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Read Ebook: The Long Hillside A Christmas Hare-Hunt In Old Virginia 1908 by Page Thomas Nelson
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Ebook has 93 lines and 7425 words, and 2 pages
"Heah a ole hyah settin' in her haid. Come heah, Dan, quick! Gi' me your gun; le' me git him!"
This was more than Dan bargained for, as he had not got one himself yet. He ran up quickly enough, but held on tightly to his gun.
"Where is he? Show him to me: I 'll knock him over."
As he would not give up the gun, Peter pointed out the game.
"See him?"
"No."
"Right under dat bush--right dyah" . "See him? Teck keer dyah, Don, teck keer," he called, as Don came to a point just beyond. "See him?" He pointed a black finger with tremulous eagerness.
No, Dan did not see, so he reluctantly yielded up the gun.
Peter took aim long and laboriously, shut both eyes, pulled the trigger, and blazed away.
There was a dash of white and brown, a yell, and Don wheeled around with his head between his forepaws stung by the shot as "molly" fled streaking it over the hill followed only by the dogs.
Peter's face was a study. If he had killed one of us he could not have looked more like a criminal, nor have heard more abuse.
Uncle Limpy-Jack poured out on him such a volume of vituperation and contempt that he was almost white, he was so ashy.
Don was not permanently hurt; but one ear was pierced by several shot, which was a serious affair, as his beauty was one of his good points, and his presence on a hare-hunt was wholly against the rules. Uncle Limpy-Jack painted the terrors of the return home for Peter with a vividness so realistic that its painfulness pierced more breasts than Peter's.
Don was carried to the nearest ditch, and the entire crowd devoted itself to doctoring his ear. It was decided that he should be taken to the quarters and kept out of sight during the Christmas, in the hope that his ear would heal. We all agreed not to say anything about it if not questioned. Uncle Limpy-Jack had to be bribed into silence by a liberal present of shot and powder from us. But he finally consented. However, when Met, in a wild endeavor to get a shot at a stray partridge which got up before us, missed the bird and let Uncle Limpy-Jack, at fifty yards, have number-six pellets in the neck and shoulder, Peter's delinquency was forgotten. The old man dropped his gun and yelled, "Oh! Oh!" at the top of his voice. "Oh! I 'm dead, I 'm dead, I 'm dead." He lay down on the ground and rolled.
Met was scared to death and we were all seriously frightened. Limpy-Jack himself may have thought he was really killed. He certainly made us think so. He would not let anyone look at the wound.
Only a few of the shot had gone in, and he was not seriously injured, but he vowed that it was all done on purpose, and that he was "going straight home and tell Marster," a threat he was only prevented from executing by us all promising him the gold dollars which we should find in the toes of our stockings next morning.
So far the day had been rather a failure; the misfortunes had exceeded the sport; but as we reached the long hillside I have spoken of, the fun began. The hares were sunning themselves comfortably in their beds, and we had not gone more than two hundred yards before we had three up, and cutting straight down the hill before us.
Bang!--bang!--bang!--bang! went the guns. One hare was knocked over, and one boy also by the kick of his gun; the others were a sight chase, and every boy, man, and dog joined in it for dear life.
"Whoop!--whoop! Dyah she go! Dyah she go! Heah, heah! Heah, heah! Heah, heah, heah! Whoop, Rattler! Whoop, Nimrod! Heah, Snip! heah, heah, Bruno! Heah, heah!" Everyone was striving to get ahead.
Both hares were picked up before reaching cover, one being caught by Bruno, who was magnificent in a chase. After many falls and failures by all of us, Saul flung himself on the other, and gave a wild yell of triumph.
The "long hillside" was full of hares; they bounced out of the hen-grass; slipped from brush-heaps and were run down, or by their speed and agility escaped us all. The dogs got the frenzy and chased wildly, sometimes running over them and losing them through a clever double and dash. The old field rang with the chase until we turned our steps toward home to get ready for the fun after dark.
We were crossing the pasture on our way home. The winter sunset sky was glowing like burnished steel; the tops of the great clump of oaks and hickories in which the house stood were all that we could see over the far hill; a thin line of bluish smoke went straight up in the quiet air. The dogs had gone on ahead, even the two or three old watch-dogs ran after the others, with their noses in air.
The question of concealing Don and his ragged ears came up. It was necessary to catch him and keep him from the house. We started up the slope after him. As we climbed the hill we heard them.
"Dee got a ole hyah now; come on," exclaimed one or two of the younger negroes; but old Limpy-Jack came to a halt, and turning his head to one side listened.
"Heish! Dat ain' no ole hyah dey 're arter; dey 're arter Marster's sheep--dat 's what 'tis!"
He started off at a rapid gait. We did the same.
"Yep, yep! Oun, oun, oun! Err, err, err!" came their voices in full cry.
We reached the top of the hill. Sure enough, there they were, the fat Southdowns, tearing like mad across the field, the sound of their trampling reaching us, with the entire pack at their heels, the pointers well in the lead. Such a chase as we had trying to catch that pack of mischievous dogs! Finally we got them in; but not before the whole occurrence had been seen at the house.
The shouts that were borne to us, as rescuers began to troop across the fields, drove our hearts down into our boots.
The return to the house was widely different from the triumph of the out-going in the morning. It was a dejected cortege that wended its toilsome way up the hill. Uncle Limpy-Jack basely deserted us after getting the promise of our gold dollars, declaring that he "told dem boys dat huntin' ole hyahs warn' no business for chillern!"
We knew that we had to "face the condign." There was no maudlin sentiment in that region. Solomon was truly believed to have been the wisest of men, and at least one of his decrees was still acted on in that pious community.
The black boys were shipped off to their mammies and I fear received their full share of "the condign."
We were ushered solemnly into the house and were marched upstairs to meditate on our enormities.
We could hear the debate going on below, and now and then a gentle voice took up the cause. Presently a slow step mounted the stair and the door opened. It was a grave senior--owner of Don. We knew that we were gone.
"Boys, did n't you know better than that?"
Three culprits looked at each other sideways and remained speechless. We were trying to figure out which was the more politic answer.
"A time of peace and good-will," said Met under his breath, but loud enough to be heard.
I confess that the case seemed hopeless. But Met saved the day.
"I 'll tell you what I 'd do, sir."
"What?"
"I 'd give you another chance."
It was, however, too much for him, and he first began to smile and then to laugh. Met also broke out into a laugh, knowing that he had caught him.
So peace and good-will were restored and Christmas really began.
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