirty-Three

The day dawned clear but cold. The sun broke above all obstacles and

shone down on Ben Loops’ cabin and all outbuildings.

Ben had rested comfortably and without dreams. He felt fresh to

meet the new day that he always greeted with the prospect of having a

fantastic time of it. After breakfast, he dressed and left the cabin. At the

barn, he filled his feed bucket with corn, set it aside, and grained his

horses in their stall with the door standing open for their escape if needed.

Next, he tossed down hay from the loft into the stall where the cow looked

on from dull, stupid eyes.

Finished, he picked up his bucket of corn and left the barn, and

walked through the snow. The frozen crust crunched and squeaked loudly

beneath his boots. The hogs, of course, were starved out or so they gave

that impression. They were in their choir of three and singing their woes

and mean treatment to the world.

He finished feeding the swine and walked back to the barn, put up

the feed bucket, and crunched on toward the house.

He stopped then in full stride. One foot on the ground the other one

in midair.

“What the hell?”

The south side of the smokehouse lay in ruin. With his back to it, he

had missed it on the down trip. The wide planking that he had paid good

money for at the mill in Louvin to build a tight smokehouse with, lay

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scattered about on the snow-covered ground as if the snow had caught the

builder before he could finish the job and left it where it lay until better

times.

His shock fell to the side in time, and he stepped closer to the

ruined wall. He had witnessed the side of old Pugh’s smokehouse. This

was the same work and likely from the same hand.

“Dammit. That bastard.”

He poked his head inside and saw the empty spaces where the four

sides of hogs were missing stuck out boldly.

He kicked the snow in futility for a time and punctuated it all with a

series of non-stop curses that lasted for several minutes. By and by, he

calmed down enough to step inside and take a closer look and assess his

losses.

He removed his hat and scratched his head. In the end, he decided

that his first assessment was right. The same beast that had broken into

Pugh’s smokehouse had done the same to his.

He backed out of the building and walked off toward the house.

Before he reached the porch his mind turned again upon his good sense

and he started cursing again and stood outside until he managed to stop.

Finally, he climbed the steps to the porch and shoved on inside the house.

The heat of the kitchen rushed up in his face to greet him and

welcome him home but he failed to take the time to appreciate it. He had

things to do.

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“Belle,” he yelled out. “Belle, where are you?”

“In here,” she answered from the dining room and parlor

combination. “If you want to talk to me you’ll have to change your tone of

voice, and come in here where you won’t have to yell.”

He stomped the snow off his boots on the large rug made of a thick,

coarse burlap material that she used for him to wipe his feet in winter to

prevent the ruination of her floor.

He walked up to the open doorway that divided the kitchen from the

rest of the house. “You know what that bully bastard did?”

She lifted her head from her needlework and looked at her husband

with widened eyes. “Benjamin Loops, you’ll stop blackguarding and right

this minute, and I warn you that if you take God’s name in vain, you’ll

sleep on the floor tonight and perhaps for even longer. Now, what bully

blank are you talking about?”

In chastisement, he said, “Sorry, Belle. But let me tell you what

happened.”

“I’m waiting, please sir.”

“That animal visited us again last night. He tore off the side of our

smokehouse and stole four hog halves … two whole hogs. I’d bought some

of that no long ago from the old man.”

She stared at him for a good spell, with her mouth hanging open

like a baby bird waiting for a worm.“Well, dammit all,” she finally

answered.

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Too excited to notice the irony he said, “Now, I got to take my rifle

and track him down. I’m fixing to kill that thing if it’s all I manage to do

the rest of this winter.”

“You can’t leave me here alone. I’ll go with you.”

He shook his head like a horse ridding its sides of biting flies. “No.

Lordy no. You can’t go with me. You couldn’t keep up and I have to find

that creature as soon as possible.”

He turned then and stomped off to the closet by the outside door

where he kept his winter gear, rifles, and cartridges.

He heard her footsteps slap the floor behind him. He flung open the

door, tossed out his heavy mackinaw, and wool scarf Belle had made for

him two Christmas’s before. Next, he took out the rifle and a handful of

shells. He loaded the rifle full—fifteen shells. He stuffed more shells into

a side pocket. He stripped out of his light coat and drew on the mackinaw

and whipped the scarf around his neck. He tossed the lighter coat inside

without aim. It hit the rear wall and fell to the floor.

“You pick that up, mister,” she commanded, “and hang it on its

hook. I get tired of picking up after you. I think you are plenty old enough

to take care of yourself.

“I’ll tell you again to either stay here or take me along with you.

What will happen to me if that creature returns and with you gone away

from home?”

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He pointed into the closet. “I’ll leave the old Remington. I reckon

that will bring him down.”

“Benjamin,” she said and stood with both hands on hips. “You know

how I hate to shoot that thing. You stay here. Why don’t you sit up

tonight and see if he returns then if he does you can shoot him from your

own porch.”

He shut the closet door and backed out. He turned to her. Took her

hand. “Listen here, Belle. I must go. I need to kill that beast. Likely, he’ll

not return until he gobbles up our two hogs, and that will be some time I

reckon. I need to follow him while his tracks are still fresh. It might snow

again at any time and it’ll cover over his tracks and I won’t have no idea

where to find him.”

He turned to the door. She gave up on persuading him to stay, and

before he could open the door, she said, “Well sir, at least hook the horses

to the wagon so I have some way to escape if he does return and you out

tramping through the woods.”

He picked up his rifle and opened the door. “I’ll do that, Belle. I

certainly will. I’ll not abandon you completely to that hellish monster.

Surely not.”

Belle Loops had tears on her cheeks as she stood at the door as if

she expected him to change his mind and return to her. But this was not

the case.

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Loops quickly hitched the horses to the wagon. He left it all in the

breezeway and picked up his rifle from the wall where he had placed it out

of the way. He turned then and walked off as if he were late for some big

occasion.

Across the road and into the small glade below it, he saw that the

rabbit trap was sprung with the trigger upon the ground in front of it in a

dead give away. He didn’t have time to dress the rabbit. But he did stoop

and raise the lid and almost laughed at the speed the rabbit escaped the

trap and tore off through the underbrush leaping and bounding for its life.

“Better thank your rabbit god young feller,” he muttered. “This is

likely the best day of your life.”

To prevent the capture of another rabbit that might starve before he

returned, Loops left the door of the trap shut walked off through the

woods, and entered the cleared space of his field. He found the snowfall

much deeper here where there were no trees to block its fall. But he

crossed it soon enough, walked off into the woods following the huge

tracks of the animal that only a blind man could fail to see.

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Chapter Thirty-Four

He walked for an hour then stopped and leaned against a tree on the lee

side that was free of snow. He rested until he found his wind entering and

exiting his lungs properly and feeling refreshed, he pushed off from the

tree and pressed on.

Ben Loops was an old man, although he was eight years younger

than old Pugh who got around spryly yet and possessed stamina that Ben

often admired.

He slowed his pace. His mind calmed down from what it was when

he left the cabin. There was no telling how much longer he would need to

forge his way through the deep snow. If he ran across the creature with no

warning he might be out of wind from his walk and would likely not have

a steady rifle against his shoulder when he got the chance to kill it. He

slowed down.

More than an hour and a half later, he neared the bluff that

overlooked the river. It was at this point that the lay of the land sloped

downward. He was used to walking on flat ground through the woods, and

the downward incline took him off guard and he hadn’t time to slow down

and struck a slick stone that the sun had exposed. He slipped and

attempted to catch himself. He dropped his rifle and flung out his hands

instinctively. He had fallen to the side and the full weight of his body fell

upon his right knee.

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“Damn, damn,” he muttered. He rolled onto his back and placed his

gloved hands on the snow-covered ground beneath him. He shoved off and

stood upright, bent then, and retrieved his rifle. He stepped forward, and

pain fired up in his knee as if someone had placed a hot coal against his

kneecap.

He fell again and soon sweat popped out on his forehead and bile

rose up in his throat. He spat up a bit of his breakfast including his coffee.

When his nausea passed on, he sat up. He felt his knee to search for a

bone that was out of place or even worse was sticking through the skin.

To his good luck, he felt nothing out of place, and certainly, there

was no broken bone protruding through the skin. “Dammit. I’m a lucky

dog if there ever was one.”

But when he got to his feet, the leg hurt him so bad that he was

unable to walk. He lay on his stomach and crawled back up the incline,

going slowly through the deep snow. He was closer to the old man’s place

than to his own so he decided to crawl there. Old Pugh could hitch his

team to the wagon and fetch him home. At least that was his plan. No way

would he leave Belle alone for long.

The late afternoon sun was much fainter now in the winter sky, pale

yellow as an egg yolk that had been laid by a hen that had fed on nothing

more than bugs. He stopped his crawl. He felt he was in trouble. A crawl

that had taken him two hours found him still deep inside the forest. He

had no idea how much farther he needed to crawl until he reached old

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Pugh’s cabin. He rested on the snow-covered ground and found that his

clothing on his chest, stomach, and legs was wet. If it turned off any

colder, which he knew it would at dark, he would be in great danger then

of freezing to death.

Frightened at this prospect he crawled on sooner than he had

planned. The forest around him loomed large all around him. The tops of

the trees looked as if they might touch the sky. This sent a shiver of panic

down his spine.

“Calm down you old fool,” he told himself in chastisement. “You’ll

die of fright if you ain’t careful.”

He crawled on, tired as he was. His only alternative was too hard

for him to even consider. He must crawl out of the forest and reach the old

man’s place. If not, he would die tonight when it grew colder.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

Belle Loops walked the floor all day long. She expected to see her

husband walk out from the woods from the same direction he had

disappeared earlier this morning. So far, he hadn’t shown up. She worried

about him and wondered what she would do if the beast suddenly walked

from the woods and headed for the cabin.

She watched as the shadows dropped farther and farther toward the

east as she stared out through the window.

“Something’s happened to him,” she said. “I know it. I just know

it.”

Later, she realized that if she waited much longer it would be too

late to have any chance of finding him. Not in the dark, she couldn’t. But

she had no thought of walking through the woods and following his tracks.

She was not that brave.

It soon would be dark. She donned her winter coat and boots, took

the rifle Ben had told her to use on the beast in case he showed. She

planned to take it with her for her protection. If the beast happened to fall

within her rifle sights—well, if she didn’t freeze from fright she might hit

it.

She waded the snow out to the barn.

One of the horses flung its head at her approach.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Hush now,” she said. The two horses watched

her, straining their necks to follow her progress that ended as she climbed

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up onto the wagon seat. She lifted the reins and the two creatures stepped

lively out of the shelter of the barn.

