He sat on the new stump he'd made and lit a cigarette. He felt terrific.
Buddy Stokes liked bringing trees to earth. He liked the awkward weight of his 31/z-horsepower 20-inch saw. He liked things that were big, things that were heavy, things that were tough. He liked roaring through woods on his trail bike and snowmobile, pushing his car until it began to shake itself apart, big guns, the Ruger.41 Magnum single-action revolver he hunted deer with, the.338 Magnum Browning autoloader he took bear with. He liked fucking his wife in the ass and brawling in bars. He didn't mind broken teeth. Tattooed on his muscled forearm was a hammer and anvil.
He finished his cigarette and stomped the butt under his heel. He stood, wrenched his arms back, stretching, and went "Waugh!" Like a grizzly bear, a stag in rut. He made his way out of the ravaged woods to his jeep, tossed the saw in the back, and chewed up dirt when he turned the jeep around. He drove to the Granite Bar and Grill.
"Hey, hey-Buddy's here!" he boomed.
He greeted a couple of men. They slapped each other on the back, punched each others' arms.
"What was the double at Green Mountain?" Buddy said. "Anyone know?"
"Five and two."
"Goddamn. I had five and three."
"Paid nine hundred and eighty-seven."
"Goddamn," Buddy said again.
Charlie, the bartender, brought Buddy a shot of Seagram's and a mug of beer. Buddy dumped the whiskey into the beer and chugalugged it.
"Willis Quigley called about an hour ago," Charlie said. "He wants you to call back."
"Whooo-eeel That's the one I been waitin' for," Buddy said. "Gimme some phone change, Charlie."
"How big you think he's going to go?"
"Big as I can make 'irn. Mama wants the money."
"Did you get that hundred down for me?"
"Can't get any local action, nobody wants to go against me. Are you comin'?"
"I don't know if I can get away."
"Well, if you can't, let me know. There'll be a bunch of out-of-town sports. I'll get someone to lay it there for you."
Charlie nodded.
Buddy went into the phone booth and closed the door. He dialed. "I want to talk to Willis Quigley," he said to the woman who answered. He waited.
"Hello?"
"Quigley? This is Buddy Stokes."
"Hi, Stokes," Quigley said amiably. "I hear you're putting a piece of stock up Sunday."
"That's right."
"Digger?"
"Uh-huh."
"Two and oh, right? Both kills."
"Yeah, that's right. Against the Red Dragon. Gene Murphy's from down by Cambridge. Same record. Even money. So what'd you have in mind?"
"Somewhere in the neighborhood of $500."
Stokes snorted. "Hell, that don't hardly pay for gas or stitches."
"Make it a thousand."
"Make it fifteen hundred."
"You got a bet, Stokes."
"I got a winner, Quigley."
"See you Sunday," Quigley said.
"Right." Stokes hung up. He stepped out of the booth. "Made 'im come, boyl" he said to Charlie.
"How much?"
"One five."
"Jesus, Buddy. That puts you three, three-and-a-half all together, doesn't it?"
"Four, but that's all money in the bank, friend, money in the bank."
Orph had come across another dog's scent line his first week in the woods.
Respecting the animal's rights, he'd trotted along parallel to the scent and passed over its territory on the high side.
He encountered another territory the second week, staked off by more than one dog. He sniffed deeply, grasping for something elusive that wound through the claim. His mouth moistened. A tremor rippled his loins. He sniffed rapidly, then lifted his head.
He stepped over the boundary.
Nose up, he unraveled the thread from the others. He concentrated. He became certain. His blood rose.
He moved slowly through the proscribed territory, uneasy in his violation, tensing as the sense of the others' presence grew. His ears pricked forward to sound the crackles and rustlings of the woods. His eyes saw a static colorless backdrop, all shades of gray, the natural sway of vegetation un remarkably harmonious, the sudden sharp movement of animal life clashing across this quiet stage, quick to bring attention to itself. He sniffed rhythmically as he went, and at intervals he stopped to stand motionless and read, feel, and listen to the woods.
As he neared, he moved more recklessly, preparing for challenge, ready to take the blood-bitch.
They saw him first, as he came through a stand of black alders. He heard a deep growl and he froze. There were three of them, as he'd known from the moment he crossed into their territory.
They were resting in shade. One was a big black shaggy male, a little taller and heavier in the chest than Orph. At its side was the blood-bitch, a dun-colored dog of sixty pounds or so. The other male was the size of the bitch, a spotted dog with a curled tail. It was lying several yards from the black and the bitch.
Orph had come from downwind and startled them. The black jumped to its feet, hair lifting from its skull to the root of its tail. It pulled its lips back from long teeth and snarled. The bitch barked, but a coy sound, not a threat. The spotted dog rose and growled. The black gave it an angry bark and it slunk back with its tail between its legs. If the bitch had not been in blood and the black asserting primacy over the spotted, all three would have attacked Orph and driven him off.
The black laid its ears flat against its head. Its upper lip curled high above the gum to expose the full length of its teeth. Its eyes bored into Orph's.
Orph returned the stare. He advanced on stiff legs, threatening, his tail rising. He and the black circled, presenting each other with three-quarter's profile, drawing closer, maintaining eye contact, brin king the point of commitment.
The bitch yipped excitedly and raced around them. The spotted dog whined.
The black roared. Orph answered. They rushed together.
Their jaws met, they jerked their heads. Orph's muzzle was furrowed, the black's tongue ripped. The black went for Orph's shoulder. Orph sank his teeth into the side of its neck and tore flesh. The black pierced his ear, a tooth scraped the bone of Orph's skull. They went up on hind legs, snapping. The black slipped Orph across its shoulder and opened Orph's flank. Orph got on top and slashed the black's back.
The black bit into Orph's hip and threw him. They rolled across the ground slashing at each other. Their coats splotched with blood and spittle, dirt caked the hairs.
The black was up before Orph and went for Orph's leg. Orph lunged under its chest, flipped it over on its back and drove for the throat.
He pierced the skin and bunched up the flesh between his jaws, but stayed the enormously powerful flexion of muscle that would have ripped most of the throat away, to the spinal column. He poised tensely. He rumbled deep in his chest.
The black sprinkled urine and splayed its legs, exposing its vitals.
Its tail curled up to lay across its lower belly. It turned its head, offering its throat fully.
Orph released it and stepped back a little, watched closely.
The black avoided Orph's eyes. It rolled in the opposite direction and got to its feet. It hung its head and walked away, lay down without looking at Orph, and began to lick at its wounds. The spotted dog barked at it.
The black sprang up, knocked it down and hung over it snarling insanely. The spotted dog gave it instant, terrified submission. The black allowed it to rise, and it hurried away.