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Drifter
by Daniel Mannix
Chapter One
Jeddy was awakened by the baying of the hounds a few seconds before he heard a car shift into second gear as it began to crawl up the hill toward the cabin. It was still dark so he lay quiet, hoping that his father would get up and light the kerosene lamp. But there was no movement from the cabin's one bed where his parents lay, so Jeddy kicked off his old army surplus blankets and climbed out of his board bunk. The plank floor sent a chill through his bare feet, and still half-asleep, he stumbled toward the deal table where the lamp stood. Through the dirty panes of glass in the only window, he could see the gray light of early dawn. The sun must be up, though the hills that surrounded the cabin on three sides shut it off.
He stubbed his toe on the box by the sheet-iron stove where the red-tick hound was nursing her litter of pups and muttered "Shucks!" angrily. It was the only cussword he was permitted, and his father did not even use that. He heard the pups whining and Sandy's tail drumming against the side of the box while he groped for the matches and struck a light. The tiny golden flame showed him where the lamp was, and with fingers numbed by the cold he lifted the chimney and lit the wick. The fan of yellow flame with its purple base sprang into life; shadows sucked back into the corners. By now the hounds were frantic and the car was stopping by the cabin's door.
Jeddy heard an angry exclamation from his sister, who was sleeping in her bunk at the far end of the single room. He saw her pull her blankets over her head to shut out the sudden glare and snuggle down deeper. It almost never got cold enough to freeze in that part of southern California where they lived, but he could see his breath as he struggled into his clothes.
Someone was pounding on the cabin door, and Jeddy heard a man's voice, tense with anxiety, shout above the noise of the dogs, "Hello! Is anyone awake in there?"
Jeddy's father, Jed Proudfoot, rolled out of bed and started putting on his trousers. Jed slept in his longjohns and wool socks. He was a thickset man somewhat under middle height, the top of his head as smooth and shiny as oilcloth, except for a fringe of hair below. He always seemed to have a two-days' growth of white stubble on his cheeks and chin. Jeddy's mother got up, hugging her nightgown around her as she thrust her feet into carpet slippers and threw an ancient bathrobe over her shoulders.
The pounding on the door was resumed. Jeddy went to open it, but his father said mildly, "I'll do that," and, still in his stocking feet, walked leisurely to the door. Jeddy had seen his father hurry only two or three times.
A gush of cold air rushed into the room as the door opened. A man and woman, both in their early twenties, were standing there. They were simply dressed, but compared with the Proudfoot family their clothing seemed luxurious. Jeddy glanced at their anxious faces as they entered the room and decided that it was a lost child. He wondered if old Strike, the bloodhound, could follow the trace. Scent ought to hold pretty well in this cold weather unless, as was generally the case, the parents had waited two or three days, trusting to local posses to find the child before calling in a tracking dog.
"Are you Jed Proudfoot?" the man asked. Jeddy noticed how pale the woman was. It was a real emergency, all right: a child, sure enough.
Jed went to the rocker and put on his shirt. "Kay, where are my boots?" he asked querulously. Jeddy's mother brought them and Jed pulled them on before replying, "Yes, that's me."
"We need you bad," said the man, and his voice shook slightly. "We've got a turkey farm up in the foothills of the San Jacintos and last week a pair of coyotes came in at night and killed ten of our best gobblers. We have them on wire, but the coyotes broke up through the wire and bit their legs off."
The woman interrupted. "It was just sheer meanness on their part. They didn't even eat them, only mutilated them."
Jed nodded as he laced up his boots. "Coyotes'll do that. Can be real mean sometimes."
"The district game warden said to get you — that you were a good predator control man — but we had so much to do I didn't get around to it."
"We didn't see any signs of them and didn't think they'd come back," explained the woman. She sounded as though she were going to cry.
"Well, they came back tonight. We heard the turkeys gobbling and I ran out with a gun. The place was a shambles. They'd gone right through the wire and killed eighteen birds." His voice broke. "If it happens again, we could be ruined. We have all our savings tied up in the place."
Jed had finished lacing his boots and stood up. He rubbed his bald patch and looked vacantly around the room as though he had not heard the conversation. Finally he said, "Jeddy, go get me a dozen of them number four Newhouses."
