THE HUNT
49
There were others of the town men around because he
started yelling, "The Jew boy too." Hub had dropped sudden–
ly
and grabbed his axe. Pusley bawled, "Drop that axe. Drop
it. We pay you back for shooting that cock, we pay you back
for Firkin."
Hub raised the axe slowly and moved towards Pusley.
Pusley stepped back and tightened hold on his gun, growling.
Gordon stared at the underslung jaw and the beading eyes. Hub
took another step forward. Desperately Gordon tore .out,
"Where's the dog?" And then before Hub could answer, he
roared, "Get him, boy, sick him."
Pusley twisted his head for a second. And then Gordon
leaped. His head caught Pusley like a cannonball. The gun
banged out of his hands. Gordon kicked around in the snow.
He got on his knees. Pusley lay in the snow like a log. Hub
stood over them with his gun.
Gordon got up. His hat had been knocked off. He put his
hand tp his head. It was bloody. The gun must have gotten
him. A shot came faintly on the wind. Hub hurried to the
knothole. The squirrel was gone. He stalked over and kicked
Pusley. "Git out of here or we'll sick that hound on you." The
breath snored thru Pusley's open mouth. He staggered to his
feet and made for the woods.
The gash in the forehead bled into Gordon's eyes. He
packed snow and plastered it on his head. Hub waited and kept
lookout with his gun. The snow chalked the woods. The wind
lared again. There was no sound of men. They cut around in
the opposite direction. The trees groaning and standing out like
great quills. They came to a small farmhouse huddled against
the storm.
Curley Flynn, twisted like a scythe handle, flung open the
door for them. Hub talked and skinned fhe brained squirrel.
Curley stomped around cursing and beating one fist against the
other. He gave Gordon some corn whiskey. A young woman
with a piece of leather and a haJness needle listened near the
cook-stove and then went into the other room.
Curley couldn't sit down. "We got to make a finish of this.
Their hunting license, their tax on every hog's bristle and spear
of grass, they just going to squeeze us between stump and stone.
They won't let us sell the few squirts of milk we make. Old
funpson's in with the dealer. I tell you I been down in Cameron
North Carolina where we was bad off we had to steal in the
