Chapter II

“We ought to git Red Granny to-day,” said Sam, examining the ground where the smoking leaves had been stirred. “Here’s her consarned ol’ broke-toed track. An’ here’s a lot o’ littler tracks. She’s been in an’ tolled out some more o’ our shotes. I bet if we hurried up we’d come right on her.”

“Let’s hurry then,” I urged; for I knew about the old sow called Red Granny, that for three years had proved uncapturable. She kept her inaccessible house on the side of a rough mountain, making her way to it through a great pile of rock by a passage yet undiscovered. Though a good breeder, filling the woods with sandy-haired pigs, she also seemed able to teach them the secret of escape. Bub, who was an old dog, could hardly be made to run a red pig unless it was on his own side of the mountain.

“’Tain’t no use to trail Red Granny,” said Len. “Ol’ Bub leads the dogs, an’ he won’t run thataway. I put him on her trail onct an’ he was out all night. When he come in next day he was too ’shamed to look at me.”

“Well, let’s get somewhere,” I said, feeling the cold in spite of the sun. Then I found I had made a mistake. The first part of hog-hunting is deliberation. There was a long discussion as to the most fruitful direction.

Finally little Ross, who had followed Serena, said, “Let’s go to the sow’s oak,” and to my amazement everybody agreed. “I bet that spotted sow is there with some little pigs, an’ poppie promised me one,” said Ross.

The sow’s oak was a giant tree with a large hollow at the butt, big enough to furnish good shelter for a litter. For years it had been a favorite bedding-place. To find it we had to descend into a cove where there was a clear spring. All stopped for water, though everybody had taken a drink just before leaving Sam’s. The Highlander can go without a meal or two with no inconvenience, but he drinks water in season and out of season. After leaving the spring we passed around the curving side of a hill and came in sight of the tree.

“Sst!” said Sam. “I see her. She’s in there, an’ she’s got pigs. Don’t crowd her now. Keep the dogs back. We don’t want her to git tore, an’ her a-sucklin’ pigs. Y’all stand out here in a circle like, so she kain’t git through if she runs, and I’ll ease up behind the tree. When ye see me bounce ’round to the front to grab her leg, ever’body an’ the dogs bear right in.”

He made a wide circuit and came up behind the tree, but before he reached it Burl’s dog, Bugle, who was new at the game, gave a yelp and the sow sprang out. About a dozen tiny pigs, black-spotted and with delicate pink noses, followed her. All three of the dogs rushed forward and yapped in her face. She bristled to fight, then turned and dashed in the opposite direction, flashing by Sam and leaving him to look foolish, with a knotted rope in his hands. The dogs flew after the sow and the men followed the dogs. Little Ross began to scramble after the terrified, squealing pigs.

“Go after the one with the black spot on its year,” said Serena. “It’s the purtiest.” Ross tumbled after the one she pointed out and secured it. Serena took it into her apron. By that time not a pig was to be seen or heard. They were all under the leaves, behind logs, anywhere they could secrete their quivering bodies. In the distance we could hear the cry of the dogs and shouts of the men. Then the yelping ceased, and we heard the wild squeals of the captive. When we reached the spot the men were looking down on the struggling sow. She was tied by one hind leg, and the other end of the rope was made fast to a young tree.

“She’ll keep all right,” said granpap, examining the knots critically. “Reckon anybody’ll find her here ’fore we git back? The woods air full o’ hunters.”

“Hunters and stealers,” said Len indignantly. “But we kain’t he’p it. We got to go on.”

“She’ll drive in easy,” said Serena. “It’s that sow you brought in last year, an’ I gentled her with slop fer a month.” She put the little pig down by his mother, who became very still as he lifted a nudging nose to her. I wanted to return and find the other pigs, but was swiftly talked down.

“They’ll find the sow ef she’ll squeal loud enough,” said Sam. “They won’t run fur anyhow, an’ we’ll look ’em out as we go home.”

The men had discovered some signs which they were sure would lead to a fine bunch of shotes. “An’ shotes pay,” they said. “Anybody’ll buy a shote.”

The “signs” took us by a very rough way through a damp hollow. Serena declared it was so “blustery” she couldn’t stand it, and persuaded me to turn up the slope and walk along the ridge, leaving the men to push their way below. “They always scour that holler,” she said, “but they’ve never brought a pig out of it.” In half an hour the men came up defeated. Some pigs had been found, but they proved to be in Ag Snead’s mark.

“I’ll tell ye what let’s do,” said Len. “We’ll go to Raven Den side to find that big b’ar hog that’s tuskin’ our gentles ever’ time they go to the woods.”

