Irish Red by Jim Kjelgaard

Author:Jim Kjelgaard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Dogs
ISBN: 9781442013575
Publisher: Yearling
Published: 1951-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

8. A Use for Mike

Danny Pickett left the cabin in Budgegummon with Red at his heels. He was going out partly to scout fur sets and partly to set a few traps for animals upon which he could collect a bounty. No good trapper, this early in the season, would even think of taking furs that would be worth twice as much after cold weather made them prime, but there was a two-dollar bounty on weasels, four on gray foxes, and twelve on wildcats. If Danny could earn thirty or forty dollars bounty trapping, it would come in very handy.

He crossed a small ridge, and stopped to nail part of a chicken head to a tree. While Red looked interestedly on, Danny set a number one trap beside the bait, staked it, and covered it lightly with leaves. He travelled on, setting traps at intervals. They were all weasel sets and no special care had to be taken with them. Weasels were voracious little beasts, and not afraid of human scent.

As he walked farther into the woods, Danny worried a bit about Ross. All his life Danny’s father had waged a bitter hand-to-hand struggle with the elements around him, and had held his own. Ross, however, had faced too many blizzards, been caught in too many storms, had fought his way across too much deep snow. It was beginning to show. It seemed only a few weeks ago that he had been able to keep going all day and all night too, but now he was glad to seek his bunk right after supper. Furthermore, he seemed unduly depressed. He had loved Sheilah and her children and now they were lost to him. Although he said little, Danny knew that he brooded about it.

They hadn’t done any hunting at all yet because the only seasons open were those on woodcock and waterfowl, and very few ducks and geese flew over the mountains. There were plenty of woodcock, but they were tiny things, not worth an expensive shotgun shell. Danny grinned ruefully. Hunting was properly a sport, but there were times when a man had to figure on getting the biggest possible supply of meat for each shell expended.

Red came padding back and looked anxiously at Danny. The big dog knew as well as his master that hunting season was at hand, and he was eager to be oil with the real business of hunting.

“Few more days,” Danny murmured. “Just a few more days and we can go after partridge, Red. Hang onto your tail until then.”

Danny set a few more weasel traps and located good spots for fox sets near trails that ran through the woods. Then he swung down a hill toward a brook that ran into Budgegummon Creek. There were muskrat signs here, and many willow thickets where rabbits lived. The rabbits, and the trout in the streams, would attract mink and otter. Prospecting for fur signs, Danny cruised along the stream.

Red had been absent for some time, and Danny straightened to look for him.

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