Jeddy ran to where the traps hung in clusters on the wall and picked out twelve number fours. Meanwhile, the woman burst out, "Can't you run them down with your dogs? The game warden said you could. Then we'll know they're out of the way."
Jeddy handed his father the traps, and he looked them over in an absentminded way. "A coyote can run twice as fast as a hound — three times, if the hound has got to trail as well as run. We'd never catch up."
The couple looked so unhappy that Jeddy dared to speak up. "Did they gorge on them turkeys they killed? A coyote with a real heavy gorge on him can't run so fast."
"No, they just killed them and left them there," said the woman. "But they carried two hens off with them."
For the first time Jed looked up, with a flash of interest. "You sure they took them hens off clean? Didn't jest drag them off into the brush to feed on them like?"
"No, they carried them off," the man told him. "I got a flashlight and followed their tracks as far as I could in the sand. There were a few feathers, but that was all."
"They've got pups," said Jed decidedly. "They carried off them hens to feed the pups. They couldn't tote a turkey any distance, so their den ain't too far from your place."
"If those pups grow up, what will we do then?" The woman was nearly hysterical.
Jed seemed to consider. He got his tattered jacket and put it on. Then he walked slowly to the wall of the cabin and took down an ancient .22 rifle. Slowly and deliberately he reached to a shelf and took out a small cardboard box and emptied half the shells into a pocket of the jacket. "Jeddy, you go get the Walkers and Strike." As the boy tore out the door, Jed called after him, "Better get Whitey, too. You keep him on a lead, now, you hear me, boy?"
"I hear you," Jeddy called back as he burst into the chill dawn. It was almost full daylight, and a halo of bright radiance surrounded one of the mountain peaks, over which the sun would break in a few minutes. Jeddy ran, avoiding the two mountain lion hides hanging on the clothesline together with his mother's washing and making a detour around the grizzly skin pegged out on the ground waiting to be scraped. He kept a practiced lookout for prickly pears and the occasional cholla cactus, for he was still in his bare feet. Already he could make out the figures of the dogs as they leaped and strained at their leashes among the rocks.
As soon as they saw the boy headed in their direction, the black-andwhite Walker hounds went wild with excitement, rearing up on their hind legs until they fell over and nearly hanging themselves by their leads. Jeddy had all he could do to get enough slack on the leads to unsnap the hounds. Once free, they dashed about in circles, pausing only to wet on stones, while the rest of the hounds howled their disappointment at not being taken.
All the dogs were in a condition that would have made a member of the American Kennel Club weep with despair. Half-starved, suffering from worms, and many showing infected sores, it seemed impossible that any were fit to do the work expected of them. Their only kennels were holes among the rocks, and the whole area was strewn with fruit rinds, remains of jack rabbits, and old bones.
Jeddy next went to the only doghouse on the property, an elderly structure with a leaking roof. Here was housed Strike, the most valuable member of the pack and the only living creature toward whom Jed Proudfoot had ever been known to exhibit open affection. Unlike the other hounds, Strike stood with quiet dignity at the entrance. He waved his tail as Jeddy approached him, and turned his head as Jeddy released the lead. Then he stretched, yawned, and walked stiffly toward the cabin. Strike was old and creaked a little in the mornings.
Whitey was kept by himself at a distance from the other dogs and had a chain lead, though the others were confined with wire or rope. He was a white bull terrier, or at least most of his body was white. His head was so covered with scars it was a dirty gray with only a few white hairs showing. He had only one eye, having lost the other in a fight with a bobcat last year. He wiggled his stump of a tail and ducked his head in pleasure as Jeddy came toward him, and licked the boy's hand when Jeddy patted him. Jeddy always felt sorry for Whitey because he was so badly cut up and was never allowed to run free like the other dogs. Mindful of his father's orders, Jeddy did not turn the terrier loose but untied the chain from a staple driven firmly into a crack of the rocks. Then he took the terrier on the chain toward the car. Whitey could not be trusted to run loose, for he would attack the other dogs on sight. He had pit bull bred in him and would fight to the death.