At the road, she decided that since Louvin was farther off than it

was to the old man’s cabin, she turned the animals to the north and they

stepped out in a brisk, ready manner even through the deep snow. In

places on the road, the snow she heard the scraping of it as itbrushed

against the underframe of the wagon. At other places, the sun of the past

few days had melted it and revealed that her course was true. She placed

the rifle across her lap and tried to sing to the horses as they forged

through the snow. Later she gave up the effort as a failure.

When she arrived, she found that Adam Pugh had just finished

feeding his hogs. She drew up straight across from the pen, waiting as he

walked toward her, with a craned neck and a questioning look in his eyes.

“Why, my sweet lord, Mrs. Loops. I can’t believe you would be out

in such a blamed snow as this here.”

“I had to Mr. Pugh. My Ben went out with his rifle to shoot the

beast that raided our smokehouse last evening.”

“The red devil hit you too, did he?”

“Yessir. He did so last night. Ben found the wall torn and shredded

apart this morning. He came to the house and fetched his rifle and lit out

after it. I pleaded with him not to go and now this. I fear something has

happened to him, sir.”

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“Right after breakfast. Then he’s been at it all day. That’s a long

time to buck deep snow.”

“Mr. Pugh, I fear something’s happened to him,” she repeated

herself. “I have the worst feeling about his safety. The beast might have

killed him.”

Pugh climbed into the wagon alongside Belle Loops and she got up

the team and they wheeled off to the barn.

“Leave them here out of the wind, Mrs. Loops. Let’s go to the

cabin. I’ll fetch my lantern and put on my heavy boots. I have to go off

and search for him.” He removed the bit from the two harnessed animals,

grained all four horses then, and stepped toward the house with her in

tow.

“I hate to put you out, Mr. Pugh …”

“Don’t let that fret your none, ma’am. That’s what a friend and

neighbor’s for. Ben would do the same for me.”

She walked into the cabin behind Pugh and the heat rushed up to

hug her in a welcome embrace.

Pugh donned his heavier boots, his mackinaw, and took his lantern

in hand, although it was not yet dark, it likely would be before he

returned.

“There’s a bit of coffee left over, ma’am. You’re welcome to heat it

while you wait for us to return.”

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“Mr. Pugh,” she said and said it as a command rather than a request.

“I’m going with you. I have to know. I just have to. If I waited here I

would walk a rut in the floor before you returned.”

She watched as the old man fixed his mouth to deny her permission

to go with him, but finally, he shrugged let out a heavy sigh, and she saw

that he had conceded.

At the door, he attempted to make the dogs stay, but they ran out

between his legs before he could do so. They were ready for a romp with

the old man.

They all entered the woods and pressed on with the two border

collies in the lead bucking the snowdrifts that were breast-high on them.

“Wish you’d come earlier, Mrs. Loops. There ain’t just a whole lot

of daylight left, and we’ll be caught out sure as I’m breathing.”

“I didn’t know for sure just what to do. I didn’t want to stir things

up—have folks out looking for him and here he comes out of the woods

safe and sound,”

“You’re likely right about that.”

They trudged through the snow but she found as they entered the

true forest where the trees loomed higher, the snow cover was less than

outside. The walking was some easier here, but not by much. Her face

grew cold. So too were her hands even though they were clad in leather

gloves that were lined in wool. The wind blew her breath back into her

face. She would have been miserable from the cold if the worrisome

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thoughts of the danger Ben might have fallen into wasn’t a plague on her

mind.

A half-hour later, she heard the dogs barking in excited, nearly

frantic voices. She burst forward to run to them but old Pugh reached out

and stopped her plunge.

“Don’t do that, ma’am. The snow will wear you out. I might need

your help later in case we need to pack Ben home. Besides that, the dogs

might be barking at the monster. Just walk behind me, please ma’am.”

The barking continued and was as frantic now as it had been when

she first heard them. The shadows were darker now and clutched

everything about her in a tight grasp. Her breathing entered and passed

out of her lungs in loud gasps and squeaks that revealed to her that she

was aging. She pushed this silly thought away. She had worse things to

think about than growing old.

By the time they reached the point where the barking was nearly

overwhelming, darkness dropped its black curtain over everything. The

old man halted her and she watched as he fumbled out a match, struck it

on the metal top of the lantern, lifted the lid to the wick with his little

finger, and lit the lantern. The sudden yellow illumination chased back the

gloom of night for perhaps twenty feet around them. Ths made her feel

safer.

They continued. Soon the dogs came scampering up to the old man.

They leaped upon him one to a side as if they were in full conversation

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with him. She heard him speak to them as if they were children, and

watched them drop down, swing about, and run in the direction they had

just appeared from.

“Hate to admit this ma’am,” Adam Pugh said, “but I blamed near

shot one of my dogs. Thought sure it was the beast.”

She plunged ahead of him then and ran as best she could through the

snow, which at this time was a bit over shin high. She felt the old man’s

hand brush her arm but it then fell away as she ran on, free of his clutch.

She stopped then, for there he lay, Ben, face down and stretched

out. She saw that one of his legs was drawn up and the knee pointed

toward her as if he had been in the act of crawling and suddenly ran out of

stamina or … he had died.

She clasped her mouth, felt tears drop onto her cheeks. She jarred

herself out of her fears and negative thoughts, lunged forward, and fell to

her knees at her husband’s side.

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Chapter Thirty-Six

Pugh saw her on her knees before what looked to him like a bundle of

rags. At first, he thought surely the beast had shredded Loops, but he saw

the man lift a hand and drop it aside. He rushed forward with what energy

he still possessed—an old man in deep snow.

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Loops.

Please let me look. Let’s learn what’s wrong. He might just be exhausted.”

He found though that she would not yield. She held her position in

strong denial of his request, though he doubted what he told her had even

penetrated to the reasoning stations of her brain.

He heard her whisper to him. Pugh bent closer to hear if he was able

to speak. By and by, he mumbled to his wife but Pugh could not hear what

he said. “What did he say, ma’am?”

“He said he fell and injured his knee. He said he crawled here all

the way from the river.”

“My word,” Pugh said. He was amazed the man held the strength

and forbearance to crawl so far.

Pugh had in one of his unused barn stalls a small sled that he used

in really deep snow to feed the animals with. The trees in the woods were

much too deep to allow a team and horses easy access so he couldn’t use

them. In either case, he would need to walk back to the barn to fetch

whichever one he chose.

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He tapped her shoulder to get her full attention, for now, her

attention was directed solely on her husband. She finally turned worried

eyes on him. He said, “Ma’am, we need to go to the barn to fetch my sled.

This will work much better than lugging him all the way to my cabin.”

She nodded but he could tell she had no idea what he had said. She

would be in great danger if he abandoned her here by herself alone with

her injured husband. The man could scarcely move let alone defend her or

himself either.

“You must go with me, ma’am. I won’t leave you out here by

yourself.”

Just then, he heard the most mournful, lost-sounding screams he had

ever in his life heard. He felt the skin of his entire body creep and crawl

upward. He saw that if she heard the sound it certainly did not register, so

greatly did she attend to her husband.

“Please, ma’am.” He tapped her shoulder again. “You must go with

me. We’ll fetch your wagon, drive it into the woods as far as possible then

walk back and lug him up to it. That way you won’t have to help drag the

sled. You have to go with me though.”

Her facial muscles crawled all over her face. He saw that she had

heard and understood his words this time.

Belle Loops shook her head in a violent movement of rejection.

“No. You go. I can’t leave Ben out here. You can’t make me. I won’t

allow it.”

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He would have to tote the large man himself while she held up his

injured leg so that it didn’t drag the ground and further injure it. That is if

she could persuade her to do so.

“Well, get up then, ma’am. We have to lug him to my cabin. He’ll

freeze to death before much longer. Ben’s been out in this all day. He’s

about done in now. Please help me.”

She gave in then, released her grip on Loops, raised her head from

his chest, and stood up.

“What shall I do, Mr. Pugh?”

“I’m going to carry Ben as far as I can on my shoulder. But it ain’t

no way I can carry him too awfully far in that manner. Afterward, I’ll

need to take him under the arms and drag him along.

“I want you to lift his injured leg as far off the ground as possible

so it don’t drag the ground. Think you can manage that? We don’t dare

allow the foot to drag the ground. It might be something broken.”

“I can’ do it. Yes, sir, I’m sure I can.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Very good then.”

He rose from the ground took his rifle, lifted the bottom hem of his

mackinaw, and stuck his rifle between his belt and his body. He then took

hold of Loops’ shoulders, lifted him upright, then caught another grip

around his midsection and lifted him all the way off the ground.”

Ben Loops moaned loudly one time then fell silent.

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“You’re hurting him, sir. You’re hurting Ben. Lay him back,

please.”

He ignored her plea, bent deeply, and settled the injured man over

his right shoulder. The dogs by now were walking with their tails dragging

the snow fearful of the scream they had earlier heard.

Pugh breathed deeply and shoved off with Belle following with her

rifle across her body. Pugh knew by the way she held it that she had

forgotten she even carried it.

Adam Pugh packed Loops on his shoulder for perhaps fifteen

minutes. His breathing became short and in out in gasps that sounded

much like the low man at work in a sawpit, sawing back and forth

ceaselessly.

Later, he could go no farther. He stopped and removed Loops from

his shoulders as she watched on as if she had no idea that he was a mere

man and old at that. This was as far as he could carry him. Now he would

drag him along. This was the only means left to him.

He leaned against a tree for a long time recovering his wind. His

thighs were shaking from the overwhelming stress he had placed on them.

In time, he recovered his wind. He reached and took Ben under the

shoulders and lifted him up as high as possible. “Take hold of Ben’s leg,

ma’am. Don’t fret about the other one it will be okay to drag like it is. We

got our work cut out for us. If you get tired you just call out and we’ll

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stop to rest up. It’s still twenty or twenty-five minutes yet before we reach

my cabin.”

“Yes sir,” she answered and lifted the injured leg. Pugh saw for

once on this trip she was becoming aware of her surroundings and the dire

situation they faced.

He started out and before he had traveled a hundred yards with the

dogs often in his way, his legs cramped so hard he felt like stopping,

laying down in the snow and giving in. The old man knew that once he

gave away to the pain, however, he would never find any relief. So he

pressed on. He kept waiting for her to call a halt but she didn’t. In the

end, he was the one who had to stop even though she protested loudly that

they go on.

