All God's Dangers (84 page)

So, that's two.

The third fox, I got him by myself, the last one. One mornin I went to the lot—Ooooooooo, there was another fat fox. All of em was old gray foxes. A red fox is a runnin rascal; it takes more pursuit to catch him than it do to catch a gray one. So, one mornin I got up and went to the lot, fed my mules—hadn't milked yet. I started back to the house, not thinkin bout no fox, and just as I got up about even with the chicken house I happened to turn my head and look back and there was a old fox trottin out from behind the henhouse, old gray fox. O, he was fat as a brick. I looked at him and I believe he seed me. He never did stop travelin, though, and I walked on, studyin my plan right quick. I was goin to try if there was any way in the world to get in the house and get my gun—

I killed that fox—had no help that mornin; Big Boy done sloped off, he weren't around me nowhere and I fretted that he had hitched his tail to Ben Ramsey's pack—O, these words brings up others and they won't wait: I had to take a dog away from a white man, one of my dogs, once, back when I was livin down on Sitimachas Creek with Mr. Tucker. I got the dog from Ben Ramsey and Ben told me he got him from a white gentleman by the name of Wesley Dowd, back here close to a barroom about ten miles from where I was livin. Ben brought the dog to my house and traded with me—good dog, too, she'd tree possums just like a top. Well, I took my mule out one mornin—only mule I had at that time—and went down on the creek to plow and I turned Queen loose to go with me. She stayed right around there till about ten thirty, eleven o'clock, and every once in a while I would see her cross the bottoms of the field goin into the creek swamps, first one way then another, huntin. And all at once I took a missin to her, couldn't hear her. Well, I just plowed right in up till dinner time, then took out and come to the house. I asked my wife, “You seed that dog come back to the house, old Queen?”

She said, “No darlin, I aint seed her.”

I got uneasy then. Ben told me when he gived me the dog that the white man he got the dog from told him to keep her away from
down by his place; he had two puppies he had reserved from her and he didn't want her hangin around there because she might trot off somewhere and carry them puppies off, and somebody'd steal em or they'd get killed and he'd be out his puppies then.

I went on and fed my mule; soon as she could get done eatin I had her to the buggy—that was one of the prettiest mules the country could afford, that Mattie mule—and I hitched Mattie to the buggy and first thing I come out from up there on Sitimachas and right to Ben's. He was openin up a new place—Ben Ramsey, poor fellow, he opened up more house seats and cleared more land than any fellow I know of through this country. He was out on new ground up there at his house, burnin brush, burnin off the land. I asked him about the dog. He said, “No, Cousin Nate, I aint seed her”— he was cousin to my wife—“I aint seed her at all. I betcha she gone back down to Wesley Dowd where I got her from. If she is you better hurry down there.”

I jumped up when he told me that and drove right down to what they call Sharon's crossroads, took the left fork past where a fellow by the name of Carter runs a store now—he used to work there for Mr. Joe Thompson until he bought Mr. Thompson out—and down to Mr. Wesley Dowd before I quit drivin. It was late Saturday evenin, near night, when I drove up there on my buggy and stopped. Young white man was out at the woodpile cuttin wood. I called his attention, said, “Is this where Mr. Wesley Dowd lives?”

He said, “Yes, right here is where he lives.”

I said, “Is he about home?”

Said, “No, Mr. Dowd gone to Calusa this evenin and he haven't come back.”

I said, “Well, could you tell me whether you have seen lately a hound bitch that Mr. Dowd traded with Ben Ramsey?”

He said, “Yeah, that dog was here this evenin.” You take a old hound bitch, she'll go fifteen miles goin back home, if she gets a chance, to where she was born and raised. And said, “Now, I'll tell you something if you don't say nothin about it at all. The dog was here before Mr. Dowd went off to Calusa, and Malcolm Malone out there wanted that dog and been wantin her for the longest. Mr. Dowd wouldn't let him have her in the first place because Malcolm lives too close to him, he wanted to put the dog away from where she could get at her puppies. But he seen it don't make no difference where he puts her, she goin to come back if she take a notion. So
he just decided to give her to Malcolm Malone and that's where she's at now. Malcolm Malone's got that dog. I told Mr. Dowd not to let him have her because she aint been here in several days, and we knowed that Ben had done traded her off to somebody else. I tried my best to get Mr. Dowd to not let Malcolm Malone have that dog. I told him that somebody'd come through here raisin hell about that dog and I tried to get him to keep her here until her owner come for her or he found out definitely who owned her. He wouldn't do it; he let Malcolm Malone have her. You go out there you'll find the dog. But don't use my name at all.”

