The Red Fern

Where the Red Fern Grows, The Story of Two Dogs and a Boy, by Wilson Rawls. CHAPTER I When I left my office that beautiful spring day, I had no idea what was in store for me. To begin with, everyt It was one of those days when a man feels good, feels I was walking along w At first I paid no attention to it. After all, it wasn't anyt As the sound of the fight grew nearer, I could tell there were quite a few dogs mixed up in it. They boiled out of an alley, turned, and headed straight toward me. Not wanting to get bitten or run over, I moved over to the edge of the sidewalk. I could see that all the dogs were fighting one. About twenty-five feet from me they caught I felt sorry for the unfortunate one. I knew if somet I was trying to make up my mind to help when I got a surprise. Up out of that snarling, growling, slas For a second I saw I caught my breath. I couldn't believe what I had seen. Twisting and slas Growling and snarling they formed a half-moon circle around A big bird dog, bolder than the others, darted in. The hedge shook as he tangled with the hound. He came out so fast he fell over backwards. I saw that It was too much for him and he took off down the street, squallin' A big ugly cur tried He didn't get off so easy. He came out with He sat down on By t It's hard for a man to stand and watch an old hound fight against such odds, especially if that man has memories in his heart I had seen the time when an old hound Taken off my coat I waited in. My yellin' and scoldin' didn't have much effect, but the swingin' coat did. The dogs scattered and left. Down on my knees I peered back under the hedge. The hound was still mad. He growled at me and showed I knew it wasn't In a soft voice I started talkin' to Come on, boy, I said. It's all right. I'm your friend. Come on now. The fighting fire slowly left He bowed his head and his long red tail started th I kept coaxing. On I almost cried at what I saw. His skin was stretched dr The knotty joints of I could tell he was starved. I couldn't figure it out. He didn't belong in town. He was far out of place with the boxers, poodles, bird dogs, and other breeds of town dogs. He belonged in the country. He was a hunt hound. I raised one of There, I read the story. The pads were worn down slick as the rind on an apple. I knew you had come a long way, and no doubt had a long way to go. Around On closer inspection I saw that it had been made from a piece of check-line leather. Two holes had been punched in each end, and the ends were laced together with bailing wire. As I turned the collar with my finger I saw somet There, scratched deep in the tough leather, was the name Buddy. I guessed that the crude scribbly letters had probably been written by a little boy. It'strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man's mind for so many years, yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new just by somet What I saw in the warm gray eyes of the friendly hound brought back wonderful memories. To show my gratitude I took hold of He seemed to understand that he had found a friend. He came willingly. I gave He drank quarts of warm milk and ate all the meat I had in the house. I hurried down to the store and bought more. He ate until he was satisfied. He slept all that night and most of the next day. Late in the afternoon he grew restless. I told I figured he had a much better chance if he left town at night. That evening, a little after sundown, I opened the back gate. He walked out, stopped, turned around and looked at me. He thanked me by wagging With tears in my eyes said, You're more than welcome, old fellow. In fact, you could have stayed here as long as you wanted to. He wind and licked my hand. I was wondering with one final w I couldn't help smiling as I watched I noticed the way Yes, they were all there, the unmistakable marks of a hunton hound. Where the alley emptied into the street he stopped and looked back. I waved my hand. As I watched Good luck and good hunting. I didn't have to let I could have kept But to pen up a dog It would have broken The will to live would have slowly left I had no idea where he had come from or where he was going. Perhaps it wasn'too far, or maybe it was a long, long way. I tried to make myself believe that It wasn't impossible, even though it was a long way from the Snake River Valley in Idaho. I figured somet Perhaps he had been stolen, or maybe he had been sold for some much needed money. Whatever it was that had interrupted He was going home to the master he loved and with the help of God he would make it. To There would be no crying or giving up. When Water from a rain puddle or a mountain stream would quench Food found along the Through the rains, the snows, or the desert heat he would jog along, never looking back. Some morning he would be found curled up on the front porch. The long journey would be over. He would be home. There would be a lot of tail wagging and a few w All would be forgiven. Once again the lights would s After my friend had disappeared in the darkness I stood and stared at the empty alley. A strange feeling came over me. At first I thought I was lonely or sad, but I realized that wasn't it at all. The feeling was a wonderful one. Although the old hound had no way of knowing, he had stirred memories and what priceless treasures they were. Memories of my boyhood days, an old KC baking powder can, and two little red hounds. Memories of a wonderful love, unselfish devotion, and death in its saddest form. As I turned to enter my yard I started to lock the gate and then I thought, no, I'll leave it open. He might come back. I was about halfway to the house when a cool breeze drifted down from the rugged Tetons. It had a bite in it and goose pimples j I stopped at the wood shed and picked up several sticks of wood. I didn'turn on any lights on entering the house. The dark, quiet atmosphere was a perfect setting for the mood I was in. I built a fire in the fireplace and pulled up my favorite rocker. As I sat there in the silence the fire grew larger. It crackled and popped. Firelight shadows began to s The warm, comfortable heat felt good. I struck a match to light my pipe. As I did, two beautiful cups gleamed from the mantle. I held the match up so I could get a better look. There they were, sitting side by side. One was large with long upright handles that stood out The other was smaller and made of silver. It was neat and trim and sparkled I got up and took them down. There was a story in those cups, a story that went back more than a half century. As I caressed the smooth surfaces my mind drifted back through the years, back to my boyhood days, how wonderful the memories were. Peace by peace the story unfolded.