As Jeddy returned to the cabin he saw his sister, Kitty, putting on her good dress. She must have slipped out of the cabin with it so she could dress without the strangers seeing her. To Jeddy's surprise, he saw her go to the well and pull on the rope that ran around a wheel to raise the bucket. "You goin' to wash?" he asked incredulously.
Kitty raised her head to glare at him. "And what if I am, smarty?"
Jeddy knew that Kitty had been under a considerable strain for the last few months. Jed had openly stated that he was not going to give house room to any girl over seventeen. If she hadn't been able to get a man by that time, he wasn't going to support her any longer. Kitty had recently turned fifteen, but no man had shown any interest in her. To Jeddy his father's verdict had seemed reasonable enough, though he occasionally wondered what Kitty would do when she was turned away. He knew that both Kitty and her mother were worried about it even though neither dared to question Jed's will.
"This man won't be doin' you no good. He's married already," Jeddy pointed out.
"Never you mind."
Jeddy said no more and went on to the cabin. His father was loading the traps into the back of the pickup that the game commission allowed him to use. The two strangers were standing beside their car watching anxiously. Without looking around, Jed said, "Put Whitey on the seat between us. You hold onto him good all the way."
"I'm goin'?" Jeddy trembled with excitement.
"You heard what I said," replied his father. He turned and gave a piercing whistle. At once, the Walkers raced to the pickup. Jed slapped the truck's side and the hounds obediently sprang into the back and lay down on the bundles of old sacking there. Strike came up slowly and stood expectantly, barely moving his tail. Jed stepped over and lifted him over the side among the other hounds. Jed was a powerful man, but he had to exert himself to lift the heavy hound.
Jeddy tore back to the cabin with Whitey bouncing along beside him and threw open the door. His mother had started a fire in the stove and was heating a pot of coffee. Kitty had found the family brush and was fixing her hair in front of a cracked mirror.
"I'm goin' with pa," Jeddy proudly informed them. Still holding the chain, he ran to get his shoes.
"You tell him this coffee's near done," said his mother, shaking the pot.
"Yes, ma'am, I'll tell him." Jeddy sat down on the edge of his bunk and put one foot on Whitey's chain so he could use both hands to pull on one of his canvas shoes. Then he transferred the shod foot to the chain while he put on the other shoe. Grabbing the chain again he rushed out, indifferent to his mother's cry of, "You tell your pa to get some coffee 'fore he goes off."
Jed was putting the .22 into a holster between the seats when Jeddy arrived panting. Jeddy climbed into the front seat and Whitey bounded after him. As soon as the terrier saw the hounds, he snarled and tried to get at them through the rear window. At the dog's snarl Jed whirled around, his usually placid face suddenly twisted with fury, but when he saw that Jeddy had the terrier under control his features relaxed into their ordinary calm expression.
Jeddy's mother left the cabin and walked down the slope toward them, with Kitty following demurely behind. "I got coffee aboilin'," she called. "You better get somethin' warm in you if you're agoin' to be chasin' varmints all day."
"Ain't got no time," Jed called back as he slid behind the wheel. "That sun's goin' to dry up the scent soon."
Jeddy saw his sister sidle up and make sheep's eyes at the strange man, but he didn't pay any attention. Even his wife didn't seem to realize that the girl was making a play for her husband. Both of them were anxiously watching Jed, and when he started up the pickup, the man called, "We'll go ahead and you follow us."
"Don't you go too fast," Jed called above the noise of the pickup. "This old truck shakes itself to pieces 'round fifty."
"We'll watch out for you," the woman promised, getting into their car, which started off while the tied hounds wailed their disappointment.
They followed the couple's coupe down the sandy track that curved around the hill and passed a line of eucalyptus growing along the side of a graded dirt road. The road led around a small lake, called locally a 'tank', bordered with Washington palms and then shot straight as a ruled line across the desert, where it eventually joined a hard-topped road. The coupe turned north on this highway and, in spite of Jed's warning, went so fast that soon the pickup was left far behind. Their guides had to stop and wait for them. After that, they proceeded more slowly.