“I got to rest a minute, Mrs. Loops. We’ll not make it out of these

woods if I don’t.”

That settled that. He stopped and knowing better than to sit in the

snow for fear of never rising again, he rested against a tree as he had

earlier. The old man had always loved the woods. He was completely at

home beneath the tall trees, but right now he would just about give

everything he had if he never saw another tree.

Sometime later, they pressed on with his thighs still crying out for

relief. He ignored the pain and continued the journey.

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Finally, they emerged from the woods. He nearly cried when he saw

the cabin with its welcoming light shining dimly through the tiny cracks

in the doorway.

On they both labored. By the time they reached the porch, Pugh

heard Belle Loops’ lungs crying out in pain.

Inside, after he placed Ben on his own small cot, he managed to

build up the fire. The dogs wouldn’t move far from his side, still much

frightened.

“Hush gents,” he muttered but not in a voice meant to scold but to

aid in their distress. Loops lay on old Pugh’s cot while his missus stroked

his head, and muttered love words into his ear much in the way Pugh had

often spoken to his dogs.

Loops started shaking again with his teeth rattling like a shaken

gourd of seeds. She leaned in closer to him as if trying to further warm

him.

Old Pugh started the coffee pot and as soon as it was hot, he fetched

her a heavy enameled cupful.

“Please take this, Mrs. Loops.”

“No. I don’t need it.”

“I wanted for you to try to get Ben to sip some of it. It’ll likely

warm him from the inside out.”

She took the cup and a few minutes later, he watched as Ben sipped

the hot liquid in noisy slurps. This pleased Pugh enough to turn away and

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go to the closet. He dragged out four heavy quilts that his wife had rotated

on their bigger bed so they would stay clean longer, for washing heavy

quilts and blankets was not an easy chore. Along with these, he fetched

out a blanket that he had always enjoyed sleeping beneath because of its

deep warmth.

He planned to ask them to stay with him until Ben recovered enough

to travel home. But she told him Ben wouldn’t like it and would insist that

he go home.

An hour later with Mrs. Loops’ careful attention, the warmth of the

bed next to the stove brought Ben out of his sleep. As good as this was,

though, he became aware of his pain once again and soon moaned out for

relief.

“I ain’t got a thing for him, Missus,” Pugh said in a shamed voice.

“That’s all right, sir. She said. “I have an elixir at home that works

well with pain. As soon as he’s home, I’ll dose him right good.”

Sometime later, Ben Loops sat up.

Pugh said, “You recall what happened that hurt your leg? It ain’t

broken I see. What was it that happened to you?”

“I slipped on a stone, old-timer. Lord, I crawled and crawled. I

thought sure I was going to die out there all alone, and never see my good

woman ever again.”

Belle Loops started crying without shame.

“Did you see the creature, Ben?”

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“No. I was on the bluff overlooking the river. I meant to walk down

below to that ledge that leads across the entire face of the bluff.”

“I know the spot,” Pugh told him.

“If you recall, old-timer, there are caves and shallower cavities in

the bluff that would make good shelters for man or beast. I meant to

search them and if I ran across the creature, I would shoot it dead inside

its hideout.”

“There’s three of them, Ben. A family of the creatures. You mustn’t

forget that.”

Ben Loops snorted through his nostrils at this. “Hell, old-timer, I

had a pocket of cartridges. I reckon I would have bagged them all sure

enough. I thought I was dead, though, Pugh. Me crawling up to the

ridgetop and then off through the woods.

“That beast robbed my smokehouse, sir. Took off with two whole

hogs. I can’t feature it, can you?”

“Yes. I can. I have seen that gent. He’s a big beast. You have to see

him before you believe it.”

“I did see him, Adam. It’s amazing how strong he is.”

Pugh refilled Ben’s coffee cup and handed it to his missus.

Loops took it from her hand and sipped it. He removed it from his

lips then and said, “I do believe that you make the best cup of coffee I’ve

ever had, old-timer. I mean not counting Belle’s.”

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Loops chuckled then. Pugh felt good that his friend and neighbor

was fast on the mend. “I tell you what, I want you two to stay here

tonight. I’ll drive over to your place tonight and feed your hogs. If you

don’t mind, I’ll camp out at your place and in the morning after I feed

your hogs again I’ll drive back here and feed mine. In a few days, I

reckon your leg will heal up enough that you can get back on the job.

How’s that sound?”

He watched then as Loops passed the coffee cup into Belle’s hand.

He swung around in the bed and stood up alongside it as if he meant to

walk outside and hunt up some chores to do. But when he attempted to

walk he cried in pain and would have fallen to the floor but fell back onto

the cot instead.

“That settles that then,” Pugh said, and Loops didn’t argue.

The old man took off his mackinaw then. “Can’t go outside until I

warm up from the heat of the stove. If not, I’ll take a chill on the drive

over.”

“Yessir, I’ve heard folks say that,” Loops said and took over

command of the coffee cup from Belle again.

Later, as he was ready to step outside Loops stopped him. “Listen

here, old-timer, I’ll try to walk again in the morning. Could be I’ll be fit

enough to drive home and do my own blamed chores. I don’t like to have

to impose on you.”

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“I hear you, Loops,” Pugh said. “I’ll take a peek at the damage that

devil did. I’ll likely have to help you repair the smokehouse. Later, that

is.”

“That would be good of you, Pugh.”

“Just be paying you back, Ben. That’s what we need do to get by in

this rough country.”

He warmed up, threw on his mackinaw, and stepped out into the

cold with the small dogs at his heel. The moon was showing now,

swinging about in the sky in all its fullness and glory in the frigid sky

above. He was halfway to the Loops’ place before he remembered to fetch

with him his Psalms or pipe and tobacco.

“One night without them will work out all right, I suspect,” he said

to his dogs.

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Chapter Thirty-Four

The male watched his mate as she listened to the boy’s chest. By the

manner that she lifted her head from his chest, the big male knew that the

youth had died. She sat back on her haunches, stared down at her child for

a long time as if she expected him to rise from his bed any moment.

Later, she likely decided he would never rise again. He knew that

there was nothing left she could do for the youth except mourn.

She lay her head back and emitted a long, mournful cry that burst

from her chest in the truest, most primitive form of mourning. She

continued to mourn and with each outburst, her voice grew louder and

more mournful. Finally, she settled down to a regular but quieter song of

mourning.

An hour later, the large creature stood up and left the shelter. He

could take no more. He climbed to the top of the bluff, found a rock that

was free of snow. He sat down and studied the moon that was full and that

lit up the area nearly like daylight. As he stared at it, he felt a desire to

cry out as well, not because of the child, but because of the brightness of

the moon that cast a tragic aspect upon everything, and especially upon

his mind. He beat down the urge, however. One wailer at a time was

enough. It was much more peaceful on the bluff alone there with only he

and the moon. He had plenty of food in the shelter, so he had no desire to

go in search of game—game that had become more and more scarce since

it snowed. The deer could eat snow to prevent their death from lack of

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water, but sooner or later they would need to leave their places of shelter

and eat bark from the trees or if they grew lucky they might find a place

that was free of snow and with grass showing and feast on that. By that

time, his stash of meat might be gone or nearly gone. If so, he would be

ready for them when the deer left their sheltered sites out of the wind.

He had no concept of what an idea was but acted on impulse and the

opportunities that came his way. His mate was more adept at abstract

thinking than he was.

He stood up after a time and looked up the steep grade of the

hillside. He saw a track in the snow where something had dragged itself

off or where something had dragged it off. He looked at the base of the

rock and saw footprints of a human. These were similar to the human

tracks of the man who lived in the cabin far above and in the direction

where the sun always fell below the tree line of an evening. But since he

did not know what or who had made them for sure, he followed them.

He followed the drag marks to where the land evened out at the top

of the hill. He walked faster because it was so light out even beneath the

canopy of the trees that by now were bare of leaves, he had no trouble

following the drag marks.

Perhaps the wounded creature would perish. If so he would find it.

By and by, he saw where the snow was scuffed greatly due to some

activity or other. He read the story left by the tracks. He had been

following a man. He was sure of this now although the footprints at the

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base of the rock he had sat on told him they were for sure from a man-

creature. He had never eaten human meat in his life and in fact it had

more or less been taboo within his own kind. If conditions became so

scarce in food, it was likely they would have done so, but as far as he had

seen food had never been that scarce. The taboo might have been that the

two species were very similar.

He saw where the wounded creature had been packed off by another

being of its own species. The prints in the snow had become much deeper

with the added weight on the one packing it away. He saw that they were

made by the old man. By this, he saw that the man had been injured so

severely it was not able to walk under its own power. He followed.

He stopped at the edge of the woods where many trees were missing

leaving large swaths of empty spaces, which continued up to the habitat of

the human. He scented the air. He detected horses in the structure south of

the house, and farther to the south the air sent him the rank smell of the

old hogs he had visited and where he had been injured. The air still held

the scent of the old man that he was most familiar with. But he was not

here now. The dogs too were missing. He scented that of the man he had

stolen from on his last trip. There was another being with him. They were

both holed up inside the cabin. He had observed in the past that the man

creatures were not well fitted for the cold weather. They did have pelts

though that could be removed and donned again with the turning of the

seasons.

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The dogs were gone. He had the run of the entire farm now. He

stepped boldly out from the woods and walked quickly off to the

smokehouse that he had robbed before. He had a sudden desire for honey

although it had made him sick the last time. He had no idea that he was allergic

to one of the flowers from which the bees had made it. The man had

several jugs left from the time when he and his mate and the child had

stolen all the honey they could pack off. He studied the smokehouse and

finally walked right up to it.

He climbed inside and since the dogs were not here to alert those

inside the cabin to his presence, he knocked off the wooden stopper in the

neck of the jug and drank an enormous quantity of honey where he stood.

It tasted so wonderful that he was unable to stop swigging it down. But at

last, he was nearly out of breath and he lowered the jug. He found his

wind soon and drank again, for nearly as long as he had the first time. He

lowered the container and learned from the loss of weight of the jug that

he had nearly consumed its entire contents.

He recovered again and attacked the jug once more. This time when

he lowered it felt much lighter in his hand. He licked the neck of it, and

then tossed it aside empty. He grabbed up another one and left the

structure with his loot in hand as if it weighed little more than a twig.

In the woods a half-mile from the man’s dwelling, he pushed down a

small cedar tree and sat down on its boughs out of the snow. He attacked

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the second jug and an hour later, he tossed it away. He had consumed two

entire jugs of honey, so greedy for it had he been.

He heard his mate still crying out in mourning.

