Stone Fox (4 page)

S
EARCHLIGHT SPRANG FORWARD
with such force that little Willy couldn’t hang on. If it weren’t for a lucky grab, he would have fallen off the sled for sure.

In what seemed only seconds, little Willy and Searchlight had traveled down Main Street, turned onto North Road, and were gone. Far, far ahead of the others. They were winning. At least for the moment.

Stone Fox started off dead last. He went so slowly down Main Street that everyone was sure something must be wrong.

Swish! Little Willy’s sled flew by the
schoolhouse on the outskirts of town, and then by the old deserted barn.

Swish! Swish! Swish! Other racers followed in hot pursuit.

“Go, Searchlight! Go!” little Willy sang out. The cold wind pressed against his face, causing his good eye to shut almost completely. The snow was well packed. It was going to be a fast race today. The fastest they had ever run.

The road was full of dangerous twists and turns, but little Willy did not have to slow down as the other racers did. With only one dog and a small sled, he was able to take the sharp turns at full speed without risk of sliding off the road or losing control.

Therefore, with each turn, little Willy pulled farther and farther ahead.

Swish! The sled rounded a corner, sending snow flying. Little Willy was smiling. This was fun!

About three miles out of town the road made
a half circle around a frozen lake. Instead of following the turn, little Willy took a shortcut right across the lake. This was tricky going, but Searchlight had done it many times before.

Little Willy had asked Mayor Smiley if he was permitted to go across the lake, not wanting to be disqualified. “As long as you leave town heading north and come back on South Road,” the mayor had said, “anything goes!”

None of the other racers attempted to cross the lake. Not even Stone Fox. The risk of falling through the ice was just too great.

Little Willy’s lead increased.

Stone Fox was still running in last place. But he was picking up speed.

At the end of five miles, little Willy was so far out in front that he couldn’t see anybody behind him when he looked back.

He knew, however, that the return five miles, going back into town, would not be this easy.
The trail along South Road was practically straight and very smooth, and Stone Fox was sure to close the gap. But by how much? Little Willy didn’t know.

Doc Smith’s house flew by on the right. The tall trees surrounding her cabin seemed like one solid wall.

Grandfather’s farm was coming up next.

When Searchlight saw the farmhouse, she started to pick up speed. “No, girl,” little Willy yelled. “Not yet.”

As they approached the farmhouse, little Willy thought he saw someone in Grandfather’s bedroom window. It was difficult to see with only one good eye. The someone was a man. With a full beard.

It couldn’t be. But it was! It was Grandfather! Grandfather was sitting up in bed. He was looking out the window.

Little Willy was so excited he couldn’t think
straight. He started to stop the sled, but Grandfather indicated no, waving him on. “Of course,” little Willy said to himself. “I must finish the race. I haven’t won yet.”

“Go, Searchlight!” little Willy shrieked. “Go, girl!”

Grandfather was better. Tears of joy rolled down little Willy’s smiling face. Everything was going to be all right.

And then Stone Fox made his move.

One by one he began to pass the other racers. He went from last place to eighth. Then from eighth place to seventh. Then from seventh to sixth. Sixth to fifth.

He passed the others as if they were standing still.

He went from fifth place to fourth. Then to third. Then to second.

Until only little Willy remained.

But little Willy still had a good lead. In fact,
it was not until the last two miles of the race that Stone Fox got his first glimpse of little Willy since the race had begun.

The five Samoyeds looked magnificent as they moved effortlessly across the snow. Stone Fox was gaining, and he was gaining fast. And little Willy wasn’t aware of it.

Look back, little Willy! Look back!

But little Willy didn’t look back. He was busy thinking about Grandfather. He could hear him laughing…and playing his harmonica…

Finally little Willy glanced back over his shoulder. He couldn’t believe what he saw! Stone Fox was nearly on top of him!

This made little Willy mad. Mad at himself. Why hadn’t he looked back more often? What was he doing? He hadn’t won yet. Well, no time to think of that now. He had a race to win.

