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The Sounding of the Call
Hewasimpelledtodothem,anddidnotreasonaboutthematall.
Irresistibleimpulsesseizedhim. Hewouldbelyingincamp,dozinglazilyintheheatoftheday,whensuddenlyhisheadwouldliftandhisearscockup,intentandlistening,andhewouldspringtohisfeetanddashaway,andonandon,forhours,throughtheforestaislesandacrosstheopenspaceswheretheniggerheadsbunched. Helovedtorundowndrywatercourses,andtocreepandspyuponthebirdlifeinthewoods. Foradayatatimehewouldlieintheunderbrushwherehecouldwatchthepartridgesdrummingandstruttingupanddown. Butespeciallyhelovedtoruninthedimtwilightofthesummermidnights,listeningtothesubduedandsleepymurmursoftheforest,readingsignsandsoundsasmanmayreadabook,andseekingforthemysterioussomethingthatcalled—called,wakingorsleeping,atalltimes,forhimtocome.
Onenighthesprangfromsleepwithastart,eager-eyed,nostrilsquiveringandscenting,hismanebristlinginrecurrentwaves. Fromtheforestcamethecall(oronenoteofit,forthecallwasmanynoted),distinctanddefiniteasneverbefore—along-drawnhowl,like,yetunlike,anynoisemadebyhuskydog. Andheknewit,intheoldfamiliarway,asasoundheardbefore. Hesprangthroughthesleepingcampandinswiftsilencedashedthroughthewoods.
