chapter 10
The spring sun was warm on Bud's back as he bent over the freshly tilledgarden plot. He plucked a single strawberry plant from the tray besidehim, trimmed off a precise third of its roots with a pair of Gram's oldscissors and cut off a broken leaf. Then he scooped out a hole bigenough to let the remaining roots fan out. Strawberries must be plantednot too deep and not too shallow, Mr. Demarest had said, but at exactlythe right depth. Although there were several systems for establishing astrawberry bed, Mr. Demarest favored starting with the plants one footapart in rows three feet apart. This made for large fruit, he said; and,once the plants had matured so that they formed a matted row eighteeninches or two feet wide, there would still be enough space to weed,mulch and cultivate them.
The strawberry plant firmly imbedded, Bud was using a twelve-inch stickto measure the distance to the next one when Gramps came up behind himand said, "You're a thirty-second of an inch off."
Bud looked around and grinned. Gramps had been caustic when Bud hadasked him if he could rent a patch of ground for a strawberry bed.According to Gramps, the farm was used to good old-fashioned crops likepotatoes, corn, beans and oats, and wasn't likely to take kindly toanything so newfangled as strawberries. Anyhow, Gramps had wanted toknow, who in his right mind would think of planting cultivated berrieswhen you could go out in the fields and pick all the wild ones youwanted?
When Gram had reminded Gramps of the high price Pat Haley paid forcultivated berries, Gramps had replied that it was not his fault iffools and their money were soon parted. But if Bud wanted a strawberrypatch, and if he wanted to do all the work of plowing and preparing theplot himself, he wouldn't stop him. But he couldn't in all consciencecharge him rent because, as anybody could see, there would never be anyprofits. And if there were any, he could always reconsider.
Gramps became even more eloquent when Bud said that he wanted to plant araspberry and a blackberry patch as well as soon as he had the money tobuy plants. There were hundreds of raspberry tangles and blackberrythickets in Bennett's Woods, Gramps had pointed out, and anyone too lazyto go out in the woods and pick his own raspberries or blackberrieswould never earn enough money to buy cultivated ones. What was the worldcoming to, anyhow? In his day they had taught common sense instead offoolishness in school.
But actually the old man was delighted because Bud wanted to stay on andeventually take over Bennett's Farm. Bud knew that secretly Grampsapproved of the new venture and was being caustic because he didn't wantto inflate Bud's ego. Gramps was too realistic to stand in the way ofyoung blood and young ideas. He knew that it is inevitable for the youngto take over when the old can no longer carry on--just as Old Yellowfoothad relinquished his crown to the black buck. Bud had already provedthat purebred chickens would outproduce a mongrel flock, and Gramps hadreplaced his flock with White Wyandottes like Bud's. Although Gramps hadnever thought of growing cultivated berries, he saw its potential andlooked on Bud's new venture as a forward step that the young, not theold, should take.
"How many of those plants you got, Bud?" Gramps asked as he inspectedthe row Bud had planted so far.
"Two hundred."
"What'd you pay for 'em?"
"Forty dollars."
Gramps whistled. "Twenty cents each for those piddling little plants?"
"I could have had good plants for less," Bud said, "but Mr. Demarestrecommended these. They're bred especially for this climate and soil,and they're everbearing."
Gramps chuckled. "I mind the time Mother and me picked your first pen ofchickens. We might have had some real good ones for half what yourscost. But Mother said 'Delbert Bennett! If we're going to give that boychickens for Christmas, let's give him the best or none!' Now danged ifthey ain't running all over the farm."
"Are you sorry?" Bud queried.
"Oh, I could have done the same thing," Gramps said casually. "Matter offact, I was thinking about it. Will say, though, that the more you putin at the beginning the more you're like to take out at the end, and JoeDemarest usually knows what he's talking about. I expect your berrieswill do right well if drought don't get 'em, or flood rains don't wash'em out, or somebody's cattle don't trample 'em, or any of a coupledozen other things don't happen to 'em."
Gramps grinned, and then he said, "How long do you figure on being busy,Bud?"
"I'm not sure," Bud said. "I may be busy all morning." Two hundredstrawberry plants were not so many, but Mr. Demarest always made much ofthe importance of doing things the right way, and this was the firsttime Bud had done anything like this on his own. He was determined toplant them properly even if it took all day.
"Shucks," Gramps said. "I got me another trout spotted."
Bud glanced up eagerly. "You have?"
"Sure have," Gramps said. "He lives two pools below the one where we sawthe otter playing. He ain't as big as Old Shark, but he's big enough."
At first Bud was about to heel in the remaining strawberry plants andfinish the next day. Then he thought again. The plants had cost almostall the money he had been able to save and, far more important, he hadset out to accomplish something. Gramps was practically retired now andhe could do about what he pleased. But Bud couldn't.