The honey had infused him with a glow and even though he was not

sleepy, he lay down on the soft boughs of the tree, and later fell asleep.

Deeper into the night, he woke up and made for the brush to empty

his gut. Diarrhea attacked him in vengeance for his greed. Each time he

attempted to lie back down, he was forced up again and to run off to the

brush. After a time of this, he grew too weak to go far and voided his

bowels close to his bed.

At last, his stomach settled down and he fell asleep once more.

He woke up several hours before the sun itself rose. He stood up but

nearly fell on his face. He was set upon by a severe case of the blind-

staggers. He wobbled over and leaned against a hickory tree and stood

there until the ground stopped violently spinning beneath his feet. He felt

so tired he was tempted to fall back on the bed he had made earlier, but he

felt the instinct to return to his mate. He was much too near the man’s

habitat to fall vulnerable to that creature. Perhaps, his mate could relieve

his malady. She had done so before. He was terribly sick.

Soon, he tromped off through the snow and through the forest. He

had to stop and rest several times on his trip. By and by, he strode down

the ledge and entered the shelter.

He took to his bed in the back of the shelter close to the wall.

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His mate was still deep into her mournful mood and after he lay

there he started to leave the shelter again, find another small cedar, and

build himself another bed. But when he stood up and attempted to walk he

fell to his knees and crawled back to his bed, dropped onto it, and fell

asleep. He would need to withstand her loud screams of his mate.

As he slept his mind was attacked by large dancing jugs of honey so

numerous he couldn’t remember them all. This caused nausea and he was

forced onto his knees again. He crawled to the entrance and vomited. He

then lay there face down exposed to the wind that screamed now in the

tops of the trees down below him in the depths of the chasm.

Later, his mate stood up fetched his deerskin, and placed it over

him. She took up her vigil by the side of her child and continued to

protest the unfairness of all things in sad, heartstricken barrages of

continuous wailing.

*****

The female ended her time of mourning two days later. She was hungry

and ate hog meat until her stomach stood out before her as if she were

pregnant. Now she had time to attend to her mate, although she still had

no medicinal roots with which she could dose him. She stooped beside him

and felt his forehead. It was as cold as the outdoors. Never had she ever

saw a being die of overindulgence—by lack of foodstuff, yes, but never

from too much to eat, which is what she imagined had happened to him.

He had nearly died early in the spring of the past year by consuming too

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much of the sweet stuff inside the jugs from the old human’s outbuilding.

This, she decided, was his problem and it had apparently killed him.

She sat away from him and attempted to mourn for him, but she was

empty of wailing and misery. She sat there a good long while. In time, as

the sun stood more or less overhead in its winter track, she took up what

was left of one of the sides of pork. This would last her until she needed

to kill a deer, and this would be sometime later—at least until the snow

melted. She felt that soon the weather would warm and this would melt the

cover of snow enough that the deer could emerge from their warm places

of refuge. She would be able to eat on deer meat again for she much

preferred it to the meat she was eating now.

She stooped again at the child’s side and felt his forehead for some

heat of life. He was cold as the walls of their shelter. She did the same for

her mate. He was cold as well. She flung the side of meat over her

shoulder and left the shelter.

Little by little, she moved to the river bottom by walking the

hillside in a gradual slope sensing if she attempted to walk straight down

to the bottom, she would fall to her death.

Later, she walked upstream and found a shallow crossing. She

forded the river and headed east. She had no plan but walked in the

reverse of the direction that she had followed her mate for so long. If she

found more of her kind that would a bonus. Ice crusted lightly at the edge

of the river. She crunched through it, up and out of the river.

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She walked over the snow-packed, but even ground on the east side

for an hour then attacked the far hill that she had often watched the sun

bounce off of from the shelter with the sun breaking over the one she had

just vacated.

She reached the top of the steep hill, turned, and peered back across

the void. She saw the bluff where their shelter was. A sudden rush of

elation consumed her then and she yelled out to the world, not in

mourning but instead of relief for shedding herself of all the

responsibilities she had taken on. She only had herself now to take care

of.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

From time to time Belle Loops heard the screaming that to her sometimes

sounded like someone deep in mourning. But it was also eerie and it

frightened her. Her fingernails clutched her palms so fiercely that she

looked at them once and saw that they were seeping blood. She attempted

to halt the act but she was still too frightened to do so. Ben Loops was

deep asleep and had been for some time. Belle had scooted up one of the

table chairs to the bed where he lay in case he needed her.

The screams continued but finally, her tired brain found a way to

ignore them and she fell asleep in her chair. Belle’s sleep was shallow

though and she woke up many times to the screaming voice that seemed to

call for some form of help. She listened to it each time it awoke her.

Later, from the mercy of God, she fell asleep once again.

The last time she woke up, she found no way to ignore the

screaming. She listened to it for the rest of the night. By and by, the moon

fell over the west hill and the trees that covered it. It grew even darker

inside the cabin. An hour later, she could see all the way across the room.

This made her happy. She stirred herself, went outside to the outhouse,

and nearly froze in the act of voiding her bladder. At home, she had a

chamber pot that she used to relieve herself from braving the weather,

night or day. Finished, she returned to the cabin and entered.

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She made a silent prayer for the rapid recovery of her husband as

well as for the welfare of the old man. When she muttered “Amen” Ben

Loops’s eyes popped open alert and as curious as a newborn child’s.

“I’m hungry, old gal,” he said.

This made her feel even happier. Hunger rarely came to a sick

person. This was good news.

She found the bacon and the coffee and pot along with the pail of

water. She made coffee and sliced up several slices for him as well as for

herself. When the coffee finished she took the cup Ben had used the night

before, poured it to the rim, and as she approached him, found that he was

sitting up and reaching for it. When he took the steaming coffee cup in

hand, she stepped back to the stove and finished frying bacon.

She watched over him while he ate, and when he said he was full,

she dished out thick slices of bacon for herself along with a piece of bread

that she saw would soon mold over. She made a mental note then to search

the cupboards and if she found the proper ingredients she planned to bake

several loaves of bread for old Pugh. Much to her distress, she found not a

single egg. This was another thing she would box up for Pugh, even

though their hens were producing only a few eggs a day because of the

winter weather, she planned to share with him.

She was washing the dishes she had dirtied and just as she hung up

the dish towel she heard the old man speaking to his team. She searched

for a window but found that he had boarded it up, probably because he had

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broken the pane, and had no replacement. But she listened on and heard

the sounds of boots as they crunched over the crusted, frozen snow.

“The old-timer is back, old gal,” Ben Loops said.

“Sounds that way,” she answered. “You just stay put now, Ben

Loops. I don’t want you trying to get up and about just yet. If so, you’ll

have a setback and will be down even longer. We need to get back home

as soon as we can.”

“I hear you, Belle,” he said. “I’m ready now.”

“Your mind might be,” she said, “but your body won’t allow it. Not

yet. When you’re fit to do the feeding we’ll go then. I ain’t going to do

the chores unless I just have to.”

Ben Loops laughed then and sat up higher in bed. Just then a rap

rang out on the door.

“My word,” Belle said. “That man seems to think he’s the visitor

instead of us.”

“Come in, old-timer,” Loops rang out.

Adam Pugh shoved open the door, stepped inside with the dogs in a

scamper ahead of him. “Didn’t want to catch anyone undressed,” he said.

“Don’t worry none about that. My wife sat up all night in the chair

there. I tried to entice her to hop in bed with me, but she wouldn’t hear of

it.”

“Ben Loops,” she rang out. “If I had the poker I swear I would rap

you on the head with it.”

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Loops’ loud laughter nearly shook the cabin.

Belle turned to the old man. “He’s just filled with jokes, Mr. Pugh.

Pay him no mind.”

Pugh nodded and said, “This means he’s feeling better than he was

last night. I reckon.”

“I am for sure, old-timer. I’m ready to go home, but Belle won’t

allow me out of the bed yet.”

Pugh ignored this. “I fed your hogs, Ben. Milked the cow. The

horses I fed as well as the cow and the chickens you have roosting in the

barn rafters.”

“I’m thankful that the beast had no taste for chickens. I’ll tell you

that. I would still be after that big ugly thing if he had.” He was feeling

better and in a boastful mood.

“I’m glad you are feeling like joking, Ben. Sure am.”

“Have any trouble, Mr. Pugh?” Belle Loops said.

“No trouble, no ma’am. Saw nothing down and nothing back. Didn’t

even see a bird. I’d better go feed my own hogs now, I reckon. Had to

report back in first though.”

“Mr. Pugh,” she said. “Have you heard anything out of the

ordinary? Screaming or anything like that?”

“No, ma’am. Not since we heard that thing screaming while we were

in the woods with Ben last night.”

“I don’t recall hearing it then, sir.”

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“You were too worried to hear it, I suspect, ma’am. But it was

there. I figure it was the stranger howling at the moon. Kind of like a wolf

oftentimes does.”

“Wasn’t a wolf, Mr. Pugh. Not what I heard. It sounded to me like it

was mourning. It stopped shortly after daybreak. It sounded almost

human, but it certainly was no human I ever heard.”

“I didn’t hear anything like that, Belle.” Loops said.

“Well, of course not, you were snoring too loud to hear anything

else.”

Loops laughed again.

Pugh left then to do up the feeding.

“You didn’t say anything to me about hearing any screaming, old

gal.”

“I would have but Mr. Pugh returned before I had the chance.”

Later, the old man entered the cabin. Belle stood up and said, “I’ll

fix your breakfast if you’re hungry, Mr. Pugh.”

The old man peeled out of his coat and looked into her eyes with a

lopsided almost embarrassed look on his face. “No need. I fixed a bite at

your place, ma’am. I hope I wasn’t being too bold. But when I saw them

eggs my resistance fell apart like sawdust.”

It’s good you made yourself at home. I wish you would have fetched

a few eggs for yourself. I was ready to bake a few loaves for you, but you

had no eggs.”

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“Nope. The foxes are so bad that I stopped trying to raise hens. It

was like I was raising them to feed the foxes. So I stopped that old

business. Sure do miss my eggs though.”

“What’s wrong with your pups they didn’t keep them run off, old-

timer?” Loops said, still in a cheerful mood. “I would have thought any

kind of dog creature would keep the varmints out of your barn.”

“I see you don’t have many foxes around you, Ben,” Pugh said.

“I think the rabbits keep them too busy to worry about the hens, and

they roost in the barn rafters, as you saw.”

They talked all day long and Ben Loops attempted to test his knee

with Belle at his side. He took a step with the good leg and when he put

his weight on the bad one, he nearly collapsed and would have but Pugh

and Belle caught him.

