A Time For Dying

Doug Adams A Time For Dying by billyc. clark Isaac was on the mountain gathering huckleberries when he stepped out of a grove of trees and saw the hen fighting the red fox. Squinting into an evening sun, he saw that she was no larger than a bantam and that her featheres were black as midnight. He knew that she was a warhorse, a game breed of chicken common on the mountain and often as wild and untamed as grouse. He knew, also, that she was not a chicken his mother had tacked many favors on. She judged the game bird bred for fighting, too small and tough for frying, no fat for dumplings, and the hens' habit of sneaking off along the mountain to hatch and raise their brood, seldom bringing them to coop. By day she scratched them a living along the rugged slopes and, shortly after feathering coaxed them to the limbs of trees where they roosted at night like wild birds. He had, however, heard his mother say that the warhouse made the finest of brood hens, fierce mothers with a courage to defend their young against all odds. Caught now with her unfeathered brood in an open patch of land by the red fox she had chosen to make her stand. Isaac watched as the small hen dropped a wing and scooted backwards across the rugged land, coaxing the fox to follow. He knew that she was pretending hurt and an easy catch. More than once he had watched wild birds do this to coax danger from their young. But her movement was slow and awkward. Shielding his eyes from the sun with the palm of his hand, he saw that she had lost a leg. He watched the red blood drip from her black feathers. She had been fighting the red fox for some time now. And, she was losing. No match for the red fox, Isaac could not understand why she had not flown to the limbs of a tree for her safety. She could have lived to raise another brood. 34 Her scheme to lure the fox by dragging her wing did not work this day. The fox, perhaps sensing that she was his on a want seemed more interested in finding where she had hidden her brood. He lifted his nose into the air. and scented toward a tuft ofgrass nearby. Almost in a crouch, he tiptoed toward it. The hen, frantic now and squawking pitifully, dragged toward him. Reaching the fox, she pecked at his haunches and when he turned she shuffled and filled his face with feathers. He grabbed the hen with his sharp teeth and flung her into the air. She landed a few feet away. Flopping to gain balance, she dragged toward him again. But the fox, paying her no attention now, hunched his back, sprang, and landed near the tuft of grass. He chewed and swallowed, and Isaac thought that he had caught one of the biddies. He hunched and sprang again and again. Pushing herself sideways with one leg, the hen reached the fox again. She filled his face again with feathers and then, pushing herself away and squawking, coaxed the fox to follow. The fox stared toward her and Isaac saw blood dripping from the end ofhis nose. Slowly he moved toward her. Sensing that the temper of the fox had worn too thin, Isaac grabbed a rock and ran toward them, yelling to the top of his voice. He heaved the rock. Startled, the fox stared toward him, but hearing the fall of the rock closeby, he grabbed the hen, threw her over his back, and ran toward a gully. But not before Isaac had been able to see that she was still alive. As the fox ran he saw the entrails ofthe little hen bouncing along the fox's back. Knowing that she still lived caused Isaac to run faster. Briars and brush slashed his face and blood and sweat itched and blinded him. He blinked to clear both from his eyes. Near the gully the fox was slowed by a patch of wild honeysuckle. Isaac searched for another rock, determined that...