Bertie blows the horn

“Well, I don’t know but I guess maybe we should let the dogs have a rest,” Bertie’s Da said to Osric. “Their noses do get tired after a while.”

“That’s so,” Osric nodded.

Alwy whistled, and the hounds came running to yip and whirl around the legs of their horses.

“But Da,” Bertie protested.

“What, Bertie?” his Da asked after they had dismounted.

“Well, I don’t know but I guess I don’t feel ready to stop looking yet.”

“We got to stop for a little while, Bertie,” he explained. “The dogs can’t smell any more. But we’ll build us a fire, and then maybe Baby can see that from far off, and maybe she will come to find us.”

“That’s real clever, Da,” Bertie said, impressed. Lately it did seem like his Da occasionally had clever ideas of his own.

“Well, I don’t know Bertie,” his Da began after they had fed the dogs and themselves and were seated around a handsome bonfire, “but I guess you’ll feel real bad if you find out Baby run away ’cause you and Malcolm were being mean to her.”

“I guess so,” Bertie agreed guiltily.

“I don’t know,” his Da continued quietly, “but I guess I always thought Baby was like a sister to you somehow. I guess you don’t think so, ’cause I hate to think you would let boys say mean things like that about Wynn. You wouldn’t, would you?”

His Da was eerily clever tonight. He was now obliged either to admit that he didn’t think of Baby as a sister, or to admit that he would have let boys treat Wynna the same way. He took the easy way out: “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, but I guess I always did feel real bad for Baby,” his Da mused. “Her elf Ma and Da left her all alone in the woods, and her baby brother got stole, and her poor Mama took her own life, and Baby saw her when I carried her in from the barn, and now the people are afraid of her ’cause she’s an elf, and she wanted me to cut her poor little ears like I do the pups, and her – ”

“Please stop, Da,” Bertie pleaded. He was beginning to feel rather sick.

“All right.” His Da sat quietly for a while and cleaned his fingernails with his knife.

Bertie stared into the fire. Baby sure did like fires. And she didn’t even know how to make one. Wherever she was, she was probably very cold right now. Bertie shivered a little for her sake. How he wished he could trade places with her! He wouldn’t be scared – but she might be.

They all lifted their heads at the sound of a horn sounding from low in the valley, closer to the river. It was as it was when they hunted wolves – one long, low call to say that the men were there, and they had found nothing.

Bertie’s Da handed him the horn without a word, and Bertie stood and sounded the reply. He had always longed to come with the men when they hunted wolves, and he had always thought the best part would be blowing the horn. And now he was blowing it for Baby. It was not as much fun as he had thought it would be.

“I hope she can hear it, Da, wherever she is,” he said as he sat down again. “At least she would know we’re looking for her.”