"I'd like to, Gramps," he said reluctantly, "but I've got to get therest of these planted."
There was a brief silence before Gramps said, "Remember when we finallycaught up with Old Yellowfoot but didn't shoot him because his antlerswere no longer worth it? And remember the black buck we ran across whilewe were fetching a load of wood a while back?
"The more I think about him, the more I think he has a better rack ofantlers than Old Yellowfoot ever had. I got to get me one really goodhead 'fore I hang up my rifle, and that's the one. We'll line our sightson him next season sure, Bud."
Bud kept his head down so Gramps could not see his face. He could notharm the black buck, but neither could he hurt Gramps. He had hoped theold man would forget the black buck, but from the beginning he had knownthat was a forlorn hope. Gramps forgot nothing connected with Bennett'sWoods.
"What did you say, Bud?" Gramps asked.
"Why, sure we'll go deer hunting."
Gramps said, "We'll do more than that. We'll hunt the black buck andwe'll get him. Well, seeing that you're so all-fired busy, I might aswell start puttering about myself. Maybe I can even make Mother thinkI'm working for a change."
The old man left, and Shep rose from the grass in which he had beenlying down to tag behind him. All at once Bud felt that he knew why hewanted to stay on Bennett's Farm. Even though few people can write greatpoetry, compose deathless music, paint immortal pictures, the creativeurge could find its expression on the farm. Gram in her flawlesskitchen, Gramps among his crops or in the woods and fields he loved sodearly and understood so well, were truly creative and therefore trulyhappy. So was Mr. Demarest, the underpaid, overworked agricultureteacher at Haleyville High.
Bud did not understand the whys and wherefores, but he knew that hewouldn't change places with anyone on this bright spring day. Plantingstrawberries might not be the ultimate in human achievement, but Budknew that it suited him.
Then he frowned. Before preparing his strawberry bed, he had read allthe books he could find on the subject and had talked at length with Mr.Demarest. According to the directions, the plants had to be set outprecisely one foot apart in rows three feet apart. It was all very wellto go by the book, but conditions vary even from field to field, and Budrealized that he did not know enough to adapt the method of planting tomake it ideal for the special conditions of his strawberry bed. The morehe knew about farming, the more keenly he felt his ignorance. But he hadalmost abandoned his dream of getting a degree in agriculture. Even sohe was determined to learn anyhow. If he couldn't go to college, hecould at least get the textbooks used there and teach himself. Thatwould be hard, but if it was the only way, he would do it. He lovedBennett's Farm too much not to give it the attention it deserved.
Shep wandered back from wherever he had le
ft Gramps and threw himselfdown in the grass to watch Bud, who looked at him affectionately. Shephad been his first friend when he came to Bennett's Farm and his truefriend since. Shep had no pedigree, but a loving heart, and unswervingloyalty counted for a great deal, too.
"Only half a dozen more, Shep," Bud said. "Then I'll water them andwe're through."
Shep wagged his tail lazily and grinned with his panting jaws. When Budfinished planting, Shep paced alongside him as he went to the barn forthe hose.
Bud had chosen his strawberry patch partly for its location, for itcaught the morning sun but was sheltered by a grassy knoll from theblazing heat of the midsummer afternoon sun. Wild strawberries had grownthere plentifully, too, and it was near enough to the barn so that thefarm's hundred-and-fifty-foot hose could be attached to the barn spigotand reach all corners of the bed.
The plants needed water now to help them overcome the shock oftransplanting, and Bud watered them carefully, using a fine spray tokeep from washing the loose soil away and at the same time giving eachplant enough water to soak thoroughly both the roots of the plant andthe earth about it. He had almost finished when Shep began to bark.
Bud looked around to see Sammy Toller, whose farm was a mile and a halfnorth of Gramps', coming from the barn toward him. A small buttremendously energetic little man, Sammy was usually the epitome ofgood humor. Now his jaw was set, and his eyes smoldered and he did noteven appear to notice the freshly planted berries.
"Is Delbert about?" Sammy asked.
"He's here somewhere, Mr. Toller," Bud said. "I'll find him as soon asI've rolled up this hose."
"Can you leave the hose for now?" Sammy asked. "This is prettyimportant."
Shep trailed along as they walked back to the barn, and Bud shut off thewater at the spigot. They found Gramps working the newly spaded familygarden with a hand rake. He looked around and said amiably,
"Hi, Sammy."
"'Lo, Delbert. Got a few minutes?"
"Sure thing. What's up?"
"I'd druther take you to my place so you can see for yourself."
"Can I go along?" Bud asked.
"Sure," Gramps said, "but scoot along and tell Mother where we'regoing."
After racing into the kitchen and back, Bud climbed into the cab ofSammy's pickup truck with Sammy and Gramps, Shep leaped into the rear.Sammy eased the truck down the drive into the road and turned northtoward his own farm. Ordinarily Sammy was loquacious but he saidnothing as they jogged along.
