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TRADING JEFF AND HIS DOG
_BY JIM KJELGAARD_
_DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, NEW YORK, 1956_
(C) 1956 by Jim Kjelgaard
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 56-5246 Printed in the United States of America
_For Margaret Mary, John, Jim, Frank, and Barbara Dresen_
CONTENTS
1. THE MEETING 1
2. BAD LUCK 18
3. ESCAPE 34
4. THE CABIN 50
5. DAN 65
6. VISITOR 79
7. GRANNY 94
8. ACKERTON 110
9. MIGHTY MISSION 124
10. BOMBSHELL 137
11. THE TALKING TREE 154
12. SURPRISE 167
* * * * *
_The characters, incidents and situations in this book are imaginary andhave no relation to any person or actual happening._
* * * * *
1. THE MEETING
When the dog came to the weed-grown border of the clearing, he stopped.Then, knowing that his back could be seen over the weeds, he slunk downso that his belly scraped the earth. He was tense and quivering, and hiseyes bore a haunted look. But there was nothing craven in them andlittle fear. In all his life the dog had never feared anything exceptthe terrible torment that beset him now.
He was of no recognizable breed, though all of his ancestors had beenlarge dogs. There was a hint of staghound in his massive head and in hiscarriage, and somewhere along the way he had acquired a trace of GreatDane. His fur was silky, like a collie's, and there was a suggestion ofbloodhound in his somewhat flabby jowls. Without purpose or plan, theblood of all these breeds had mingled to produce this big mongrel.
He was so emaciated that slatted ribs showed even through hisburr-matted fur. Had he eaten as much as he wanted, he would haveweighed about a hundred and ten pounds, but he had had so little foodrecently that he was fifteen pounds lighter. Intelligence glowed in hiseyes. But there was also something in them that verged on desperation.
He moved only his head and moved that slowly. This dog knew too much,and had suffered too much, to let himself be seen until he had some ideaof what he was about. He was looking toward a big white farmhouse thatwas surrounded by a grove of apple trees. A thin plume of blue smokerose from the chimney, and a pile of freshly-split wood lay in the yard.Busy white hens wandered about. White and black cows and two brownhorses cropped grass in a pasture. Pigs grunted in their pen and a blackcat sunned itself on the door step.
The dog's attention returned to the man who was splitting more wood. Hewas thin, dressed in faded blue jeans and a tan shirt, and the blows ofhis axe echoed dully from the hills surrounding the farm house. Heworked slowly and methodically. The dog drank eagerly of his scent,although he did not leave his cover, for behind him there was only atrail of torment, abuse and real danger. He had been wandering for twomonths and his path was a long one, but because it was also a twistedone it had not taken him too far from the place he had left. He had beenin villages and towns, through farm lands and forest, and wherever hemet men he had been stoned or clubbed. Three times--twice by farmers andonce by a policeman--he had been shot at.
The dog could not know that this was partly because of his appearanceand size. He was big and he looked wild. Had he cared to do so, he couldhave killed a man. But what none of his tormentors could know was that,though the dog feared little, he was almost incapable of attacking ahuman being. What nobody could know either was that, most of all, thedog was in desperate need of someone to love.
Until two months ago, everything had been different. When the dog cameto live with Johnny Blazer, in the hills behind Smithville, he was soyoung that it always seemed he must have begun life with Johnny. It wasa good life and he had never wanted any other.
Johnny's cabin was big, with a kitchen and combined living-dining roomon the first floor and the entire second floor given over to many bunks.It was necessary to have a big cabin because, in season, Johnny bothguided and boarded hunters and fishermen. During the winter, he trappedfurs, and when there was nothing else to do he worked at odd jobs orsearched out and sold medicinal roots which he found in the hills. Alean, tight-jawed woodsman in his late thirties, Johnny had been thedog's revered master.