“That’s all for you, mister,” she told him and helped him back to

bed. After this Ben Loops’ good mood fell away.

Later Pugh left.

That night Belle slept in her chair undisturbed.

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Chapter Thirty-Six

The beast awoke. He felt groggy. He attempted to sit up but fell back on

his bed from dizziness. He recalled nothing. Not even why he came to find

himself lying near the entrance of the shelter instead of on his furs.

He had awakened from a deep coma that had lasted several days,

which was deep enough that he was nearer death than he was to live. His

strong immune system saved him.

He cast about for his mate, but he didn’t see her anywhere in the

shelter. He stepped deeper inside, located his furs, fell on them, and

dropped off into a deep, restful sleep.

He awoke to the sun. It penetrated the treetops outside and below

the shelter. He lay there a while and allowed the sun to penetrate into his

bone marrow. Later, he was nearly overcome with hunger. He tore off a

large portion of hog meat from the last remaining side. He attacked it as if

it were an enemy he needed to defeat without even noticing that the other

side of pork was missing.

All that day, he ate, then rested, and ate again and again. On the

second day, he felt more like he should have.

On the third day, he awoke to find himself nearly out of food. Soon,

he would need to go out on a hunt. Perhaps the deer had come out of their

places of safety. If not, he would need to return to one of the

smokehouses. He was growing familiar with the places now, both of them.

But the one was much farther from his shelter. He decided then that if the

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deer were not out as yet he would go to the old man’s smokehouse. There

was still hog meat there that for some reason the old man had decided not

to use.

On the next day, he had depleted all his food. The juvenile still lay

as he had been even before he had fallen down in a coma. Without a doubt

the youth was dead. He would leave him where he was. By the time the

body began to turn so sour that not even he could stand to be near it,

warm weather will have returned and he would leave the shelter and move

on. If his mate didn’t return by then, he would abandon her. The wolves

would clean up the body and scatter the bones far and wide. So much so

that no one would ever know them for what they really were. They would

lie scattered and anonymous to the world for all time.

His meat disappeared down his gullet. He left the shelter in search

of the prints of deer. He liked the taste of wild food much better than that

raised by humans. The penned animals of the humans, however, were

much easier to obtain, and this held a strong attraction for him.

He hunted all day long. The woods were free of tracks, except for

squirrels and the other smaller rat-like creatures that were swift as

lightning bolts. He would need to harvest hundred of those tiny creatures

to ease his hunger pains. He had eaten them as a youngster and had

enjoyed them, but it was much like eating the wild grapes that grew from

vines that attached themselves to trees. The humans called them possum

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grapes, although he had no way of knowing that. They tasted good but it

would take thousands to fill his enormous gut.

Late that evening he returned to the shelter with an empty stomach.

His mate was not there. The child still lay on the floor as frozen and stiff

as ice. He sat in the shelter and watched as the shadows fell over the

chasm below. He felt out of sorts. Something in his life seemed to be

missing. His mate had never been away from him for so long. Now he felt

puzzled. Perhaps she had gone off somewhere to die. He had no idea. He

sat up late. The moon passed over the shelter out of his sight, and here he

followed his instincts and lay down and slept. Perhaps when he awakened

later, his stomach would stop roaring in protest.

The next morning his hunger was stronger. His stomach now

sounded like a waterfall. As soon as the sun rose above the hillside

opposite to him, he picked up and left.

All-day he hunted. For some reason, the deer were still hanging

tight. Perhaps another large storm was building and would erupt today in

large drifts of snow. But if so, why hadn’t the deer left their shelters and

hunted up food in this lull-time. They would need nourishment if they

were to survive another lean time in the cover of the heavy brush. He gave

up and tromped on. He picked a spot on a deer trail and sat in ambush, and

waited. Soon, perhaps tomorrow, he would be forced to return to the old

man’s abode.

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That evening, he returned to the shelter. His strength was fast

fading away. He slept. The next day, he waited on his bed for dark to go

out again. He needed the darkness to hide his movements in the old man’s

yard.

As soon as darkness fell, he arose and stepped outside. It was time.

He could go no longer without food. He needed to rob the smokehouse

again but do it in silence. If the old man had not retrieved the hog meat

that was hanging there on his last visit, he would take all he could carry.

He walked off, going slow because of his weakened state. By the

time he saw the faint light escaping between the cracks in the walls of the

old man’s shelter, it was fully dark. He would need to wait no longer. He

searched the place to see if the human was outside. He caught the peculiar

scent of horses. Once more his greed overcame his better instincts. He

would enter the barn and if the horses were not too excited by his

presence, he would kill one. It would be hard because of his weakness but

he could drag one of them off. If the large animals made too much noise

before he made his attack, he would run off into the woods, wait until

much later then return, and this time he would carry off the hog meat

instead of one of the horses.

He crossed the yard still covered in snow. His feet crunched beneath

his feet but not so loud as to alert the dogs, for they were the ears for the

old man. This human had shot him once and he didn’t want that to happen

again.

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He stood in the gloom of the barn. He smelled the horses in a stall,

both of them. Quietly, he crept forward. He reached their stall and peered

into the darkness. He saw them lying down. He stepped through the open

doorway and moved on inside with them.

Both horses leaped up at the same time. Together they raised a loud

din of panic. He could feel the fright in their screams. This was not good.

One of them attempted to pass by him to escape outside, but he stood in

the way. It reversed course then and attacked the south wall. The kicking

racket along with the screaming voices of both creatures would surely

bring the old man out with his dangerous stick.

He spun on his heel and ran out of the barn. He crossed the yard in

long strides, running full out. As he reached the edge of the woods, he

heard the popping sound that he associated with the bright stinging

sensation that day when the old man shot at him.

He felt no pain this time. No stinging sensation like the other time

—no pain at all. He ran on into the forest and five minutes later he was far

away from the old man’s shelter. He stopped and waited to see if the man

followed, if he did follow, he would kill him. He sat there for fifteen

minutes and learned that he was not being pursued. He would wait here

until later—early in the morning before daylight, he would return and this

time he would come up from the south and enter the smokehouse for the

hog that he hoped still hung there from a rafter.

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A long period passed, likely four, maybe five hours. He stood up

and strode off back the way he had just come from in his run away from

the man’s cabin. He traveled to the south and at the point halfway between

the hogpen and the smokehouse, he stepped out of the brush and walked

quickly back toward the smokehouse.

He had noticed earlier that the old man had not repaired the

shattered wall of the place that held the meat he needed for survival.

Moments later, he stepped inside the structure and saw that three

sides of meat still hung there. For some reason, the old man had avoided

the meat. But didn’t know it was because his defecation much earlier had

spoiled the meat for the old man or that he planned to burn the structure

down and build a new one.

He hauled down the hung pork sides, tossed them over his shoulder,

although he was so famished he was challenged not to avoid eating a

portion of it right here. But he fought down the desire, stepped back

through the shattered wall and on outside the structure. He left the one

side hanging there.

He peered at the barn before revealing himself to the long stretch of

open area that he must cross to reach the safety of the woods. He heard no

movement inside the barn, no scuffling, no nickering, no sound at all. The

animals inside had settled down.

He stepped forward out into the light of the half-moon and when he

heard no challenge from the cabin, he ran as swiftly as possible across the

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snowy yard and entered the forest. Just as he did so, he heard the pop of

the old man’s stick. He hurried his pace and walked on still nearly starved

down.

Ten minutes passed. This was as long as he could go. He dropped

the two sides of pork meat in the snow and attacked it. He stuffed his

mouth until he was in danger of suffocating, then settled down to a steady,

noisy chomping to masticate the meat. A half-hour later, he stopped

stuffing away the meat. He was nearing satisfaction. At least he could go

back to the shelter and eat the rest of his meal without the need to keep

searching for danger constantly.

Later, he walked the narrow ledge high above the river, entered the

shelter, and passed on inside. He stepped past the body of the juvenile,

careful not to step on it. For some reason, he was more respectful of the

body than he had been of the child when it was still living. He knew the

coyotes and wolves would eat the body and scatter the bones later on after

he left the area. But there was nothing he could do about that. But he

would protect it from these creatures while he was still here. No coyote or

wolf would eat the child in his presence. If the deer didn’t come from

their dens he would find another lodging of a human and steal from his

stores.

His mate had not returned and nothing was left now to hold him

here he planned to press on in the direction he had taken when he had left

the old area of his youth. His instincts told him long ago this was the way

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to go. In time perhaps he would find a much deeper forest where the game

was more abundant, where he would never go hungry again. If his mate

didn’t follow him, his lust would force him to take a new one, if there

were any living there when he reached the deep forest he hoped to find.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Old Pugh heard the racket of the horses. The dogs sounded off as well.

They ran to the door, leaped upon it, and scratched to be let out. He knew

better than to allow this and wondered if they would even step outside if

he allowed it. They were as frightened of what lay on the outside of his

cabin as he was, perhaps even more so. Their cowardice had shown itself

the first time the creature had made his appearance.

“Hush up,” he said. He took his rifle, went to the door. “Now you

gents just shut up. You’re both too smart to charge outside to meet that

thing and you know it. Now shut up so I can listen.”

Pugh cracked the door. He held back the lead dog, Melvin, with a

foot that blocked his way. He peered out into the light of the half-moon

that lit the yard. He was just in time to see the creature reach the woods

and soon disappear. He fired at it all the same with no expectation for

success.

He moved back and closed the door. He said, “Well, there you go,

good sirs. He’s gone and don’t you dare strike up again. I’ve had too

much of your yapping already.”

His guests, Belle and Ben Loops, had returned to their own house

and taken up their own chores. So, he felt alone as he ever had in his life.

He sort of enjoyed their company while they were here and now that they

were gone, he missed their idle chitchat. He had nearly forgotten what it

was to hear the voice and calm good sense women often make. His own

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wife had filled his cabin with such as this. But no more. She was gone

forever. Soon, he would join her. At least this was his warmest and most

fervent desire.

He sat at the table with the rifle across his lap. He thought of the

offer his wife’s brother had presented him. He would have taken the offer

if not for leaving his wife here. She would be all alone here in her grave

and though he was well aware that she wouldn’t know of it, he couldn’t

bring himself to do that. With his decision made, he felt much better in

mind than he had been ever since his brother-in-law had invited him to

come to live with him. His place was here with her. He made a mental

note to ask Ben Loops to bury him alongside Sarah. He had already dug

his own grave where it lay filled with frozen rain, covered by snow. Just

waiting for him to die. A gent never knew for sure when his days were

over. The hump of dirt lay nearby just waiting for someone to drop it on

his body and fill up the grave. This further satisfied his mind.