Sammy's house was a mile from the highway and his closest neighbor washalf a mile away, which made his one of the most isolated farms in theHaleyville district. Otherwise it was very much like the surroundingfarms, with a substantial house and the usual barns and outbuildings.Chickens were wandering about and a little group of Shropshiresheep--Sammy was trying to build up a registered flock of them--washuddled together in a pen near the barn. As they drove up, Sammy's dog,a farm collie like Shep, acted as if he was about to exterminate themuntil Shep walked stiffly forward. Then the two dogs sniffed noses,wagged their tails and went off for a romp.
"We'll have to walk a mite," Sammy said, and he led them up a hill fromwhich the forest had been cleared from only the lower two-thirds. Therewas a long-abandoned apple orchard about a hundred yards from where theforest began, and a crow in one of the trees cawed lazily as theyapproached.
After Sammy had led them around the orchard, Bud stopped in his tracksat the sight of eighteen sheep strewn over the field between the orchardand the forest. All of them were horribly bloated and mangled.
"I turned 'em out yesterday morning," Sammy said, "and I sure neverheard a thing to make me s'pose they were getting murdered. When theydidn't come home last night I hunted 'em, and this is what I found 'boutan hour ago."
The two dogs trotted forward and sniffed at the first of the dead sheep.Neither gave any sign that anything was amiss. Gramps stood a moment,studying the dogs, and then he went to look at one of the sheep.
"Dog work," he said.
"How do you know?" Sammy said.
"Wolves kill clean and eat what they kill. They don't murder just forcussedness and they don't mangle. What's more, these were wild dogs."
"What makes you so all-fired sure?"
"Were you here all day yesterday, when those sheep must have beenkilled?"
"Yep."
"But you heard nothing?"
"Nary a whisper."
"Tame dogs you'd have heard. They haven't the sense to keep their mouthsshut on a job like this. Wild ones know that the less noise they make,the longer they live."
Now Bud remembered the doe and fawn that he and Gramps had seen duringthe last deer season when he and Gramps had been hunting OldYellowfoot. Gramps had said that something was chasing them. There musthave been wild dogs in Bennett's Woods even then, and no wonder the doeand fawn had been running as though they were possessed.
"What can we do?" Sammy asked.
"Anything we try will take a heap of doing," Gramps said. "These wilddogs know more than the smartest trap-pinched fox you ever saw. Still,we'd best do all we can to stop 'em. Most of the time they hunt in thewoods, but there's no telling when they'll come again or who they'llhit."
"How does a body go about stopping 'em?" Sammy asked.
"If it was most anything 'cept wild dogs I could tell you. A fox stickspretty much to his own beat and habits. So does a deer, bear, cat or'most anything else. But wild dogs haven't any pattern. The most we cando is, first of all, set traps. I doubt if it'll work 'cause the packthat killed these sheep haven't been back to eat off 'em. I don't thinkthey'll decoy to bait either. We might bump into 'em by rambling roundwith deer rifles."
Sammy Toller said grimly, "Soon's I take you home, I aim to startrambling with my deer rifle."
Sammy took Bud, Gramps and Shep home and then roared back up the road atforty miles an hour, an unheard-of speed for Sammy. Gramps was seriousand sober and Bud wondered. Dogs were dogs; did running wild make themso very different?
"Are these wild dogs really bad?" he asked Gramps.
"Didn't you see Sammy Toller's dead sheep?"
"Yes, but wasn't that unusual?"
"Not a bit. I'd rather face a pack of timber wolves than a bunch of wilddogs any day. Where a wolf will kite off and keep on kiting, a dog willplan. He'll run just far enough to get out of a man's sight. Then he'llfigure some way to fool him and nine times out of ten he'll do it. Justa minute."
Gramps went to the telephone, and as soon as he had finished tellingPete Nolan, the game warden, about the wild dogs, the old man turned toBud and said, "Let's you and me mosey out in the woods, and we'll packrifles."
With Shep keeping pace, they sauntered into Bennett's Woods. A doe thatwas heavy with fawn crept off, but a strutting cock grouse scarcelybothered to move out of the way. Turkeys slunk away from their hiddennesting sites, and from a knoll a buck with grotesque knobs of antlerswatched and stamped a threatening forefoot.
They found no sign of the pack in Bennett's Woods that day, but not longafterward Pete Nolan came upon six of the pack harrying one of TommyKeeler's heifers and shot two of the wild dogs before the others fled.Jess Limley got another and Sammy Toller shot two when the pack hadreturned for another attack on his sheep. By the time the hunting seasonrolled around again, it was generally agreed that there were at leastten dogs in the pack and it was certain that they were still prowlingthe woods.