Because he was a dog, and thus incapable of grasping the more complexfacts, the great animal did not understand that life was not the whollycarefree and happy one it seemed. He could sense that Johnny avoided theWhitneys, who--at various places in the hills--lived much as Johnny did.Because they were Johnny's enemies, it followed that the Whitneys mustbe the dog's enemies too. But he had never understood what took place.
Johnny and the dog were strolling toward Smithville when a rifle crackedand Johnny took three staggering steps to fall forward. While the doghovered anxiously near, his master tried and failed to get up. The dogknew that the scent of Pete Whitney filled the air, but there was noconnection between Pete and the fact that Johnny Blazer lay wounded inthe road.
For an hour the dog worried beside Johnny, whining because he could nothelp. Then a car happened along. The two men in it lifted Johnny intothe car and were off at high speed.
The dog tried to follow, but though he could run very fast, he could notkeep up with the car. Outdistanced, he panted back to the cabin becausehe was sure that Johnny would return there, too. He waited a week, neverventuring far away and eating only what he could find or catch. Then heset out to look for Johnny.
He'd gone first to Smithville and the first person he'd met there wasPete Whitney. The dog slowed to a walk, watching Pete warily andbristling. He saw no connection between any of Pete's actions andJohnny's disappearance, but all the Whitneys were enemies. He leapedaside when Pete aimed a swift kick at his groin, then turned with baredfangs. Unarmed, Pete shrank back against a near-by building and the dogwent on.
The alarm was sounded; Johnny Blazer's dog had come into town andthreatened a person. For a while--Johnny had many friends inSmithville--nothing was done. But after two days, the dog was considereda menace. Mothers of small children became concerned for their safety.The first act of most men, upon seeing the dog, was to pick up and hurlany convenient missile.
The Smithville constable, Bill Ellis, reluctantly set out to kill theanimal. But two hours earlier, having satisfied himself that he wouldnot find Johnny in Smithville, the dog had left. What he could notpossibly know was that his master was dead and the official cause of hisdeath was, "Bullet wound inflicted by a person or persons unknown."
As the dog wandered, hope faded. He could not find Johnny. But the doghad to have a master because he was unable to live without one, and now,as he lay in the tall weeds, all the deep yearnings in his heartconcentrated on this man splitting wood.
He half rose, minded to walk out and meet him, but memory of the rocksand clubs that had come his way was not an easy one to banish and hesettled down in the weeds again. Then an uncontrollable longing forsomeone to love and someone to love him overcame everything else and heleft the wee
ds.
He walked with his tail drooping in a half circle down his rear, but hewas not abject because it was not in him to be so. One or more of hismany ancestors had bequeathed to him a great pride and a regal innersense, and though he would run when a club or brick was hurled at him,he could never cringe. He carried his tail low because that was the wayhe carried it naturally, like a collie or staghound.
The man, setting a chunk of wood against the splitting block, had hisback turned to the dog and did not at once see him. The dog waited,unwilling to intrude until he was invited to do so. The man raised hisaxe, brought it expertly down, and the wood split cleanly. He stooped topick up the two pieces and when he did he saw the dog.
"You!"
Catching up one of the chunks, he hurled it with deadly aim and intent.But even as he did this, the huge animal started to run, so that insteadof striking him in the head, the chunk of wood struck his rightshoulder. The dog felt quick agony that subsided to searing pain as hekept running. Twenty seconds later he heard a rifle blast, and the thumpof a leaden slug that plowed into the earth six inches to one side. Therifle roared a second time, and a third. Then he was safe in the woods.
He slowed to a walk, knowing that he could not be seen now and his noseinformed him that there were no other men around. For the time being hewas in no danger, but he was heartsick. Again he had tried, in every wayhe knew, to find someone whom he might love and who in turn might lovehim. Once more his overtures had brought him only hurt.
The dog could not know that the farmer, seeing him suddenly, had beentoo startled to think. When he was finally capable of coherent thought,he decided that a wild, dangerous and doubtless rabid wolf had emergedfrom the forest and that its only intention could be to prey upon thelocality's flocks and herds. Failing to bring it down with his rifle,the farmer got hastily on the phone to mobilize his neighbors. Withinhalf an hour a posse was out.