I said, “Well, I aint raisin no hell but she's mine and I'll be damned if I aint goin to get her.”

He said, “Well, that's just with you; just don't use my name.”

I didn't betray him but I went on after that dog. Dark when I drove up there, just about gettin dark before I ever left Mr. Dowd's.

“Hello, Mr. Malone.”

I knowed Malcolm Malone; knowed more about him than I knowed about Mr. Dowd. He was a sort of hard-boned white man. Gived out a hard “Hello.”

I said, “Come out here a minute or two, please, sir, I want to talk with you a little.”

He come out to where I was settin on my buggy. I said, “Mr. Malone, I lost a big hound bitch—” I didn't hold back from tellin him where I'd been, but I wouldn't use nobody's name. I said, “I got a big hound bitch from Ben Ramsey a few days ago and she got away this mornin, left me. He got her from Mr. Wesley Dowd. Have you seen anything of her prowlin around you here?”

He said, “Yeah, I got her now.” Weren't bootin me at all. “I got her now; I been wantin that bitch a long time but couldn't get her from Dowd. I got her now and I'm goin to keep her.”

I had done went and paid taxes on the dog and I thought I had a right to her. I bought her—gived Ben Ramsey a yearlin for that dog; cows was cheap then.

I said, “Well, Mr. Malone, she belongs to me. I done paid Ben Ramsey fair for her—she belongs to me.”

“Yeah, but you can't get her now”—talkin his big talk, but he never did cuss me about it. “Aint but one way you could get her—give me a five-dollar bill.”

I said, “Well, Mr. Malone, I aint goin to pay you for her”—I
was studyin tricks for him then. I seed what I had to do; I said, “It aint right that I done paid for her once, then have to pay for her again. I don't know, I reckon I'll just leave my dog.” But I knowed if the law worked I was goin to get her. Weren't goin to have no fuss with him in the dark of night at
his
house. I took a notion I'd drive away then.

Wadkin Todd's boy was on the buggy with me, goin around with me that Saturday night. He's dead and gone now, Wadkin and both his boys is dead. But this Conrad Todd, he was a one-eyed fellow, young fellow, hadn't been long married, he was with me that Saturday evenin. Malcolm Todd, cousin of mine, he was with me at the end.

I said, “Well, Mr. Malone, there aint no way then in the world accordin to your thoughts about the dog and as much as you think of her that I can get her without five dollars.”

“No, I been wantin the dog for several years and I wouldn't get shed of her for less than five dollars. When I got her I gived her two big hunks of fat meat to get her started and get her in heat so she can take the dog and raise me some puppies. That's what I got her for and I'm goin to keep her.”

I said, “All right, Mr. Malone, I don't know what I'm goin to do about it”— I knowed I wouldn't give him a penny—“I may take a notion to bring you your five dollars, as I aint got it now. I'll be back, sir—”

“Yeah, get me up five dollars and you can get her.”

Just before I left there I said, “Mr. Malone, to be sure, I want to see the dog, see it's the right dog I'm huntin and the dog I done paid taxes on. Would you object to me seein her?”

“No, you can see her. She's around here in the back yard in the doghouse.”

Got off my buggy, went around there and she was in a small house, just about as high if she stood up as she was. And the door was locked. He unlocked the door, and the dog was in there chained by the neck; chain run to her collar and fastened to the back side of the house to keep her away from the door. I felt like beatin that white man down—I popped my finger—Pop Pop—“Queen! Queen!” She barked and runned right up my breast and whined over me. She knowed the scent of me. I'd had her at my home a few days and she knowed me.