After a spell, he thought of all he had in his mind, and with the dogs

sleeping by the stove, he climbed back in bed.

Adam Pugh awoke before the sun rose, for this late in the season, it

always slept late, but the old man had little desire to do that as well.

Soon, he would have time to rest. Now he planned to enjoy this world as

best he could.

The dogs were at his side as he ate his bacon and enjoyed his

coffee, taking small sips at a time to avoid a burnt tongue for that would

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mess up his sense of taste until it healed. As he ate, he wondered what to

do about the enormous beast that had taken a liking to his woods and

especially to his pork meat. He figured he could enlist Ben Loops in

joining him on a hunt for the beast. Ben had said that he knew where the

animal had its den. So it would merely take a long walk and a true shot

from their rifles to do the beast in. Ben Loops was likely ten years

younger than Pugh the old man thought, but the trip would be filled with

danger for them both. Loops had already suffered a badly strained knee.

So the old man decided to do it the easy way.

Later he and his dogs went out to do the feeding and as they

returned he saw the tracks the beast had left in the night. He followed

them. The hackles of the dogs’ backs stood upright at attention. As he

stepped closer to the rift in the wall, they commenced growling in their

bravest voices.

He peered inside, and sure enough, two of the slabs of meat were

missing. Only a half of one hog still hung there.

“I thought so, gents,” he. Well, I suspect he’ll be back in a few days

or so. We’ll fix him then. Now hush up and come with me.”

He hitched the horses to the wagon and drove off toward Louvin. He

didn’t see Loops as he passed by his house but that was all right, if he was

out and about when he returned later, he would stop and chat then. He

would ask him then to drop him in his grave as a favor, then fill it in with

dirt. But right now, he had a special assignment to carry out.

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Old Pugh drove on and in time reached Louvin. He stopped first at

the post office to check if he had any mail. On top of that, he planned to

mail the letter to his brother-in-law, rejecting his offer to live with him. It

had taken him some time to write it down and hoped Sarah’s brother

would not be insulted at his refusal. The man was probably as lonesome as

he was. His wife had died even longer back then Sarah had. By now, he

was plenty ready for his well-deserved rest.

The same young teller that had bought the envelope that was

postmarked “Darling, Delaware” served him.

“Check on my mail will you, please sir,” he said.

Pugh considered this fellow to be a youngster still, although he was

likely in his early thirties.

“Yes sir,” he said, and as he walked off to check the slots for mail,

he said, “I hope there’s another letter from Darling.”

But Pugh doubted that. In fact, he had no expectations of receiving

any letter at all, but since he was here to mail the letter he had so

laboriously written, the boy might as well check his box for incoming

mail.

Later he returned. He said, “No sir. No letter. Not even an add

circular. That’s probably good, though. Now you won’t have to worry

about disposing of the thing.”

Pugh passed him the letter addressed to his brother-in-law.

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“Well, sent to Darling I see. I hope you get a piece of return mail,

Mr. Pugh.”

“If so, I’ll give you the stamp if that’s what you want.”

He left the post office then and spoke to his dogs as they both stood

upon the wagon seat trying to take in all the frantic movement of horses

and buggies and wagons as well as foot traffic, and tried to do it all at the

same time, which forced them to spin on their feet in turning to follow all

the activity.

As long as they were occupied they would behave themselves. He

entered the store.

He left the general store with a bundle under an arm. The item he

had bought was wrapped up tightly in three layers of newspaper. He

climbed in the wagon, placed his bundle at his feet, lifted the reins, and

struck out back toward home.

As it turned out, Ben Loops was in his barn dropping hay into a

stall that housed his team. Pugh turned in and drove up to the barn and

stopped. Loops halted work and peered outside as if he couldn’t see good

enough to recognize who had just driven up to his barn in a wagon. Pugh

figured this was because he was looking from the gloom of the barn out

into the brightness of daylight.

Pugh watched him lean his pitchfork against the outer wall of the

stall, and step toward him.

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“Why looky here,” he said. “If it ain’t the old-timer. How’re you

doing, mister? You step down from that wagon and we’ll go inside. We’ll

see if Belle ain’t got some coffee left from lunch.”

“Well, sir,” Pugh said. “I’m in kind of a hurry. If you want to know

the truth.”

“Hellfire, old-timer, you might just rush yourself into an early

grave if you don’t watch out.” Loops laughed then. He seemed to have

healed nicely from his sprained knee, Pugh saw. “You just step out of that

wagon and walk with me up to the house. Belle is nearly as starved for

good company as I am. We’ll drink some coffee and she was fixing to

bake a pie today. You like pie?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Well, come with me then, and we’ll see if we can find us a slab.

You like dried apple pie, I suspect?”

“Yes sir. I do.” This was all the temptation needed to fetch him off

the wagon seat and into the house.

They sat at the table each eating a slice of pie and drinking coffee.

Pugh finished his and slid the empty plate back out of his way, and sipped

his coffee.

“Mister Pugh, do you want another slice?” Belle Loops said.

He wanted one very much but wasn’t ready to show off his hoggish

appetite for sweets. “No ma’am. I reckon not.”

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“We got plenty,” she assured him as all people do who have

suffered through periods of lean times. “I baked three of them.”

“I’d love another one, ma’am. But I have to refuse. I got things I

want to ask of your husband.”

“Should I leave then, sir?” she said.

“No ma’am. You stay here with us. It’s not often I get to hear the

gentle voice of a woman.”

Ben Loops roared out in laughter. “Pugh, you should hear her when

she’s in a rough mood. She sure ain’t gentle then or even close to it.”

She slapped him on the shoulder and sat back in her chair with her

coffee cup sending up curls of steam

“What is it you need of me, old-timer?” Loops said.

Belle stood up and walked to the stove, fetched back the coffeepot,

and poured Pugh’s cup full. Ben Loops shoved his cup out for a refill too.

She shoved it back. “Nope. If you recall, sir, you ain’t supposed to get too

keen with the coffee.” She walked the pot back to the stove, while Loops

sat there disappointed. “She said over her shoulder, “I let you have this

cup because you have company, Ben. So don’t get used to it.”

By and by, old Pugh got around to asking the favor he’d stop by to

ask. “You know I already dug my grave right there alongside Sarah’s side.

What I need is to see if when I die you’ll drop me in it and cover me up.”

Ben Loops looked shocked at this. Eventually, he got over it and

said, “Of course, old-timer. I’ll do it. Be danged glad to.”

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“Thank you, sir,” Pugh said. “I figured you would but if I hadn’t

asked how would you have known to do it, right? Another thing is, my

pups. I would like to know if you might be able to take them in as well?

They are great dogs to drive creatures with as I’m sure you already know

that.”

Loops sat there so long in thought, old Pugh thought for sure that he

was about to turn him down. “I’d be most pleased to have your dogs. They

are what you say too. I’ve watched them drive your hogs off to market

ever since you got them. I’ve always wanted a pair like those. I’m right

thrilled you thought to give them to me, old-timer. Sure as the world, I

am.”

Pugh told him then that the beast had returned and robbed his

smokehouse again. “I plan to kill them or at least the big male. I haven’t

seen his missus lately or the child either. So I don’t know if they’re still

hanging around.”

“I know where they got their nest,” Loops told him. “Any time you

want we’ll go hunt them up.”

Pugh saw Belle wrinkle her face at this and figured she was fixing

to protest. “Nah,” he said. “I aim to do it the easy way. Later on, I’ll come

to fetch Ben and he can lead me up to their nest to see if I got him.

“I reckon if I didn’t slay him, well what with the other two there, if

they are, we’ll have to shoot our way out of there.” He turned to Belle

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then. “Will you loan me your husband for a morning, ma’am? I’d sure

appreciate it.” The way the old man had phrased it, left her little choice.

“I guess so if you promise to bring him back all of a piece, sir. I’m

too old to go off in search of another one.”

All three laughed at this. Pugh visited longer than he had planned

but he was in dire straits for human company and was reluctant to leave.

Later, she offered him a third cup of coffee, so he knew it was time to

leave. He had chores yet to do and figured that Loops did as well.

He drove back home in a good mood for the company had fired his

spirit. It was good to have friends. He had cleared up the matter with his

grave, as well as what to do with the pups. He experienced a warm,

peaceful satisfaction as he backed his wagon and team into the barn at

home.

By the time he finished feeding the hogs the sun was down and he

didn’t have time to set his trap tonight. But tomorrow was another day, as

they say, and besides that, he was sure the beast would not return until it

had eaten the loot he’d stolen the last time. The dogs followed him as he

walked to the cabin and found their place at the stove and watched him as

he prepared their supper.

After they ate, he took up his old family bible and read again from

the Psalms. Following this, he smoked his pipe in peace and waited until

bedtime. By the time he crawled into bed, the dogs were fast asleep.

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Chapter Thirty-Eight

The next day Pugh took down the package he’d obtained at the General

Store in Louvin. He carried it to the smokehouse with the dogs looking on

as if they were fixing to offer their advice.

He unwrapped the package then put on a pair of gloves shrunken

from sweat and the sun. They had no holes in them, though, for he didn’t

want any of the poison to invade the skin. He smeared the strychnine all

over the inside and outside of the side of pork hanging from its ceiling

timber. He smeared the dope on so thick that he allowed that even a small

amount would kill the beast. He had used it before to get rid of foxes, and

although it had worked fine at the time, he fell on the idea much too late

to save his chickens. He figured by now, there would be a new batch of

foxes in the area that had moved in. If he ever wanted to raise more hens

he would need to use the agent again when the foxes made their return. He

finished his little project, wrapped up what was left, and placed it high on

a rafter so his dogs didn’t get in it and kill themselves.

He wasn’t after foxes this time. It was a bigger beast that he needed

to eliminate now. Finished setting his trap, he stood back, removed the

gloves, and studied his work. The strychnine covered the side of meat so

well that it shone in the light of day. He wondered then if he might have

gone too heavy with it. He saw no way he could have done so though, so

he felt completely satisfied with his work.

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“Now, Melvin,” he said in a satisfied voice, “I suspect the rest is up

to Big Red.”

*****

Several days following old Pugh’s visit to their place, Ben Loops, and

Belle talked, over breakfast.

“How does he plan to shed the world of that beast, Ben?” Belle

forked up a bite of egg and watched her husband, in wait for an answer.