However, its members were farmers and not hunters. The only hunting dogsin the area were a few fox and coon hounds and some rabbit hounds, andthey refused to interest themselves in the supposed wolf's trail. Butthere was also a pair of big cross-bred brindle bulls and they wereurged into the woods. An hour later the dog met this pair.
Coursing a little open glade, they appeared in front of him and as soonas they saw him they stopped. The bulls weighed only about fifty poundseach, but they had had many battles and they knew how to fight. Liftingtheir lips in anticipatory grins, they closed in.
The dog waited, anger rising in his heart. He too knew how to fight. Forthe barest fraction of a minute he gauged the bulls' advance, then heattacked. He was not as swift as he ordinarily was because he had noteaten enough. But with his staghound and collie lineage, he hadinherited all the fluid, rippling grace of such dogs. It was not his wayto bore in, to seek a hold and keep it, but to slash and slice. Hestruck the first bull, cut it to the shoulder bone, and leaped clearover his enemy before there could be a return thrust. He whirled to facethe second.
It came at him with a short, choppy gait, eyes half closed and mouthopen as it sought any hold at all. As soon as it was able to get one, itwould clamp its jaws and grind until the piece of flesh in its mouth wastorn out. Then it would get another hold, and another, and literallytear its enemy apart.
The dog waited, as though he were about to meet the bull head on. Butwhen only inches separated them, he glided to one side, ducked to gethold of a front leg, and used all his strength to throw the bull clearover his head. He turned to meet the second bull that, recovering, hadcome in to grab his thigh.
Twisting himself almost double, the dog slashed and bit and each time heslashed fresh blood spurted from the brindle bull's hide. The dog openedhis huge mouth, clamped it over the bull's neck, and shook his adversaryback and forth.
The bulls had courage, but they were cross-breeds and not the fightingbulls that will gladly die if they can take their enemy with them. Theystaggered twenty feet off and faced the dog warily, as though seekingsome new way to attack him. He waited, ready for whatever they mightdo, and when he finally limped away he did so with his head turned tosee if he was being followed.
He was not afraid to renew the battle, but he wanted most to be letalone by this ugly pair. In spite of all the rebuffs and even physicalviolence that he had met up with, however, he could not abandon thedriving urge that had sent him forth. He could not live without amaster. Somewhere and somehow he must find one.
He passed from settled country into forest where there was only anoccasional clearing. When two deer fled before him he gave halfheartedchase. But his shoulder still hurt and the battle had wearied him. Whenthe deer outdistanced him, he stopped to eat a few mushrooms that grewon a stump. They were tasteless fare, but they helped still the gnawingin his belly. Near the edge of a pond, he found and ate a fish that hadbeen hurt in battle with a bigger fish, and after that he caught amouse. All together were mere tidbits, and the dog thought wistfully ofthe delicious meals Johnny Blazer used to prepare for him.
Night had fallen when he stopped suddenly, his nose tickled by thetantalizing odor of food. Mingled with it was the smell of wood smokeand a man. The dog's nose informed him that there was a creek, and hecaught the faintly-acrid smell of cinders and steel that meant arailroad. The dog slowed to a walk and went closer to verify with hiseyes what his nose had already told him.
There was a creek spanned by a railroad bridge. Beneath the bridge was asmall, bright fire over which, on a forked stick, hung a pot ofsimmering coffee. Crouched beside the fire was a man, and because thereis a difference in the odors of young and old, the dog knew that thiswas a young man.
The dog padded silently through tall, wild grass growing beside thecreek. He drooled at the odor of food, but because painful experiencehad taught him to be very careful in all dealings with men, he did notgo any nearer. He licked his chops with a moist tongue and excitementdanced in his eyes. How he would love to be near that fire, partaking ofthe food and the caresses of the young man!