I said, “Yes sir, that's her, that's Queen.” A hound dog—I've
treasured em, I've watched em, I've experimented on em—a hound bitch, a heap of em is deceitful to an extent: they make out like they think so much of you but if they gets a chance they leave you. But in fact, she wanted to go back to where her puppies was, that's how come she left me. I crawled out the house and Malcolm Malone chained her back to the wall and he come on out too, and locked the door.

Got on my buggy, drove on back home, took my mule out and fed her, went in the house, taken a bath, went to bed. Told my wife all about my rounds. I said, “I seed her but I couldn't get her. Now, darlin, I'm goin to the justice of the peace in the mornin, take out a warrant for her. He live over here west of Pottstown way back toward the backwaters.”

His name was Kirkland—I don't know his given name—mighty nice white gentleman. I've knowed a heap of Kirklands and I aint knowed nary a one of em to act off and treat colored folks wrong. So, I went back in that country inquirin for Mr. Kirkland, justice of the peace. Malcolm Todd was with me on the buggy. Drove up to the white man's house and stopped, talked with him about it. It was a little cold that mornin and Mr. Kirkland said, “Come on in the house, you two fellows, and set by the fire.”

We went in there and set down by the fire and he turned and set down to one of his desks. And he wrote out some papers and gived one to me. I offered to pay him but he wouldn't have it. He said, “You go down there to Mr. Malone and give him this paper. If he don't release that dog right quick to you, you come right back and notify me; we'll get him and the dog too.” The words he spoke.

I drove on down there—early that Sunday mornin, gettin around early—stopped at Malcolm Malone's house and called for him. His wife come to the door, said, “He's not here. He's gone out the other side of Apafalya to his sister's.”

I said, “Mrs. Malone, about how long ago was that he left?”

“O, he left early”—never did tell me what time he left—“left just before daylight, goin to his sister's, out the other side of Apafalya.”

I said, “Do you know about when he'll be back?” I decided I'd put up around there until the hour he come back; I had a cousin lived right down the road below there.

She said, “No. When he goes off thataway to his sister's, sometimes it's way in the night before he comes back.”

I said, “Well, Mrs. Malone, I'm the fellow that was here talkin with Mr. Malone about that dog, last night. I'm the owner of that dog.”

She said, “O, that dog gone; that dog left here durin the night sometime.”

I wouldn't say nothin to insult her. I said, “Mrs. Malone, how did that dog get loose and get out of that buildin with a chain around her neck and it fastened to the wall, and the door to the house was locked?”

“I don't know but she got out of there someway; I don't know.”

I said, “Did she get loose chain and all?”

Said, “Yes, she carried that chain with her, snapped it loose.”

I said, “Well, if she did must have carried that house with her too; Mr. Malone had her locked up.”

I wouldn't talk with her much more, just let her alone. I said, “I declare!” and I drove away. Went on down the road and stopped at Ches Todd's. Took my mule out and gived her her dinner and we set there and talked with Ches until about one or two o'clock. Got up and hitched my mule back to that buggy and drove right back up to Malcolm Malone's. Called him. Weren't nobody there; she was gone then. Before I'd be outdone— I had a cousin lived on down the road from there toward Apafalya, fellow by the name of Ty Haines, married a cousin of mine. I drove on over to Ty Haines'. I said, “Hello there.”

Ty answered me. He got up and come out to the buggy to me and Malcolm Todd; Malcolm was still with me and it was approachin dark, been drivin with me since early mornin. I told Cousin Ty what we was there for. When that white lady told me that dog got away chain and all, I just figured her husband got that dog and put her in his buggy or fastened her behind it and escaped into the hills, got out from my way. He was a runnin fox, but I caught him.

Cousin Ty told me, “Cousin Nate, I don't know nothin about the matter at all.”

I asked him, “Has you seen Malcolm Malone come through here any time early this mornin or durin the night? Have you heard any buggies comin through here? The way I caught it, he slipped off from his house just before daylight, and the time he could drive two miles with that horse and buggy, you'd a been up too.”

He said, “I don't know, Cousin Nate, I aint seed him and I
aint heard nothin about him, no more than what Otis told me—” That was his oldest son.

I said, “Where is Cousin Otis?”

He said, “He's up there at the house.”

I said, “Call him out here.”

He come right on out and Cousin Ty said, “Otis, Cousin Nate wants to talk with you some concernin a dog.”