V
The roads from Sheepscot Ridge down into Sheepscot Valley are for the most part rough and little used. An occasional farmer comes this way; an occasional fisherman drops from the steep descent to the bridge. But the frost has thrown boulders up across the road; and grass grows between the ruts, and the young hardwood crowds close on either side. Down this road, at Saladine’s direction, Proutt turned; and the westering sun shone through the leafless branches and laid a bright mosaic before the feet of the horse.
Halfway down the hill Saladine spoke. “Let’s light out,” he said. “We’ll find something up along this slope.”
Westley nodded; and Proutt, after a moment’s hesitation, stopped his horse. They got out, and Reck danced about their feet. Proutt tied the horse to a sapling beside the road; and they climbed the ruined stone wall and turned into the wood. Westley alone had a gun; the others were unarmed.
The course Saladine set for them was straight along the slope, moving neither up nor down; and the three men, accustomed to the woods, went quickly. Westley spoke to Reck now and then. His only word was the hunter’s command. “Get in there,” he said. “Get in. Go on.” And Reck ranged forward, and up, and down, covering a front of half a dozen rods as they advanced. Westley was in the middle, Saladine was below, Proutt above the other two.
Westley had suggested putting his hunting bell on Reck; but Proutt negatived that with a caustic word. “He’d know, then, you wanted birds,” he said. “And, anyways, it’d scare the deer.” So they followed the dog by sight or by the stirring of his feet among the leaves; and at times he was well ahead of them, and at times when he moved more slowly they were close upon his heels. At such moments Westley held them back till Reck should work ahead.
Whether Reck had any knowledge of what was in their minds, no man can say. There were moments when they saw he was uncertain, when he turned to look inquiringly back at them. But for the most part he worked steadily back and forth as a good dog will, quartering the ground by inches. And always he progressed along the ridge, and always they followed him. And Saladine, down the slope, watched Proutt as they moved on.
No man spoke, save that Westley urged Reck softly on when the dog turned back to look at them. And at the last, when he saw that Reck had found game, it needed no word to bring the three together, two or three rods behind the dog.
Reck, as the gunners say, was “marking game.” Nose down, he moved forward, foot by foot; and now and then he stopped for long seconds motionless, as though at point; but always he moved forward again. And Westley felt the cold sweat upon his forehead; and he looked at Proutt and saw the dog trainer licking his tight lips. Only Saladine kept a steady eye upon the dog and searched the thickets ahead.
After a rod or two Reck stopped, and this time he did not move. And Westley whispered to the others: “Walk it up, whatever it is. Move in.” So the men went slowly forward, eyes aching with the strain of staring into the shadows of the wood.
When Reck took his point he was well ahead of them. He held it while they came up beside him; and then, as they passed where the dog stood, something plunged in the brush ahead, and they all saw the swift flash of brown and the bobbing white tail as a buck deer drove straight away from them along the slope. And Proutt cried triumphantly:
“A deer, by God! I said it. I told you so. Shoot, Westley. Damn you, shoot!”
Westley stood still as still, and his heart was sunk a hundred fathoms deep. His hand was shaking and his eyes were blurred with tears. For Reck, who had no rightful concern with anything that roved the woods save the creatures which go on the wing, had marked a deer. Enough to damn him! Had hunted deer!...
He tried to lift the gun, but Saladine spoke sharply. “Hold on. Look at the dog. He didn’t chase the deer.”
Westley realized then that Reck was, in fact, still marking game, moving slowly on ahead of them. But Proutt cried: “He’d smelled it; he didn’t see it go. Or there’s another ahead.”
“He didn’t chase the deer,” said Saladine. Westley, without speaking, moved forward behind the dog. And of a second his heart could beat again.
For they came to where the buck had been lying, to his bed, still warm. And Reck passed over this warm bed, where the deer scent was so strong the men could almost catch it themselves; passed over this scent as though it did not exist, and swung, beyond, to the right, and up the slope. The buck had gone forward and down.
“He’s not after deer,” said Saladine.
They knew what he was after in the next instant; for wings drummed ahead of them, and four partridges got up, huge, fleeting shadows in the darkening woods. And Reck’s nose followed them in flight till they were gone, then swung back to Westley, wrinkling curiously, as though he asked:
“Why did you not shoot?”
