When the nights are dark and the ground is frozen and slick, they can pull some mean tricks on a hound. Sometimes the tricks can be fatal.”
I was halfway through the fog-covered bottoms when the voices of my dogs stopped.
I stood still, waited, and listened. A cold silence settled over the bottoms.
I could hear the snap and crack of sap-frozen limbs.
From far back in the flinty hills, the long, lonesome howl of a timber wolf floated down in the silent night.
Across the river I heard a cow moo. I knew the sound was coming from the Lowery place.
Not being able to hear the voices of my dogs gave me an uncomfortable feeling.
I whooped and waited for one of them to bawl. As I stood waiting I realized something was different in the bottoms.
Something was missing. I wasn’t worried about my dogs.
I figured that the coon had pulled some trick and sooner or later they would unravel the trail.
But the feeling that something was just not right had me worried.
I whooped several times but still could get no answer.
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