Loops was more interested right then in eating than any other thing but

eventually, he paused, looked up from his plate, and said, “He didn’t say.

He didn’t say. But I think I know how he plans to do it.”

Belle chewed her egg and then took a bite of bacon. “Why? Is it a

secret, or what?” She spoke around her salty piece of bacon.

“He’s an old man,” Ben answered and then attacked his eggs again.

“You know how silly old people sometimes get.”

“How is he going to do it then?”

“Strychnine.”

“Strychnine? What on earth is strchnine?”

Loops sipped his coffee, going at it slowly to make it last longer

because of the coffee diet imposed on him by his wife. “Strychnine is a

poison often used to kill varmints, foxes, and rats and such as that or any

creature you want to rid yourself of.”

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Belle paused and studied him. She then sipped her coffee from her

saucer using both hands. “Have we ever used it? I mean you. Have you

ever used it?”

“Nope. I started to once a few years ago when the barn was being

overrun with rats. But I decided to shoot them instead. I took my .22 rifle,

and sat in the hayloft, looking down on the breezeway and shot them

varmints by the barrow load.”

“That was the noise I heard then,” she said. “A few years back

seems to me.”

“I reckon it was. By the time I finished my massacre I had used up

so many shells I allowed it would have been cheaper if I’d used strychnine

instead. It took me a good long time to pick up all them varmints, toss

them in the barrow and haul them off.”

*****

Adam Pugh was confused. He had expected Old Red to return by now, and

haul off the poisoned meat. It had been two weeks. He still hadn’t taken

the bait.

“Well, Melvin, why is it you reckon that old boy ain’t come back

yet? Maybe he lit out for more prosperous pickings. Wouldn’t that be a

blessing though?”

Melvin looked up at the old man with a look on his face that old

Pugh thought for a time that he might tell him the answer to his question

at any moment.

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He and the two dogs left the smokehouse where they had just run

their trap and headed to the granary to fetch his bucket of corn to feed the

hogs. Afterward, they returned and entered the cabin where he started

supper.

*****

The red beast was now killing deer. They had returned just a day before he

was to return to the old man’s smokehouse to replenish his pork supply

and he still hadn’t decided to move on. The animals he killed, however,

were lean and extremely skinny because of their enforced starvation.

There was absolutely no fat at all on their bones and this made for poor

eating. All deer were lean, but they did have some fat on them and this

gave them flavor. He now enjoyed the pork of the old man’s smokehouse

over them and would until they fed enough to replenish their fat.

Tonight, he would return to the old man’s place and steal the last of

the pork. This would last until the deer fed enough to gain at least a

portion of their fat, for he was tired of killing them and being able to eat

but a small amount of them because of their shrunken size. When the deer

returned back to their normal state he would feast on them once again.

The pork still hanging in the smokehouse would last him a short time.

Next, he would have to return to the other human’s place, although this

man was younger and possessed more determination and stamina than did

the old man, which made him more dangerous. That and the fact of the

sticks he carried with him all the time made him nearly his equal in size.

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He passed by the corpse of the juvenile—his child—left the shelter,

climbed the hill to the top, and took off in a hurry through the forest.

Later, he squatted and made a survey of the old man’s yard. He failed to

see him anywhere, but humans he had found were unpredictable, and he

waited a long time to make sure.

He saw the light from inside the old man’s shelter through the tiny

cracks in the door. He saw that if light penetrated it through to the

outside, that it would be possible to rip the door off and enter the cabin if

he ever needed to do so. Right now, however, he preferred stealth over

brute force. Just because the human that occupied the cabin was old didn’t

mean he was too weak to ignite the fire, the lead, and the noise from his

weapon. He scented the two dogs inside the cabin as well. He was safe

from them. They were no danger to him physically except they had acute

hearing and would alert the old man, which would bring him outside with

his stick.

He sat there in the brush for likely a half-hour. In time, he stood up

and rushed across the yard and on up to the damaged wall on the south

side of the cabin away from any eyes that might want to search for danger.

He saw the lone jug of honey and the sight caused him to nearly

throw up his stomach of the poor deer meat he had eaten. One of the bad

things about stealing food from humans he had learned was that sometimes

the food they used was bad for him and his kind.

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Without looking at the pork meat, he took the side down from the

hook that tethered it there. He stepped outside, paused at the corner of the

smokehouse, and listened intently. He heard nothing of danger and boldly

stepped out into the open, exposed to the cabin. He rushed across the

barren yard and entered the woods. He didn’t stop until he was far from

the cabin. He dropped the pork meat on the snow that remained on the

ground and tore off a large hunk. His sharp teeth ripped off a mouthful

and held it in hand. As he was fixing to stuff it deep into his mouth, he

saw something glisten in the poor light of the forest. He chewed on. The

pork was bad. For some reason, it tasted much different than it had before.

He spat out the mouthful and looked at the remainder of the meat. The

interior of the pork side was covered completely with something that he

figured was bad for him, at least it tasted bad. Because the honey he had

stolen had made him sick, he was now wary of any food he stole from the

old man. The surface of the meat shone in the light where the old man had

smeared it too heavily with strychnine. This glistening warned him of

danger and had likely saved his life.

The old man’s over diligence had given away his trap.

The red creature rose to his full height. He tossed back his head and

roared out his anger. The sound rang loudly throughout the forest and any

being on the other side of the river far away could have heard it easily so

great did it burst through the trees of the forest.

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He stalked off and left it for whatever creature that might possess a

stronger stomach than his.

He walked at first aimlessly but by and by he found himself near the

smokehouse of the other human. If the man there hadn’t repaired and

strengthened the rent in the wall he had torn off, he would have little

trouble entering and carrying off enough pork to last him for some time.

Shortly, he reached the field that he’d crossed some time ago and

had been shot at by this man. He passed through the small area of woods

that was a buffer between the property of this human and the true forest

north of the field.

He stopped at the edge of the woods, squatted, and made a

reconnaissance of the farm buildings as well as the man’s house. His

olfactory senses told him that nothing had changed, the hogs were still in

their pen. The horses were inside the barn. The chickens—too small for

him to bother with—were on their roost in the rafters of the barn. His nose

told him too that there still were no dogs here. He felt secure.

His stomach growled at him as if it were his enemy. He rubbed it

vigorously until it stopped protesting. He then stepped out from behind

the brush that had hidden him, crossed the road that by now showed the

passage of wagons coming and going, which had worn down the snow that

had previously hidden its presence.

As he neared the smokehouse his stomach growled at him again

announcing its need for attention. He walked on. Soon, he stood before the

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rent in the wrecked wall. He peered inside wary of an ambush of any kind.

He detected no danger nearby and stepped inside.

He chose the fattest side of pork he saw hanging from its hook. He

tossed it over a shoulder and selected another one as if he were at a

butcher shop. He slung it over the other shoulder and stepped with caution

outside. He hadn’t awoken the hogs or the horses. Not even a chicken

scuffled about in the barn. He hurried across the road and when he

reached the field he stopped, lay the pork down, studied it closely for

danger. He found nothing that warned him off so he ate a good portion of

meat, and when his stomach was somewhat satisfied, he took up his

burdens again.

Just as he reached the ledge leading to his shelter tiny flakes of

snow fell. Likely it would amount to nothing. He stepped inside, finished

eating all he desired, lay the pork aside, lay down, and fell asleep.

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Chapter Thirty-Nine

The sun had yet to poke its head over the east hill, which was usual at this

time of year when old Pugh went out to feed the creatures. The sun always

seemed lazy at this time of the year. So he missed the fresh tracks coming

from the woods, across the yard, and into the smokehouse. So he finished

feeding the horses and then went inside the cabin to feed himself and his

dogs.

At ten o’clock and with the sun swinging free of all earthly

obstacles and shining brightly he stepped outside again. At some time the

horses had shoved out a few logs in the south wall. He figured this had

happened the night he had heard them screaming their heads off. At any

rate, he needed to repair the damage done.

As he walked, the dogs ran ahead as brave as knights of old. He saw

the fresh tracks of the red beast. He marveled at their huge size.

He stopped. The dogs noticed he had done so and they too stopped

and soon walked back to him.

“Bless me,” Pugh mumbled. “Big Red done made his return, Melvin.

He finally got hungry.”

He walked on to the barn, passed it by, and walked to the south side

of the smokehouse. He peered inside through the damaged wall.

“Just as I figured, boys. He took the bait. Took long enough. But

later is better than never, I suspect.”

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He planned to allow several days to pass before he called on Ben

Loops to go with him on a search of the beast. He worked on the wall of

the stall that the horses had shoved out then. Finished, he walked outside

with the dogs in a trail. It was time for his dinner bacon and a cup of

coffee.

He heard a rig approaching and stopped on the porch and watched as

Ben Loops and his wife, Belle came wheeling up the lane flinging snow

off to the sides in slight flurries from beneath the wheels.

“Old-timer,” Loops called out even before he reached the cabin.

Pugh knew by the urgency in his voice that something was afoot. He

waited until Loops pulled up and stopped.

“Listen here, old-timer,” Loops said. “That thief returned to my

smokehouse again last night.”

“Yours too?”

“Yes sir, that’s what I’m telling you. He carried off that whole hog

I bought from you this time. The last time he took two of them—old

ones.”

This was curious. Pugh wondered why Big Red had robbed him and

his neighbor on the same night.

“I grabbed up my gun and was fixing to follow him again, but Belle

wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I told him that if he was fixing to run off chasing, that beast

through the forest that I wouldn’t stay there, Mr. Pugh. That creature

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might still be there in the woods below the house waiting for an

opportunity to come inside.”

Pugh invited them in with Loops wanting to rush off right then in

pursuit of the robber. But he managed to calm down long enough to step

inside following Belle and with old Pugh bringing up the rear.

Pugh wondered what would make his cabin any safer than their own

house, but he didn’t utter this thought aloud. It was certain that he

wouldn’t dare take her along with them on their hunt.

Old Pugh took his Winchester, loaded it, and stuffed a pocket of his

overalls with cartridges. He was ready. It was time to kill the fearsome

beast or to pack up and leave. He was much too old to hunt up another

place to live in. There were no options left to him. He had to kill the

beast.

“I’m going with you, Ben Loops,” Belle said.

“No!” Loops said.

Pugh saw by the stern set of his jaws that Loops was determined

that she stay, but the one word of protest was all he managed to say.

He decided to help him out. “Missus Loops, would you do me a

favor, please, ma’am.”

She turned to him and said, “It depends on what it is, Mr. Pugh.”

