Page 32 of Blacktail

They backtracked north at first. Then Slipper broke off sharply to the east, moving fast and careless through the woods. Blacktail worried that his paws were making fat tracks in the deep snow, but Slipper told him not to. He soon saw why. The snow fell so fast and thick that the tracks were covered up almost as soon as they were made. A hunter with sharp eyes might notice that something had passed through, but it could just as easily have been a deer or even a two-legs for all the detail that remained.

When they had gone far enough, Slipper stopped under a bush.

“Pause for a moment,” he said. “Catch your breath.” In truth, he was the only one breathing hard. “We’re downwind of them, and I think a few paces past the outermost edge of their hunt line,” Slipper said. “Now we must go to ground.”

“What? Hide?”

“Yes. All the bloodhounds are well to the west of us, and the wind is in our favor. Men will pass by here, but no dogs. Do you see that fallen tree over there, the one next to the hemlock bush?”

“I see it.”

“A bison died near there late in the autumn. The stink still lingers. Go to earth between it and the hemlock. When you’re settled, remain still. This snow will cover you quickly. And—this is very important—unless you’re quite sure you’ve been seen, do not move. The hunter’s eye is drawn first to motion, and only later to color and shape. Resist the temptation to look at them. Control your heartbeat. Breathe shallow. Don’t move until I do. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Blacktail said. “I think so. They will pass me by, thinking I am a rock or a bush. The hemlock and bison will mask my smell.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Will it work?”

“Well,” Slipper said dryly, “I know a hare who used it against you last winter. It worked well enough.”

Blacktail scowled at first, then smiled. “It must be an excellent trick, then.”

“Was that a joke?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to think you’re getting soft.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” Blacktail said. “And, Slipper?”

“Yes?”

“I, ah, that is to say…thank you. Really.”

Slipper smiled. “No bother. When this is done, we’ll sit down and you can tell me what men taste like.”

Blacktail trotted over and settled into a little hole next to the hemlock. The bison was well rotted but not yet frozen. The odor hung thick in the air. Blacktail lay still, just as Slipper had instructed. In only a little time he resembled nothing so much as a mound of snow.

Not long after the first of the two-legs drifted, silent and dreamlike, through the snow off to his right. Slowly, taking great care not to dislodge even a single snowflake, Blacktail closed his eyes.

They did not speak, these men, nor did they stink of fermented yeast as had the one in the tree. They smelled of gunshots. The only sound of their passing was the crunch of snow beneath their feet. Sometimes Blacktail fancied that he could feel the weight of their gaze when it fell upon him, cold and murderous. Perhaps he did. What was it the cat said? I have reminded men what it is to be prey. These two-legs know what I did, he thought. They intend to kill me for it if they can.

Blacktail wondered how much snow had fallen to cover him. He wondered if his tail stuck out.

Eventually they were gone.

A few breaths later more of them came, moving in from the left, closer this time. Blacktail smelled a sour tinge of man-sweat, heard two-legs crunch through snow only a pace away. He made himself small inside, as prey beasts have ever done when the shadow of the hunter falls upon them. He prepared himself for his final attack. He wondered if Slipper would be able to get away in the commotion.

But these also passed him by, and the next, and the ones after that.

As Slipper had instructed, Blacktail waited for him to break cover. They waited until long after the last men had passed by and the baying of the hounds was only an echo in the hills. The cold sank through his fur, into his flesh, settled into his bones. Only when the sun began to sink below the horizon did Slipper rise. He shook the snow off his fur.

Blacktail slipped out from under his bush and padded over to join him.

“That was closer than I would have liked,” Slipper admitted. “I didn’t expect to see so many.”

“No matter,” Blacktail said. “You’ve done it, old fellow.” He bent down and licked Slipper affectionately on the muzzle.