CHAPTER 2
1032 Words
CHAPTER 2
The hounds pranced and yelped as they cut a
path through the wet grass. At the head of the pack was Snoot, a
veteran hound with clearly defined markings of black, tan, and
white. He was sturdy with springy legs and a strong back. The way
he carried himself over the countryside revealed his many years of
hunting experience. He was proud to be out front. Following Snoot
were nearly two dozen other hounds, some all white with only a few
dashes of tan or black mixed in. Some were nearly all tan with only
a few lonely white patches showing through. The hounds had names
like Jasmine, Horatio, Tinker, and Annabelle.
Toward the rear of the pack was Hampton, a
yearling hound on his first Saturday hunt. As he was growing up, he
had been allowed to go on schooling walks with the older hounds,
and, once, just before the hunting season opened, he had
participated in a short weekday hunt called a cubbing. He had
behaved so well that today Mr. Drury selected him as a replacement
for one of the older hounds that had hurt a paw and couldn’t run.
Hampton didn’t mind being a last minute pick, a substitute for a
more experienced hound. In fact, before leaving the kennel, he
paraded vainly in front of the other rookies who were being left
behind. He was a quick learner and if he just followed the hound in
front of him, he thought, everything would turn out fine.
The first few miles had been terrific for
Hampton. The light mist felt good against his coat and he loved the
grasses swishing by his long, floppy ears. He ran with his nose
inches off the ground, sorting through hundreds of scents that
clung to wet leaves or hung just above the ground. Scent of deer,
possum, and cows. Birds and horses. Even human smells. His keen
mind picked through the potpourri of smells, discarding the ones he
thought useless on this day. One scent was clearly stronger than
the others. Another he could distinctly remember from the few times
he had run with the pack. Fox! Something in the back of his mind
told him this was the scent he was to follow. It was strong and
full and easy to detect, and it was luring him along a line as
straight as an arrow.
Suddenly the line of the scent took a sharp
right turn and Hampton, in mad pursuit, made a hairpin turn, his
four legs scrambling to keep from tumbling head over heels. Then
the scent doubled back. At first, Hampton didn’t know what had
happened to it. It just stopped. He stopped, too, pushed his nose
close to the ground and flung his snout upward toward the sky.
Confused, he tried crying out like the other hounds. But what came
out was a broken, shrill yelp that startled even Hampton. He was
embarrassed and thought better of speaking again. In the next
instant, Chadwick, a fine young twoyear-old who was a regular with
the pack, pranced past Hampton and scampered down the trail in the
direction from which they had come. Hampton whirled around, doing a
180-degree turn and followed closely on the heels of the
experienced older hound. Six or seven other panting hounds flanked
Hampton on his right and left.
There were two other sharp turns before the
scent straightened out, following a course over a stone wall, past
a stand of apple trees, and through a small brook where large rocks
formed a little bridge. Hampton was tired. This was more running
than he had ever done and the excitement added to his thirst. The
little brook was very inviting and Hampton didn’t see any harm in
sneaking a quick drink. He had been working very hard and deserved
a little rest. The water felt good as he stepped into the
streambed. He worked diligently lapping up the water at a pace
exceeding that of his rapidly beating heart. It felt so good,
Hampton decided to cool off his entire body and thought nothing of
lying down right in the middle of the stream. It was something he
often did back in the kennel, where a brook splashed through the
middle of the hounds’ exercise field.
Hampton lay there for a dreamy minute or two,
all thoughts of the hunt and the other hounds far from his mind.
Perhaps it was the rotted tree branch cracking and falling to the
ground that snapped Hampton’s mind back to the task at hand. His
head turned frantically in all directions, searching for the other
hounds. In desperation, he leaped higher and higher into the air to
see over the tall grass. His nose bounced off the ground as he
searched for the familiar scent. He turned left, then right, then
doubled back over the stream, alternately looking and sniffing.
Hampton stopped in a small clearing at the top of a hill where he
could look out over the fields. The rain fell faster and harder
making it difficult for him to see. He tried to find any trace of
the once strong fox scent he had been following, but an itch needed
immediate attention. After a quick pause to scratch it, he paced
the grassy knoll looking and smelling.
Now he was getting nervous. There were no
familiar smells. No sights he recognized. Hampton realized he was
alone. Left behind. The Hunt had gone off without him.
Hampton knew his legs were young and strong,
capable of making up the growing distance between him and the
horses and hounds. If only he knew in what direction they had gone.
From where Hampton stood, the valleys and hills stretched out in
all directions, as far as his eyes could see. All he could do was
pick one path and hope his instinct was right. He looked west one
more time and, after some thought, decided to go east, where a
tractor road led through a gate and into a thick forest. It seemed
like a good choice at the time. The rain fell at a steady rate, the
wind picked up, and Hampton, cold and scared, set off to find the
pack.
- Writer
