Track of the Cat - Walter Van Tilburg Clark by Clark Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Clark
knife.
Arthur stood up, and Curt pulled the chair in and
started to sit down, but then took the cowhide parka off the back of
the chair and held it out to Arthur.
"And take your gown too," he said. "I
can’t sit easy with a thing like that behind me."
Arthur took the parka, and Curt sat down and pulled
the chair in and began to eat at once, taking huge mouthfuls and
swallowing them half chewed.
"There’s no need to choke yourself," the
mother said.
"Storm’s letting up," Curt said thickly,
through the food in his mouth. "If we get out there by daylight,
there’s a chance we can catch him at it."
The mother sat down in her place again, and asked
him,
"What makes you so certain sure it’s a painter
that’s at ’em?"
"What else would they yell for? I killed every
wolf in this neck of the woods ten years ago. And I lost two damn
good dogs last spring too, if you remember, and there wasn’t much
question what got ’em, was there? Or those calves we found down the
south end." He took another mouthful and chewed for a moment,
and said, “No, sir, one of them bastards has been workin’ this
section for four or five months now, and this is him, all right. He’s
took over here, and I’ll get him this time if I have to chase him
to P1acerville."
"Could be a bear," the mother said.
Curt chuckled. "The only kind of bears I’ve
ever seen around here," he said, "was rugs before they was
shot. Sheep, maybe, if they could get close enough to ’em, but not
a steer."
"Could be just the snow worries ’em," the
mother said.
"You’re just tryin’ to talk me out of it,"
Curt said, grinning at her. "You know as well as I do that ass
to the wind and their eyes closed is all any snow ever got out of
'em. Nope, it’s that cat, and I’ll nail the bastard’s hide to
the wall this time. I owe him that for them two dogs." He took
another mouthful, and drank some coffee through it, and added, "I
only wish I had ’em now. I should of got me another right away. But
the snow’s next best."
"There’s no arguin’ with fools," the
mother said. "Especially when they’ve got used to bein’ boss
ahead of their time."
"No use," Curt agreed, grinning at her.
"Well there’s one thing I can tell you,"
the mother said. "You don’t nail the next hide up on the
house."
"Not even if it’s black?"
"Not if it was red, white and blue," the
mother said. "Such a stink every time that door was opened."
Curt swallowed and leaned back and laughed and
slapped his thigh. Then he sat forward again and said, still
chuckling, and pointing his fork at the mother, "I remember you
was afraid to touch it to take it down yourself, on account of that
smell. But a black one," he said, suddenly solemn, "would
be good luck for the house. Wouldn’t it, medicine man?" he
asked, half turning to Arthur.
"I’ll take less luck, if it’ll make less
stink," the mother said. "If you bring anything back you
haven’t just imagined, you’ll spread it on the shed, not the
house, and on the back side too.
"All right, all right," Curt said,
grinning, and took another large mouthful of egg and potato.
"Anyway," he said thickly, "the way it’s been
growin’ lately, if we was to get the black one, his hide would
cover the whole house. We’ll have to peg it out on the meadows, eh,
preacher?"
"There’s nothing to worry about there,"
Arthur said. "If we ever get that one, it won’t be with
bullets."
"Nonsense," the father said. "Utter
nonsense. If. . ."
Curt pointed the fork at him now. "No, by God.
For once I agree with old whiskers, absolutely. If we ever get that
one, it won’t be with bullets." Bending his head toward the
plate again, he looked at the mother, grinning. "Which is why I
have to take old whiskers a1ong."
"This whole performance is ridiculous,"
said the father angrily. "In such weather as this. If there was
a grain of sense in the pair of you, you’d stay in the house and
make use of this opportunity for a little sociable . .
Arthur stood up, and Curt pulled the chair in and
started to sit down, but then took the cowhide parka off the back of
the chair and held it out to Arthur.
"And take your gown too," he said. "I
can’t sit easy with a thing like that behind me."
Arthur took the parka, and Curt sat down and pulled
the chair in and began to eat at once, taking huge mouthfuls and
swallowing them half chewed.
"There’s no need to choke yourself," the
mother said.
"Storm’s letting up," Curt said thickly,
through the food in his mouth. "If we get out there by daylight,
there’s a chance we can catch him at it."
The mother sat down in her place again, and asked
him,
"What makes you so certain sure it’s a painter
that’s at ’em?"
"What else would they yell for? I killed every
wolf in this neck of the woods ten years ago. And I lost two damn
good dogs last spring too, if you remember, and there wasn’t much
question what got ’em, was there? Or those calves we found down the
south end." He took another mouthful and chewed for a moment,
and said, “No, sir, one of them bastards has been workin’ this
section for four or five months now, and this is him, all right. He’s
took over here, and I’ll get him this time if I have to chase him
to P1acerville."
"Could be a bear," the mother said.
Curt chuckled. "The only kind of bears I’ve
ever seen around here," he said, "was rugs before they was
shot. Sheep, maybe, if they could get close enough to ’em, but not
a steer."
"Could be just the snow worries ’em," the
mother said.
"You’re just tryin’ to talk me out of it,"
Curt said, grinning at her. "You know as well as I do that ass
to the wind and their eyes closed is all any snow ever got out of
'em. Nope, it’s that cat, and I’ll nail the bastard’s hide to
the wall this time. I owe him that for them two dogs." He took
another mouthful, and drank some coffee through it, and added, "I
only wish I had ’em now. I should of got me another right away. But
the snow’s next best."
"There’s no arguin’ with fools," the
mother said. "Especially when they’ve got used to bein’ boss
ahead of their time."
"No use," Curt agreed, grinning at her.
"Well there’s one thing I can tell you,"
the mother said. "You don’t nail the next hide up on the
house."
"Not even if it’s black?"
"Not if it was red, white and blue," the
mother said. "Such a stink every time that door was opened."
Curt swallowed and leaned back and laughed and
slapped his thigh. Then he sat forward again and said, still
chuckling, and pointing his fork at the mother, "I remember you
was afraid to touch it to take it down yourself, on account of that
smell. But a black one," he said, suddenly solemn, "would
be good luck for the house. Wouldn’t it, medicine man?" he
asked, half turning to Arthur.
"I’ll take less luck, if it’ll make less
stink," the mother said. "If you bring anything back you
haven’t just imagined, you’ll spread it on the shed, not the
house, and on the back side too.
"All right, all right," Curt said,
grinning, and took another large mouthful of egg and potato.
"Anyway," he said thickly, "the way it’s been
growin’ lately, if we was to get the black one, his hide would
cover the whole house. We’ll have to peg it out on the meadows, eh,
preacher?"
"There’s nothing to worry about there,"
Arthur said. "If we ever get that one, it won’t be with
bullets."
"Nonsense," the father said. "Utter
nonsense. If. . ."
Curt pointed the fork at him now. "No, by God.
For once I agree with old whiskers, absolutely. If we ever get that
one, it won’t be with bullets." Bending his head toward the
plate again, he looked at the mother, grinning. "Which is why I
have to take old whiskers a1ong."
"This whole performance is ridiculous,"
said the father angrily. "In such weather as this. If there was
a grain of sense in the pair of you, you’d stay in the house and
make use of this opportunity for a little sociable . .