But he had better be careful.
* * * * *
At the same time that the dog met the farmer who hurled the block ofwood at him, Jeff Tarrant was walking down a dusty road that led intothe town of Cressman. Two days past his eighteenth birthday, his facebetrayed his youth. Healthy as sunshine, he walked with a spring in hisstep and his head held high. His rather loose lips formed a grin thatseemed permanently fixed. His blue eyes sparked and a shock of curly redhair that needed cutting tumbled on his head. Even if it were not forthe pack he carried, he would have commanded a second glance.
The pack, made of both canvas and leather and with straps at strategicintervals, was huge. It began at Jeff's hip line, extended two inchesover the top of his head, and it was bulging. Across it, in blackletters as big as the pack would accommodate, was:
TARRANT ENTERPRISES Ltd.
Jeff himself had designed the pack to fit his needs, and he had done thelettering. It described him perfectly, for what nobody except Jeff knewwas that Tarrant Enterprises was limited to whatever might be in thepack.
He walked cheerfully, for it was a cheerful day, and he gave thanks forthe sparsely-settled country and the little-traveled road on which hefound himself. In the first place, this was the only kind of country inwhich Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., could flourish. Secondly, the day wasmade for walking. When Jeff found himself on traveled roads, he wasforever being offered rides, and for the sake of both courtesy and goodbusiness he always accepted. But there had been no rides today.
Descending a hill, Jeff looked down at a junction of two forestedvalleys, up one of which a train was puffing. He looked at it closely,while the smile in his eyes and that on his mouth seemed to grow alittle more pronounced. Railroad tracks meant towns somewhere, and thesort of business Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., could do in towns dependedon circumstance.
Jeff sniffed deeply, for part of his success depended on an ability tosense what lay ahead, just as a hunter must sense wha
t is in the offing.Now he had wood smoke in his nostrils, and he was not surprised when herounded an outjutting corner of the hill and saw a farm house.
Jeff whistled happily as he approached the house and knocked on thefront door, and he had the most gracious smile Tarrant Enterprises,Ltd., could muster up for the woman who opened it.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I represent Tarrant--"
"Don't want nothin'!" she rasped. "Never buy nothin' from peddlers!"
Hard work, loneliness and collapsed dreams had all left their marks, sothat she was almost as weather-beaten as the house. But Jeff saw at aglance that the place was neat and clean, and since she did not closethe door, he entered, swung the pack from his back, and laid it on atable.
"Get it off!" she scolded. "Don't want no dirty pack on my table! Don'twant nothin' from no peddler nohow!"
Jeff sniffed hungrily. A delicious incense, the mingled odors of roastchicken and fresh-baked bread, blessed his nostrils. He said slowly andwith dignity,
"I am not a peddler, ma'am. I represent Tarrant--"
"Now, look! I just broke my parin' knife an' I got no time--"
"Ah!"
Like magic, and seemingly without visible motion, the pack opened. Fromit Jeff took a paring knife with a gleaming blade and a shiny blackhandle.
"Only seventeen cents, ma'am. Blade of finest steel and hilt of genuinepolished wood! Holds its edges and its temper, too! A lifetime knife!"
She looked at the knife, longing in her eyes. When she glanced again atJeff, she was not so hostile.
"Got no money," she admitted.
Jeff laughed. "I asked for none! Our conversation became so fascinatingthat I had no chance to explain that I represent Tarrant Enterprises,Ltd. We have long recognized the needs of people such as yourself,people who prefer the refined quiet of country life to crowds andcities. But country life, as you must know, is not withoutinconveniences. Our only aim is to bring to the doors of people such asyourself whatever may not be available."
Her eyes were suspicious. "You mean you're givin' me this knife?"
"Not at all, ma'am. Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., is always willing tobarter. _Umm!_ Is that roast chicken I smell?"
"I ain't tradin' you no roast chicken for no little knife!"
"Surely one small knife will not fill your needs?"