Westley went down on his knees and put his arms about the dog’s neck; and then he came to his feet uncertainly as Proutt exclaimed: “Hell, he was after deer. He knew we were watching. Took the birds.”
Westley tried to find a word, but Saladine, that silent man, stepped forward.
“Westley,” he said, “wait a minute. You, Proutt, be still.”
They looked at him uncertainly, Proutt growling. And Saladine spat on the ground as though he tasted the unclean. “I’ve kept my mouth shut. Wanted to see. Meant to tell it in the end. Westley, Proutt broke your dog.”
Westley nodded. “Yes.” He looked at Proutt.
Westley began to tremble, and he could not take his eyes from Saladine; and Proutt broke out in a roaring oath, till Saladine turned slowly upon him.
The deer hunter went on: “I waited to see. I knowed what would come; but I wanted to see. A bird dog’s bred to birds. If he’s bred right, it’s in him. Reck’s bred right. You can make him run deer. Proutt did. But you can’t make him like it. Birds is his meat. You saw that just now. He didn’t pay any heed to that buck; but he did pay heed to the pa’tridge.”
Proutt cried: “Damn you, Saladine, you can’t say a thing like that.”
Saladine cut in: “I saw you. Month ago. Down by Fuller’s Brook. A deer crossed there, up into the meadow. You was in the alders with Reck, and you tried to set him on. He wouldn’t run, and you drove him. I saw you, Proutt.”
Westley looked down at Reck; and he looked at Proutt, the trainer; and he looked back at Reck again. There was something in Reck’s eyes which made him hot and angry; there was a pleading something in Reck’s slowly wagging tail.... And Westley turned to Proutt, cool enough now; and he said:
“I can see it now, Proutt. I’ve known there was something, felt there was something.” He laughed joyously. “Why, Proutt, you man who knows dogs. Didn’t you know you could not kill the soul and the honor of a dog like mine? Reck is a thoroughbred. He knows his work. And you—”
He moved a little toward the other. “Proutt,” he said, “I’m going to lick you till you can’t stand.”
Proutt’s big head lowered between his shoulders. “So—” he said.
And Westley stepped toward him.
Saladine said nothing; Reck did not stir; and the woods about them were as still as still. It was in this silence, before a blow could be struck, that they heard the sound of running feet in the timber above them; and Saladine said swiftly: “Deer!”
He moved, with the word, half a dozen paces back by the way they had come, to an old wood road they had crossed, and stood there, looking up the slope. Westley and Proutt forgot each other and followed him; and Reck stayed close at Westley’s heel. They could hear the beating feet more plainly now; and Saladine muttered:
“Scared. Something chasing it.”
On the word, abruptly startling them, the deer came into view—a doe, running swiftly and unwearied. Striking the wood road, the creature followed the easier going, down the slope toward them; and because they were so still it failed to discover the men till it was scarce two rods away. Sighting them then, the doe stopped an instant, then lightly leaped into the brush at one side, and was gone.
The men did not look after the deer; they waited to see what pursued it. And after a moment Saladine’s face grimly hardened, and Westley’s became somber and grave, and Proutt turned pale as ashes.
For, lumbering down the hill upon the deer’s hot trail, came Dan, that hound which Proutt had shut away at home—came Dan, hot on the trail as Proutt had taught him.
The dog saw them, as the deer had done, and would have swung aside. But Proutt cried, in a broken voice: “Dan, come in.”
So came the hound to heel, sullenly and slowly, eyes off into the wood where the doe had gone; and for a moment no one spoke, till Saladine slowly drawled:
“Westley, give Proutt your gun.”
Westley did not speak. He was immensely sorry for Proutt, and all his anger at the man had gone. Proutt looked old, and shaken, and weary; and he had dropped his heavy hand across Dan’s neck. He caught Westley’s eye and said harshly: “To hell with your gun. I’ll use my own.”
An instant more they stood; then Westley turned to Saladine. “Jim, let’s go,” he said. And Saladine nodded, and they moved away, Reck at Westley’s heels. After a moment, an odd panic in his voice, Proutt called after them: “Wait, I’ll ride you home.”
But Saladine answered: “I’ll walk!” And Westley did not speak at all. He and Reck and the deer hunter went steadily upon their way.
The sun was setting; and dark shadows filtered through the trees to hide old Proutt where he still stood close beside his dog.