Irish Red, Son of Big Red. Jim Kjelgaard

whole heart to Irish setters when he finally admitted their worth, doted on Mike, the fifth pup, who was a runt, misfit, trouble-maker, and general all-around muddle-head.

      That was strange because Ross had an eye for any sort of animal, and could determine quality almost at a glance. Even a casual observer could tell that any of Mike’s three sisters, or his brother, were far superior. At five months of age, their worth showed plainly. But Mike.. ..

      Fairly well-built, he was nevertheless too small and too narrow in the back ever to take a championship, or even a third place. And what he had in his head seemed to consist almost exclusively of an immense talent for mischief. Danny had a sudden disquieting thought. Was Mr. Haggin angry because Sheilah had thrown a runt? Then he shrugged and forgot it. Mr. Haggin would not get rid of his Irish setters, nor would he let anyone else do so. Ross worried about nothing.

      There was a startled squawk, followed by a continuous outraged squalling. Danny ran to the door.

      Still crusted with dried mud from the hog wallow, and having abandoned hope of catching the blue jay, Mike had returned to the Pickett yard. Pussyfooting, he had crawled up on Ross’s speckled rooster until he was within springing distance. Then he had lunged and grabbed the bird by its tail. Now he hung on, straining backward while the hysterical rooster flapped its wings and sought an escape. Danny opened the door.

      “Hey! You, Mike!”

      The puppy braced his feet a little more firmly, jerked, and snapped the struggling rooster backward. Danny started toward him, but just then Ross came around a corner of the wood shed. Danny stopped to await developments.

      Kneeling, Ross caught the puppy, gently disengaged his jaws, and the still-squawking rooster scuttled away. Danny’s jaw drooped sarcastically as he heard his father’s voice.

      “Bad. Bad dog.”

      The puppy wriggled into Ross’s arms, and bent his head back. He started licking Ross’s face with a warm, sticky tongue, and Danny’s father raised a hand to shield himself. Danny stole up behind them.

      “You two having a real confidential talk?”

      “Stop it!” Ross sputtered. “Cut it out, Mike!”

      Ross rose. Released, the puppy started galloping full speed around the pair and barking at the top of his voice. He stopped suddenly, front quarters close to the ground and rear ones thrust straight up in the air. His tail wagged furiously as he continued to bark. Then he dashed at Ross and began a ferocious attack on his shoelaces. Ross looked down.

      “A right peppery pup,” he announced. “Just full of hell and high water. But he’ll get over it.”

      Danny glanced toward the chastened rooster, who had run to the pig pen and now lingered near it, ready to dash underneath.

      “Hope we got some chickens left by that time,” he said dryly. “You should have hided him for tackling the rooster.”

      “And who,” Ross scoffed, “has been tellin’ me you can’t lick Irish setters if you ever expect to get any where with ‘em?”

      “Red never needed any lickings,” Danny defended. “But I don’t know what else you can do to a pup with as little sense as this one.”

      “Mike’s goin’ to come around when he does a little more growin’. No pup’s got sense.”

      “Sean has. So have Eileen, Sharon, and Pat.”

      “Sean’s somethin’ besides just a dog. He’s got a lot of both Red and Sheilah in him. But Mike has somethin’ Sean lacks.”

      “Just what is that?”

      “Somethin’ I can’t rightly name,” Ross admitted. “But I’ve seen it before this in more than one animal. He’ll show it plain when he forgets his nonsense.”

      “He’s sure got a lot of forgetting to do. Let’s put him back in his cage.”

      The puppy gamboled at their heels when they started back toward the wire cage Danny had built to hold all five pups. The other four leaped against the wire and welcomed them with a barking chorus when they came near, then pushed their heads against the wire to have their ears scratched. Danny stooped to gather Mike in his arms, and lifted him over the wire. Mike reared, waving his front paws, then began to tussle with one of his sisters.

      Danny stared, mystified, at the enclosure. It was four feet high, built of sturdy, galvanized mesh and supported by solid posts. Aware of a puppy’s propensity for digging, Danny had buried the bottom eighteen inches of the wire. He looked wonderingly at Mike.

      There were no holes through the wire or under it, and the gate remained firmly locked. Danny scratched his head. There was no possible way for one of the pups to get out, but Mike had escaped. Danny looked at Ross.

      “How the dickens does he get out?”

      “Search me, Danny.”

      “Must have slipped through the gate after I fed ‘em this morning. Well, he’s in now.”

      They leaned on the fence, gazing admiringly at the pups. Danny was aware of motion beside him, and a velvet-soft muzzle was thrust into his hand. He looked down at the gentle Sheilah, mother of the five pups, and closed his fingers around her muzzle.

      Sheilah had endured the trying ordeals of motherhood without ruffling one of her silken hairs. She had fed her pups, watched over them tenderly, and punished them when they needed it. But now that the pups were weaned, and fenced, Sheilah was treating herself to a well-deserved vacation. She sprawled on the porch, or took long walks with Danny and Ross, except when one of her own children got outside their fence. Then Sheilah was nowhere to be found.

      She wagged an apologetic tail, left Danny, and went over to receive her share of petting from Ross. Danny watched from the corner of his eye. From the very first, Sheilah had been more Ross’s dog than Danny’s. But that was only natural; Sheilah understood the unbreakable bonds existing between Danny and Red, and she could not wriggle inside those bonds. Danny liked Sheilah, but he loved Big Red.

      Sheilah padded quietly behind them as they walked back to the cabin, and when Ross went in, Sheilah accompanied him. Danny remained where he was. Red, even more anxious than Sheilah to stay out of the puppies’ way, had disappeared early this morning. Danny put his fingers in his mouth, whistled shrilly, and sat down to await results.

      Two minutes later his eye was attracted by motion within the beeches that rimmed the Pickett clearing. Danny kept his eyes on it. A second later Red broke out of the trees and started toward the cabin.

      Danny watched, pleased with what he saw but smiling a little wistfully. A few months ago Red had been perfection itself, incapable of graceless action. That was before he’d been hurt in the great fight with Old Majesty. Red would always carry evidence of that fight, for now he walked and ran with a pronounced limp. But he was still, Danny thought, the finest dog in the world.

      He came up on the porch and sat beside Danny, swinging his great head over his young master’s shoulder. Danny tickled his soft ear.

      “You, Red,” he murmured. “You old bum. For a dog like you, you sure can throw some half-witted sons.”

      Red muzzled Danny affectionately, and Danny tickled his other ear. Then he rose and walked down the steps. Red padded contentedly beside him as Danny struck the Stoney Lonesome trail.

      There were plenty of things to think about, and he could always think more clearly in the woods. Red wandered to one side to nose through a thicket of little hemlocks that had found a rooting among the beeches. Absently Danny watched him.

      Until Red came along, Danny had never thought much about his future because, unless you wanted to leave, which he didn’t, there was only one future in the beech woods. You took your living from the country, trapping, hunting, guiding hunters and fishermen, and doing whatever odd jobs you could get. Ross had lived in such a fashion all his life, and Danny had fully intended to do the same because, of all the places he could think