“My dogs won’t stay here by themselves—I wonder if you could

stay here and watch out for them?”

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Belle Loops stared at his face studying it for any signs that he was

trying to treat her childishly. By and by, she sighed in defeat. Evidently,

the look on the old man’s face turned her from her plan of going with

them. “Yes. I reckon I will.” She turned then to her husband. “Ben Loops.

If you get hurt or killed. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do without you.

So don’t you dare do anything too foolish.”

Loops started to reply, but she cut him off. She said then to old

Pugh, “Mr. Pugh will you see he doesn’t do anything that’ll get him

killed?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, “I’ll do it, For sure, I will. We’ll be back

before dark.”

“See you do,” she said. She turned then, found the old man’s often

neglected broom, and started sweeping the floor to ban her worries.

The dogs attempted to go with them but Pugh managed to persuade

them to stay by driving them from the with a foot that obstructed their

path.

They crossed the yard, entered the woods, and later they found the

remains of the discarded side of pork that the old man had rubbed up with

strychnine.

“Something alerted him to danger,” Pugh said.

Ben Loops bent over the pork side and studied it. He saw the shine

of the strychnine in the sunshine. “Here’s the reason, old-timer. You put

the dope on much too heavy. He likely saw it, maybe smelled it too, if it

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has an odor, which I can’t detect, but sure ain’t going to stick my nose up

close enough to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Well, sir,” Pugh said, “I’d hoped he’d eat enough of that stuff to

bring him down, but it seems likely he didn’t swallow any at all. See,

there’s where he tasted some and spit it out on the ground.” He pointed

toward a large piece of meat that had been chewed on but likely hadn’t

been enough to harm the beast.

“Well, one thing’s for now, Loops. He won’t be dead when we find

him, and that’s exactly what I’d planned on too. Ahh well.”

“He made it all the way to my place old-timer, so it didn’t bother

him a lick.”

“Lets’ get,” Pugh said.

They reached the hill that overlooked the river. They then stood and

looked out across the void between where they now stood and the river

bottom for a time.

By and by, Ben Loops took a better grip on his rifle, and said, “This

is it then, I reckon. You want to you can turn around and go back home,

old-timer. This is probably as dangerous as anything we ever faced before

in our lifetime, even during the war, and that was plenty dangerous.”

In a disgusted voice, Pugh said, “What am I supposed to say to your

missus if I come dragging in without you, Loops? Don’t talk that kind of

nonsense to me ever again, Ben.”

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Down the hill they walked, going at it with their feet turned slightly

to the slant of the hillside, fighting the tug of gravity that attempted with

each step taken to drop them all the way down to the river bottom. They

reached the ledge and Loops paused. He pointed ahead. Old Pugh saw the

cave or what looked like a cave from this angle. He nodded and they crept

on.

Minutes later, they reached the point where they would need to

climb several yards up the steep bank to reach the entrance. Pugh knew

that one slip and he would likely be way below in a matter of seconds,

that or in the top of one of the tall sycamore trees on the hillside below

the ledge. He saw the deer hides down there that Big Red’s mate had

tossed off the ledge to the crows for cleaning before she reclaimed what

few she would be able to, for some of them were too high up to knock

down with a stick.

Loops looked into Pugh’s face and mouthed, “Ready?”

Old Pugh nodded and Loops scaled the bank and waited there. Pugh

reached him next and together they stepped inside. The first thing the old

man saw was the corpse of the juvenile, dead now for some time. He saw

too that this was merely a shelter instead of a full-sized cave. The sight of

the juvenile chilled him slightly. In the face, the young beast looked too

much like a human youngster for him to comprehend. Farther back in the

shelter, he noticed bones lying scattered around in abundance—bones of

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animals the creatures had slain and eaten. The entire place stank like

nothing he’d smelled in his lifetime.

Big Red reared up from his bed then and both men stepped

backward in fright. He reached his full height. He seemed to loom above

them even from this distance and was too huge for human belief. No

wonder he could pack off two whole hogs with little trouble. The beast

likely weighed more than four hundred.

The beast was surprised to see them there. He hesitated.

Loops froze in place. The beast eventually took a step toward them,

and both men came out of their mystified trance.

Loops fired his rifle off. His slug was followed instantly by one

from the old man’s weapon.

Instead of falling, the beast lunged closer. Pugh fired again, jacked

the spent casing out, and fired again, backing for the entrance at the same

time. He heard Loops firing his rifle, and the small shelter rang his head

with the enormous booming of both rifles, magnified by the enclosed

space. He heard slugs whine past his ears as they bounced off the walls

and zipped on outside.

Big Red forced them backward, all the way to the entrance. Pugh

watched him gather himself as if he were fixing to leap across a wide

chasm. Loops fired again. The old man fired at nearly the same instant.

The beast roared then and the sound of his voice so near almost

forced Pugh to his knees. Both men fired into his wide chest and backed

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all the way outside. Pugh pulled the trigger of his Winchester just then,

but the rifle had spat out its last cartridge. Ben Loops fired off another

one. Pugh watched as dust flew from the fearsome beast’s hairy chest. He

dug into a pocket of his overalls and slid down to the ledge. He was soon

joined by Loops who was digging for more cartridges as well.

“Lord,” the old man whispered. “His face … is so human.”

The beast slid down the bank to the ledge, regained his balance, and

stumbled toward them, wounded but Pugh knew not how badly. Shells fell

from Loops hands, so rushed was he to slip them into the cartridge

chamber.

Old Pugh took time to reload five cartridges only. He shouted to

Loops, “Get down Ben. Get out of my way.”

Ben Loops fell to a knee and continued loading.

Old Pugh fired and hit the beast squarely in the area of the heart. He

jacked out the spent cartridge casing and fired again. The beast was nearly

on Ben Loops. Loops had his attention on loading his rifle and didn’t look

up to see how close to death he was.

Pugh fired until his weapon was empty.

The beast stopped his stumbling charge. He stepped back a few feet,

then took another backstep. By and by, he attempted to turn around and

walk off in the opposite direction. His turning weight swung him much too

far to the side and gravity combined with his weight, plunged him over the

edge and down into the void below.

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Old Pugh sank then to both knees, nearly in shock. His rifle was

still in hand, empty now. He came around eventually and listened for a

time to the hard breathing of his hunting partner.

“Ben. Ben Loops. You hear me?” His own voice was shaky at best.

But Loops was breathing in gasps that didn’t penetrate deep into the lungs

where he needed it.

“Ben?”

“I hear you, old-timer,” he wheezed out finally.

Pugh felt a warm sensation of relief then. Later, he stood up and

stepped toward Loops. Before he reached him, however, Loops gained his

feet, wobbly as a newborn.

“I thought sure you were done for, Ben. What would I have said to

your wife?”

Loops attempted to chuckle. It fell flat, though. In time, he said,

“You right sure we ain’t both done in, old-timer? I figure we might have

died and are just living through our memories.” He chuckled again. This

time it rang out full of confidence.

Ben slapped him on the shoulder. “We got him, mister. We got that

fell beast.”

They sat down with their feet dangling over the ledge like boys out

for an adventure.

“Do you see him down there, anywhere, Ben?”

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“That’s what happened to him then? The last I knew was I was

loading my rifle. I looked up to see he was somehow gone. I was fixing to

attribute it to divinity.”

“Yes, sir. I emptied my rifle in him. It took forever, but finally, the

slugs took effect. He plunged off into the chasm. He’s down there

somewhere, but I don’t see him.”

Loops reached out and gripped the old man’s shoulder. “Listen, old-

timer, whatever you do, don’t speak to Belle about how close she was to

being a widow.”

“I’ll keep this to myself, Ben. Don’t worry. You can tell her we

killed the thing right easy—if that’s what you want. Another thing we

need to keep to ourselves is this critter we killed. No one will believe it if

we do tell.”

“Thanks, Adam. She’d never let me out of the house if she knew the

truth.

“You’re right about the beast too. We’ll keep mum on that one as

well. The last thing I need is to go into town and be put upon by folks

laughing at me.”

After several minutes of careful searching, Ben Loops pointed

downward. “There he is Pugh. I see him lying down there. By that big

white rock that’s pretty much free of lichen, he might have landed on it

and slid off to the side.”

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Old Pugh looked and looked. Finally, he too saw the beast. By the

position the thing was lying in all crumpled up down there, there was no

doubt it was dead.

When they were able to move about, they entered the shelter. The

stench was nearly overwhelming. But they both wanted to study the

juvenile closely. It wasn’t every day they would see a creature like this.

They marveled in silence at the sight of this man-beast. In time,

they arose and stepped back out to the ledge.

“Wonder where the female is?” Old Pugh said.

“We’ll go off in a little search. If we see her tracks, we’ll follow

them.” He studied the sky for a time then continued, “Looks like there is

still good light left. We need to do her in too.”

Later, Pugh located the female’s tracks in the snow, as she moved

gradually down toward the river bottom.

They followed the tracks to the bottom then struck out tracking

them upstream. In time, they found where the tracks stopped.

“She’s forded the river here, old-timer. I see her tracks where she

came out. See them over there.”

The old man’s eyesight was not as keen as was Loops but he finally

saw them too. The tracks disappeared where she took to the heavy brush.

“I do see them, mister. I think she’s left the country. Her tracks are

several days old—if not even older.”

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They turned and followed their own tracks back to the top of the

hill. They sat down and caught their wind and relaxed their tired muscles

and shattered nerves.

They decided it was time to hit for home. They got up and walked

up the grade and when they reached level ground, old Pugh said, “Let’s

hope she stays gone, Ben Loops. Better pray she does.”

“You say you emptied your rifle in that animal before he keeled

over, Adam?”

“Yes, I did. All five shells that I managed to load and them just in

time.”

Ben Loops stopped and caught Pugh up and stopped him as well. He

stared into the old man’s face as if to say something more. In time, he

merely shook his head, dropped Pugh’s arm, and walked off up to grade,

chuckling with every step. “Five lousy shells were all that stood between

me and death.”

“And five was plenty enough too,” Old Pugh told him.

Loops continued chuckling until the strain of the steep incline put

the quietus to that.

*****

As the two friends bore off toward the old man’s cabin, a large male wolf

and his mate with a heavy stomach, obviously pregnant, watched them.

When the humans disappeared into the heavy brush, they turned and loped

off down the hillside. They took the ledge path. At the bank that led into

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the shelter, they leaped upward and cautiously entered. The juvenile lay

there as if in wait for them to feast upon his remains and scatter his bones

where no one would learn that he had once ever existed.

The End

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