Jeddy sat back hugging the terrier and prepared for a long drive. California bred, a drive of four or five hundred miles meant no more to him than a drive of fifty miles would to an Eastern boy. This trip, however, was shorter than he had expected. Within an hour or two the coupe turned east on a dirt road. Soon they reached the foothills of the San Jacinto Mountains and began to climb. The ocotillo and cholla cacti disappeared, to be replaced first by tall, slender yuccas and then the great Joshua trees. Suddenly the car ahead of them made a sharp right-hand turn onto a scarcely discernible track, dived into a valley studded with liveoaks, and finally came to a stop by a new, prefab house. Behind the house was a long line of wire-fronted sheds on stilts, full of white turkeys which set up a loud gobbling as soon as they saw the cars. Jed moved his legs stiffly from under the wheel, and Jeddy got down, holding fast to Whitey's chain. Jed went to the rear of the pickup and called the hounds out. Strike looked at him, hopeful of a lift, but Jed snapped an order and the old hound awkwardly jumped down on his own.
While the hounds were snuffing around at their new surroundings, the couple led Jed to the turkey sheds, with Jeddy following. "There!" said the woman, with a catch in her voice, pointing to the ravished pen and the dead fowls lying around it. "Isn't it awful? Killed just — just for nothing." She turned to her husband and, putting her face against his chest, began to cry while he patted her back.
Jed rubbed his bald head and stood considering. Then he walked slowly toward the pen, bent over looking for tracks. He circled the pen, going slowly and taking care not to step in any marks. Jed studied the dead birds and then stood looking toward a rise of low hills to the west, apparently in a trance.
The young man said irritably, "If you want to know where the coyotes went, I can show you. I saw them take off."
"I know where they went," Jed replied without expression. He stooped and studied a track in the sandy soil. Picking up a small twig, he scraped out some dust that had blown into it. Then he called, "Strike!" The old bloodhound came at once, followed by the Walkers. The Walkers ran about aimlessly, snuffing here and there while Strike stood waiting for instructions. Jed indicated the track with the twig and moved back. Jeddy knew he did that so his own odor would not interfere with the slight trace of coyote scent.
Strike lowered his head over the track and began to sniff, his long ears falling forward to box in the minute mark and hold the scent. He inhaled like a man with asthma, saliva running from his mouth and out his nose. Jeddy watched his tail. The hound was holding it rigid, and the boy could not detect any movement.
The Walkers realized that something was going on and ran over, shoving the old hound aside. Jed spoke sharply to them and they backed away. Strike began to walk slowly, swinging his nose back and forth while Jed softly snapped his fingers and whispered, "Find 'em, boy. Find 'em."
The hound went on, foot by foot, and now Jeddy could see his tail begin to move. At that his father turned to him. "Take that Whitey dog back to the pickup and tie him up good. Fetch me my gun and come along, but keep them Walkers back."
Jeddy hurried back to the pickup and tied the terrier to the front seat, jerking on the chain to make sure it was tightly tied. He pulled out the gun and returned to where his father was still trailing Strike, keeping a good ten feet behind him. He handed Jed the gun and fell back, concentrating on keeping the Walkers from interfering. This proved to be no great task, as none of the other hounds could pick up the slight scent and so had little interest in the proceedings.
They went on at a crawl. Jeddy began to wonder if Strike was following a trail at all or only going on to please his master, something the old hound had been known to do. The sun was high in the dead blue cloudless sky, and the scent must be evaporating every minute. Jed went on step by step, his head shrunk between his shoulders, his bald head and wrinkled neck making him look like a desert tortoise. From time to time he would lightly snap his fingers or speak in a low voice to encourage the hound. Jeddy glanced back. They had come less than a hundred yards from the turkey sheds and Strike had hardly wagged his tail, let alone given tongue.
They continued at this snail's pace for a quarter of a mile. Occasionally, Jed would stop and study the ground for tracks. Jeddy would look too, but the ground was so hard he could see nothing. The Walkers had grown bored and gone off on their own. Jeddy heard their eager yelps as they jumped a jack rabbit and took off after him. He was about to call them off but then reflected that they would not be of any use in this sort of work anyhow.