"Well, I could use some cinnamon sticks."
With the same magical ease, Jeff opened his pack and gracefully offereda small parcel of cinnamon sticks.
"Cinnamon from Ceylon," he said, at the same time wondering if he didnot have cinnamon and tea confused. He went on, "The world's only purecinnamon, made available to Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., through specialsources."
"My," she was impressed. "What else do you have?"
Jeff said, in the same tone that a department store manager would haveused, "What do you wish, ma'am?"
She eyed the pack. "You wouldn't have some real nice gingham?"
"Certainly."
Again it was as though the pack opened itself, and from it Jeff took apartial bolt of red-checked gingham. Her eyes softened.
"It's real pretty."
"Feel its texture," Jeff urged. "Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., stocks onlythe best. Shall we say about six yards?"
She said doubtfully, "Best make it three."
Jeff whipped a pair of scissors from his pack and a folding ruler fromhis pocket. He measured and cut three yards of gingham. She fondled itdreamily, and compared to the dress she wore, it was elegance itself.Jeff stood expectantly, as though everything in the world were availablein his pack.
"Anything else?"
She eyed the scissors. "Can I have them, too?"
Jeff frowned slightly. "I don't know, ma'am. They sell for a dollar andten cents, and Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., must show a reasonable return.Now--"
She said, as though suddenly remembering, "I've got a dollar."
"And for the rest might we have bread and chicken?"
"Oh, sure! I'll get it right now!"
She ran into the kitchen, lingered a few minutes, and returned with alarge package, one almost as large, and a small parcel. Jeff smacked hislips. The largest package could contain nothing less than the betterpart of a roast chicken, the one nearly as large must be a whole loaf ofbread, and she pressed all three on him.
"Some butter for your bread, an' here's the dollar. You comin' throughagain?"
"When I do, ma'am, you have an honored place on my list of valuedcustomers."
"Then you will stop?"
"Most certainly."
"Be sure now."
"Ma'am, you have the word of Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd."
Jeff strode happily down the road, and he had cheated his customer in noway. Tarrant Enterprises was always ready to barter, for Jeff had longsince learned that money must be spent. Now he had a meal as good as anythe best inns served and he had it for half of what he would have paidin cash. But the woman was happy too, and that always made for a fairdeal.
When he came to where the two valleys made one, Jeff left the road andsought the railroad tracks. Last night he had slept in a haystack, butit was far from an ideal bed. Jeff had not resented the mice, for hethought mice were interesting. The hay itself had been old, filled withseeds and thistles, and tonight he wanted a better camp. It was alwayspossible to find one along a railroad.
As it always did when he sighted potential customers, Jeff's interestquickened when he saw two men with a handcar beside them, working on thetracks. He came abreast of them, two sweating, bewhiskered men who, evenon this bright day, managed to look sullen.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen."
They glowered at him from beneath bushy eyebrows, and looked meaninglyat each other.
"Beat it, peddler."
Jeff laughed merrily. "What a refreshing sense of humor! Such anintelligent bit of wisdom! You are just the men I hoped to meet! Irepresent Tarrant--"
"Beat it, peddler."
"Now just think about that! Reconsider! If--"
The two raised threatening pick axes. "Are you deef?"
"I was just going," Jeff said hastily.
He was not so much as a trifle saddened as he trudged on down thetracks. Even Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., could not overcome salesresistance that was backed by threatening pick axes, and nobody wonevery time. Nobody had to, for just down the road there were sure to benew customers.
Jeff came to a steel railroad bridge and looked with delighted eyes atthe creek flowing beneath it. It was a clear, spring-fed stream, and itpurled down riffles that filled a deep pool. Beneath the bridge therewere weeds, sand, some big rocks, and driftwood.
Scrambling down the embankment, Jeff sighed at the sheer luxury of sucha place. It had everything anyone needed. Carefully, he laid the packdown, put his food parcels in the shade, and from his own personalcompartment of the pack he took a towel, a wash cloth, a bar of soap, atooth brush and a comb. Taking off his clothes, he plunged into the pooland swam across. After five minutes he waded out, soaped himself fromhead to foot, and rinsed in the pool. He was thus engaged when thehandcar rattled over the bridge.
