Irish Red, Son of Big Red. Jim Kjelgaard
them against any of the eight English setters I brought, and you’ll see the difference yourself!”
Mr. Haggin looked at Danny. “What do you say?”
Danny shook a miserable head. “Red couldn’t keep up in a fast heat. You know that.”
“Sheilah hunts.”
“You have to understand Sheilah, Mr. Haggin. She’ll hunt for us, but I don’t know what she’d show if you put her down and made her hunt.”
John Price was grinning triumphantly. Ross noticed it.
“We’ll bring Sheilah down,” he said. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning at eight,” John Price said.
“We’ll be there.”
The two men remounted their horses, and on command the black and white English setter rose to follow. Danny stared at their retreating backs, and turned to Ross.
“Why did you say that?”
“That John Price, he thought we were afraid.”
“You know Sheilah.”
“We can’t back down, Danny.”
“Better rub your rabbit’s foot, then. We’ll need all the luck we can get.”
Danny strolled gloomily to the cabin. Red was nowhere to be seen, but Sheilah, who had taken herself elsewhere while strangers visited, thumped the floor boards with her plumed tail as Danny approached. Danny stooped to stroke her head.
Never a fast or flashy hunter, or one that cared a bit about playing to the grandstand, Sheilah was still a first-rate gun dog and able to hold her own in most company. Trouble would arise because of her make-up.
She was so gentle, and emotional, that a harsh word could send her trembling into the nearest corner. At all times she must be positive that she was in the good graces of the human beings around her, but so well had Danny and Ross handled her that, in turn, Sheilah gave herself completely to them. She trusted no one else, and regardless of how they coaxed, she would never let herself be caressed by anyone else. She was strictly a one-family dog who would break her heart for the people she loved and trusted. What would she do if other people were present and how would she react when competing with one of John Price’s robots? Tomorrow would tell that tale.
Red limped out of the woods onto the porch, threw himself down beside Sheilah, and Danny scratched the big dog’s ears. A lump rose in his throat. There had been a time, not too long ago, when Red could have challenged anything in John Price’s kennels and beaten it easily. That time was past and would never come back again. Danny sighed and got up; it was time to give the pups a run.
He let Red and Sheilah into the cabin and opened the gate to the puppies’ cage. Out they boiled, streaming past Danny as they raced helter-skelter across the clearing. The gorgeous Sean, perfection itself, led the pack. Then came his three sisters while, for a moment, Mike lagged in the rear.
Danny’s eyes widened. Mike was the smallest of the pups, and therefore the shortest-legged. But Mike never had been one to let minor handicaps interfere with the more important things and right now the most important consisted of catching Sean. Mike lengthened out, his belly seeming to scrape the ground as his pace became swifter. Plumed tail fluttered straight behind him, and his slim body undulated. A happy grin framed his face.
Almost without effort he passed his three sisters and bore down on Sean. The lead puppy glanced back over his shoulder and accepted the challenge. Like ground-skimming birds they flew to the far end of the clearing, and it was there that Mike finally caught his swift brother. Instantly he attacked, and the two puppies rolled in another of their endless mock fights.
Danny watched, puzzled and interested. Sean had been doing his best, but Mike had caught him. The smallest of the litter, he was also the fastest. And certainly there was nothing wrong with his courage. Two minutes after Ross had finished pulling porcupine quills out of his face, he had jumped headlong into a fight with a bigger, heavier dog. Danny shook his head.
Mike was fast and courageous, but he was also bull-headed. Always wanting his own way, he never gave an inch to anything that might stand in his path. He would be worthless unless he developed some brains and showed some willingness to cooperate.
Two hours later, shortly before dark, the panting puppy pack returned. All were soaking wet, they had been swimming in the creek, and in addition Mike had a torn ear. Somewhere out in the beech woods he had run into something, probably a prowling coon, and had evidently tried to start another fight with it.
Danny locked all five puppies in the barn, and gave them a huge pan full of food, which they started gobbling instantly. Mike, always alert for the main chance, climbed into the middle of the pan and calmly proceeded to usurp the lion’s share. Danny grinned. By any reasonable rules Mike should have been the biggest dog in the pack; he ate half again as much as any of his companions.
Soberly Danny strolled into the cabin. Red rose to come greet him, but the more restrained Sheilah wagged her welcome from her carpet in the middle of the floor. Red sat beside him when Danny seated himself on a chair and stared thoughtfully at Sheilah.
“If your face gets any longer, your lower jaw will be hittin’ your knees,” Ross observed from the stove. “What’s the matter, Danny?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, there is. You’re afraid of tomorrow mornin’, huh?”
“We shouldn’t be using Sheilah.”
Hearing her name, Sheilah rose and padded over to sit quietly at Danny’s other side. Danny stroked her sleek head.
“Sheilah’s a good hunter,” Ross said.
“Sure. I know it and you know it. But is she going to prove it for Mr. Haggin and his nephew?”
Ross said quietly, “Danny, why did you take up with these Irish setters?”
“Because I believe in them.”
“Then don’t let Sheilah down by lickin’ her yourself, before Haggin’s dog does it.”
“Suppose he does it?”
“He ain’t done it yet. Set the table.”
Danny spent a restless night, and pecked at the breakfast Ross cooked. He locked Sean and his three sisters in the wire cage, led the unwilling Mike into the cabin, and shut the door. At once Mike reared with his paws on the window sill, his face plastered against the window. Mike entreated Danny with pleading eyes and wagging tail, and when Danny refused to let him out he set up a howling that could be heard a quarter of a mile away.
“Let him screech,” Ross said. “He won’t bother anythin’, except maybe a squirrel or two.”
When Ross snapped his fingers, Sheilah trotted confidently over to walk beside him. Danny fell in with the pair, and when Red would have followed Danny ordered him back. Red sat down in the path, ears flattened and eyes disconsolate as he watched the trio enter the woods. In Red’s opinion it was not right for Danny to go anywhere unless he went along, but he made no attempt to follow.
Without speaking they strode down the Smokey Creek trail, crossed the bridge, and came to the edge of the extensive Haggin estate. Ross worked his lips, as though he was about to say something, but he did not speak. Danny glanced sideways, knowing that his father was tense, too.
As they approached the big barns, Sheilah slowed her step and walked so close to Ross that she all but brushed his legs. Curley Jordan, one of Mr. Haggin’s men and a good friend of the Picketts, was exercising a stallion in the yard. He jerked a calloused thumb toward the house.
“Boss said to tell you he won’t be long. Stick around.”
They sat down in the grass, Sheilah resting companionably between the two, and watched Curley work. Then a stranger, dressed in jodhpurs and leather leggings, emerged from one of the tenant houses and