Once Jed turned aside and walked over to a patch of sand verbenas, where he bent and picked up a turkey feather. So they were on the right track after all. Then they came to a scattered patch of creosote bushes. Here Strike lifted his head and smelled at the bushes instead of the ground. He was 'twigging', taking the scent from the bushes where the quarry had rubbed against them in passing. The bushes held the scent better than the hard soil, and the hound was able to proceed at a fast walk.
Ahead of them was a pile of rocks that looked like a huge cairn. As they approached it, the bushes thinned away and there was nothing but bare ground. Here Strike was at a complete loss. He stopped and scratched at the ground where there seemed to be a wisp of scent, plunged his nose into the hole, and inhaled deeply, but there was no answering switch of his tail.
Jed came forward and examined the ground, moving from side to side in the hope that a different angle would show a track. Almost at once he called the hound and went forward with fast, confident strides. Trotting after him, Jeddy could see where one of the coyotes had allowed a turkey to drag and the scrape marks showed plainly. In a few places he could even make out pad marks where the soil was sandy.
When they came to hard ground again, Strike was able to do a bit of trailing, and so they progressed, the man using his eyes when the hound could not use his nose. The Walkers had come up by this time and cast around curiously, but the scent was still too slight for them. They found a spiny lizard and chased it back to the creosote, barking with excitement. When they lost it they returned, tongues hanging out, and followed at a respectful distance, careful not to get near Strike after the previous warning. They were steadily nearing the rock pile. Jed looked up and for the first time spoke to Jeddy. "Get around t'other side of them rocks and cut for tracks. From the way them bushes is growin', wind's mostly from the southwest here. Ought to be dust drifted up there that'll show marks."
Jeddy was hot and tired, more from boredom than from actual fatigue, but he started off at a dogtrot to go around the west side of the rock heap. He had reached it and begun to climb when he heard a clear, deep bay from Strike. He stopped to look back. The hound was moving along briskly now, head down and tail going like a metronome. From his slight elevation Jeddy could instantly see why. When it rained, there was a runoff from the hill that kept the soil here fairly damp, and the moist ground held the scent. At Strike's first bay the indifferent Walkers had been galvanized into action. All four of them dashed up, and Jed made no attempt to stop them. Noses down, they circled around Strike. First one and then another gave an excited yelp which quickly changed to the steady beat of full cry. A few more circles to get the drift and they were off, Strike toiling behind them.
Suddenly, from the rock pile a big male coyote sprang up and stood with his forefeet on a rock, watching the oncoming hounds. To Jeddy's surprise, he made no attempt to run, and stood there posed like a champion German shepherd at a dog show: head up, tail slightly raised, ears pricked. He seemed to be deliberately waiting until he was sure the hounds saw him before starting to run. In a quick shock of inspiration Jeddy knew why. His mate and pups were among the rocks and the male coyote intended to lead the hounds away from them.
The hounds were almost on top of him now, but with their heads down, intent on the scent, they did not look up. The coyote gave a quick, taunting yap. Promptly the hounds raised their heads and instantly burst into the 'sighting' cry, higher and more eager than the trail bay. The coyote leaped away, with the pack streaming after him, Strike now being left far behind, totally unable to keep up with the fast Walkers. It seemed to Jeddy that the coyote was looking over his shoulder as he ran, to make sure the hounds were after him. He was headed straight for Jeddy, who stood motionless until the coyote was almost on him. Then, afraid the prairie wolf would actually run him down, the boy shouted and waved his hands.
The coyote stopped dead and for a moment stared at the boy in astonishment. That moment's pause was fatal, for then the hounds were on him. The coyote tried to leap clear, turning to slash with his long canines, but one of the Walkers seized him by the leg and he went down, still gamely fighting. He could probably have beaten off one or even two of the foxhounds, but there were four of them, each heavier than he was. In a few seconds it was all over. They stretched out the dying animal between them, two of the Walkers pulling at his head and two at his rump.
Jeddy had seldom seen his father run, but Jed came close to it now. When he reached the struggling animals, he raised his rifle and then lowered it again. A shot was unnecessary, for the coyote was clearly dead. After the Walkers had finished worrying the body, Jed called Strike over and let him smell the animal so he would know they had found the quarry he had been trailing.