Jeff dried himself, dressed and combed some order into the chaos of hishair. For a while he was satisfied to lay in the sun, happy just todream.
Left without parents when a young child, he had been brought up in anorphanage which he had voluntarily left when he was fourteen and a half.He had worked for a farmer, for a livery stable which was in the processof becoming converted to a garage, for a pipe line crew and for others,long enough to convince himself that there is no special virtue in andnot much to be gained through hard work alone. For the past two and ahalf years he had been owner, manager and entire working force ofTarrant Enterprises, Ltd.
That, by train, car, horse conveyance and on foot, had taken him to bothcoasts and both borders. He spent his summers in the north and hiswinters in the south, and the tidy roll of bills sewed in an insidepocket was proof that hard work is fine and wonderful if combined withinitia
tive and intelligence. It was a happy life, one he liked, andthough he thought he might take roots some time, he was not ready to doit yet.
Not until dusk brought the first hint of evening chill did Jeff gatherwood and build a fire. He built it close enough to a big boulder sothat the rock's surface would reflect heat, but far enough away so thatit would not be too hot. He lingered beside the pool, listening to thenight noises.
Out in the forest a whippoorwill began its eerie cry, and a sleepy birdtwittered from its roost. The purling riffles splashed and called and abreeze set the forest to sighing. Only a stone rolling down theembankment seemed to be out of tune. Jeff's fire cast weird shadows, andthe snapping of the burning wood added its own notes to the symphony ofnight.
Jeff turned from the stream toward his fire and confronted the two menwhom he had met along the railroad. Now he knew why that stone hadrolled.
Except for this one small sound, they had come silently, and in thefirelight they seemed even more unkempt than they had appeared in thefull light of day. They were big men, all muscle, and they carried pickhandles in their brawny fists. Jeff felt a cold chill ripple down hisspine, for it looked as though the least Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., wasabout to lose was its entire capital stock. He tried to take command ofthe situation.
"Good evening, gentlemen! I thought you'd be back! I was sure you are anintelligent--"
One of the men said, "Take him, Buff."
The two parted to come at Jeff from both sides. He looked longingly at aclub lying near the fire, and as though he had read Jeff's mind, the mancalled Buff stood on the club. Jeff backed slowly toward the water. Hemight lose the pack. But he intended to keep his money and he had nointention of letting anyone work him over with a pick handle. As heretreated, he felt with his feet for rocks, clubs, anything at all withwhich to fight back. The two men advanced slowly, and Jeff risked abackward glance to see himself within three paces of the water. Therewas only sand beneath his feet.
At exactly that moment, the dog appeared.
He came slowly, with dignity, but uncertainly, because he was not sureof a welcome. Neither was he able to restrain himself any longer. Formore than a half hour he had hidden in the grass, studying and entrancedby Jeff. Now he had to find out whether he was acceptable. He haltedfour feet away, not caring to go any closer until he was sure.
Seeing him, Jeff saw his own salvation. He snapped his fingers and said,"Well! Where have you been keeping yourself?"
The dog sighed ecstatically. For so very long he had sought someone andnow at last he had found him. He came forward to brush his shaggy backagainst Jeff's thighs, and he looked up at the two men.
Huge, a wild and savage-appearing thing, even in the full light of day,he was even more so by the fire's dancing glow. His eyes sparked. Hispendulous jowls seemed taut and strained, and though he regarded the twomen with suspicion only, neither could know that. They backed.
Jeff patted the big dog's head and said amiably, "Just my dog. Just mylittle old dog. I need some help while I attend to the far-flungbusiness of Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd." His tone became slightlyreproachful and he said to the dog, "Here! Here! Don't bite them now!"
The two men scrambled up the embankment and disappeared.