Winterbound by Margery Williams Bianco Read Free Book Online

it before I left. But I could do with a slice of that apple pie, if you’ve got any left, and a cup of coffee. And I guess the boys could, too—hey, Martin? Jimmie I don’t have to ask, nor yet Caroline there; she looks like she could eat pie any hour of the day. I guess they don’t feed you right, over home. Kind of wasting away, you are!”
    Caroline, never quite sure whether Neal was making fun of her or not, said she guessed she wasn’t hungry,thank you, and sat up a little stiffly on the sofa. But the big coffeepot on the stove was full, there was just pie enough to go round, and Caroline relented when she saw it and shared a plate with Shirley, each drinking in turn from the white cup that held more hot milk than coffee.
    The last of the pie had just vanished when Neal, who was rolling a cigarette, turned suddenly, the half-filled paper between his fingers, and old Sam, who had been asleep under the table, lifted his head.
    â€œHear that?”
    From somewhere outside the house there sounded a strangled scream, followed by a horrible blood-curdling wail that made Caroline turn white, while even Jimmie jumped in his chair and Martin’s mouth hung open.
    Neal looked from one to the other, smiling.
    â€œI bet that scared the life out of you, huh? Just take a look at Shirley!”
    If anything could have made Shirley’s eyes any bigger it was the sound she had just heard as she sat there transfixed.
    â€œCheer up, Shirley, it’s nothing but an ole gray fox hollerin’!”
    Martin drew breath.
    â€œIt . . . didn’t sound like a fox. It sounded like . . . like someone being killed! I thought foxes barked.”
    â€œThey do. Red foxes bark. But the gray foxes, they just holler like that sometimes.” Neal crossed the floor softly and threw open the back door. “Keep the dogs back, Jimmie, and give me the flashlight. He must have been right back of the house here somewheres.”
    The boys pressed close beside him in the doorway as the flashlight played here and there on the dark yard, the dim sides of barn and outhouses. The cold fresh air drove past them into the kitchen where the two little girls sat on the sofa, listening.
    â€œDid you shut the chickens up all right, Jimmie?”
    â€œSure, Dad. Guess he came down nosin’ around the garbage dump.”
    Shirley was peering anxiously under the stove, where the three cats still slept undisturbed.
    â€œGray foxes get cats,” she said in a scared whisper.
    â€œThey eat them?” Caroline looked horrified, as well she might.
    Shirley nodded. “If they catch ’em outside they do, sometimes. We had a cat last year and a fox got it. The cat ran. Dad says if a cat sits still a fox won’t touch it, only if it runs.”
    Caroline sat puzzling this.
    â€œI hate foxes,” said Shirley.
    Neal had closed the door again.
    â€œWouldn’t the dogs chase him?” Martin asked.
    â€œSure! And then we’d have them hollerin’ up and down the hill all night, keeping you all awake. I’ll put them out on the chain before we go to bed. If they git off by themselves, huntin’, this time of year, they’ll be gone for days.”
    â€œIsn’t that the kind you hunt?”
    â€œI get one once in a while. But their skin isn’t worth much. Not like a good red fox.”
    â€œI remember one fall,” Jimmie said, “there were a lot of them used to hang round in the hollow back there, and one time I went out to the spring after dark and I was coming back with the flashlight and there was a gray fox tracked me all the way back to the house. He kept a-hollerin’, and I’d turn the flashlight on him and he’d run, and then he’d keep a-comin’ again, and I got so mad I threw the flashlight right at him and I had to run home in the dark.”
    â€œDid you say ‘mad,’ Jim,” inquired his father, winking at Martin, “or did