“B’ar hog” was euphemistic usage, in my presence, for boar. It was humorously incorrect, being similar in sound to the abbreviation for barrow.

“I’m afraid o’ that feller,” said young Ben. “I seen him onct. He suits me where he is.”

“Let’s go fer him,” said Burl. “That sounds like a hunt.”

“I’m ready,” said Sam. “That feller’s too mean to let live. I’ve had to sew up two shotes this week that come in all cut up.”

We were moving slowly along the ridge, and little Ross, who had been running ahead, came flying back to say that he had found a hog sound asleep. We rushed forward and came upon a fine sow lying dead. Len pointed to a bullet-hole in her forehead.

“Is it ours?” I asked, for my mind was set on revenue and this was a dismal beginning. So far we had to our credit only a half-tame sow that would probably have come in of her own accord when food grew scarce--and this. Len flicked the exposed ear of the sow. “You see the undercrap,” he said. Then he pulled the other ear from under her head. “An’ there’s the two slits. It’s a ten-dollar bill you got layin’ there.”

“Ay,” said Sam, “she’s worth ten dollars more yisterday than to-day.”

“Yisterday!” said Len. “She’s shot early this mornin’. She ain’t froze yit, an’ last night would ’a’ froze fire. Whoever shot her is in the woods now, an’ he better not come shammuckin’ where I can see him. I’d have my say.”

“You ain’t goin’ to talk into a gun, Len,” said Serena. “Wha’d you promise me about this hog business?”

“Shucks, Reenie, I ain’t broke no promise yit.”

“Y’ain’t goin’ to nuther. Ol’ Ag’s got more bullets. Reckon I’m goin’ to chance comin’ on you layin’ in the woods like this here sow?”

“Why,” I asked, at last getting in my burning question, “did they shoot the poor thing and leave her here?”

“Oh, she looked slick an’ fine a hundred yards off, but when they shot her an’ come up close they seen she was goin’ to litter an’ wasn’t fit fer meat.”

“What about a stomach that can eat a hog right off the mast?” said Sam. “Ag Snead ain’t more’n ha’f human anyway.”

“’Twa’n’t Ag,” said granpap. “It ’ud take two men to git this hog in home, an’ ol’ Ag is secrety. He wouldn’t want a partner in this kind o’ work. It’s the Copp boys more’n likely.”

“There’s ol’ Aggervation now,” called Ben. We looked ahead and saw a man approaching. It was Agnashus Snead. A boy, big-limbed and nearly grown, walked beside him.

“That’s his nephew, Ted Shoals,” said Len. “’Course they done it! Now watch Ag, the ol’ devil! You’d think he was jest from prayer-meetin’.”

“Howdy, folks,” Snead called to us. He was about seventy, with cool, pink cheeks, and white hair that still kept a youthful ripple. His eyes were golden brown and young as a boy’s. I found myself introduced, and shook hands with him almost eagerly. Oh, no, he couldn’t have done it!

“Any luck?” he asked, and Len pointed to the dead hog. The old man was properly shocked. “They’s some rotten folks in this kentry,” he said, “ef a man knowed where to find ’em.”

“Right, there is,” said Len, “an’ I b’lieve I’d know ’em ef I seen ’em.” His black eyes looked kindlingly into the brown eyes of Snead. Serena pushed in. “_Your_ luck’s all right, Uncle Ag. The boys jest now found a bunch o’ yore shotes down in that holler.”

“Reckon they didn’t have no years tore off?” he asked, repaying Len’s thrust. But no fight was precipitated because he accompanied his question with the frankest of smiles. Serena had often told me that you could say anything in the mountains if you took care to say it laughing.

“No,” put in Sam, with a grin equally disarming, “but if I’s as mean as _some_ folks I’d whacked off their years ragged-like, an’ druv ’em in home.” The laugh went round. Both parties had spoken their minds. Old Ag bent over and touched the bullet-hole.

“Them Copp boys air in the woods to-day.”

We knew what he meant, but if the Copp boys should ever get him cornered not one of us could swear that he had accused them.

“Their gun makes the same kind of a hole yorn does, I reckon,” said Len, with a steady look at Snead’s rifle.

This was going too far. Snead rose up and looked about. He would be two against five, with maybe a woman to claw him from the back. A tolerant smile spread over his face. “It shore does,” he said. “I’ll tell you what, boys. I kain’t take my shotes in with jest Ted here to he’p me. S’pose I hunt with you to-day, an’ you he’p me to-morr’.”

Asking a favor was more disarming than laughter. This was a neighborly appeal, and Len was first, last, and always, a good neighbor. In two minutes we were all on our way to the haunt of the big b’ar hog, leaving the embryo feud, for a time at least, to smother under amenities.