“Go, Searchlight! Go, girl!”

But Stone Fox kept gaining. Silently. Steadily.

“Go, Searchlight! Go!”

The lead Samoyed passed little Willy and pulled up even with Searchlight. Then it was a nose ahead. But that was all. Searchlight moved forward, inching
her
nose ahead. Then the Samoyed regained the lead. Then Searchlight…

When you enter the town of Jackson on South Road, the first buildings come into view about a half a mile away. Whether Searchlight took those buildings to be Grandfather’s farmhouse again, no one can be sure, but it was at this time that she poured on the steam.

Little Willy’s sled seemed to lift up off the ground and fly. Stone Fox was left behind.

But not that far behind.

T
HE CROWD CHEERED
madly when they saw little Willy come into view at the far end of Main Street, and even more madly when they saw that Stone Fox was right on his tail.

“Go, Searchlight! Go!”

Searchlight forged ahead. But Stone Fox was gaining!

“Go, Searchlight! Go!” little Willy cried out.

Searchlight gave it everything she had.

She was a hundred feet from the finish line when her heart burst. She died instantly. There was no suffering.

The sled and little Willy tumbled over her,
slid along the snow for a while, then came to a stop about ten feet from the finish line. It had started to snow—white snowflakes landed on Searchlight’s dark fur as she lay motionless on the ground.

The crowd became deathly silent.

Lester’s eyes looked to the ground. Miss Williams had her hands over her mouth. Mr. Foster’s cigar lay on the snow. Doc Smith started to run out to little Willy, but stopped. Mayor Smiley looked shocked and helpless. And so did Hank and Dusty, and so did the city slickers, and so did Clifford Snyder, the tax man.

Stone Fox brought his sled to a stop alongside little Willy. He stood tall in the icy wind and looked down at the young challenger, and at the dog that lay limp in his arms.

“Is she dead, Mr. Stone Fox? Is she dead?” little Willy asked, looking up at Stone Fox with his one good eye.

Stone Fox knelt down and put one massive hand on Searchlight’s chest. He felt no heartbeat. He looked at little Willy, and the boy understood.

Little Willy squeezed Searchlight with all his might. “You did real good, girl. Real good. I’m real proud of you. You rest now. Just rest.” Little Willy began to brush the snow off Searchlight’s back.

Stone Fox stood up slowly.

No one spoke. No one moved. All eyes were on the Indian, the one called Stone Fox, the one who had never lost a race, and who now had another victory within his grasp.

But Stone Fox did nothing.

He just stood there. Like a mountain.

His eyes shifted to his own dogs, then to the finish line, then back to little Willy, holding Searchlight.

With the heel of his moccasin Stone Fox drew
a long line in the snow. Then he walked back over to his sled and pulled out his rifle.

Down at the end of Main Street, the other racers began to appear. As they approached, Stone Fox fired his rifle into the air. They came to a stop.

Stone Fox spoke.

“Anyone crosses this line—I shoot.”

And there wasn’t anybody who didn’t believe him.

Stone Fox nodded to the boy.

The town looked on in silence as little Willy, carrying Searchlight, walked the last ten feet and across the finish line.

T
HE IDEA FOR THIS STORY CAME FROM A
R
OCKY
M
OUNTAIN LEGEND THAT WAS TOLD TO ME IN
1974
BY
B
OB
H
UDSON OVER A CUP OF COFFEE AT
H
UDSON’S
C
AFÉ IN
I
DAHO
F
ALLS
, I
DAHO
. A
LTHOUGH
S
TONE
F
OX AND THE OTHER CHARACTERS ARE PURELY FICTITIOUS AND OF MY CREATION, THE TRAGIC ENDING TO THIS STORY BELONGS TO THE LEGEND AND IS REPORTED TO HAVE ACTUALLY HAPPENED
.

JOHN REYNOLDS GARDINER (1944–2006),
who described himself as an “author, engineer, inventor, rock-and-roll singer, door-to-door salesman, songwriter, and Santa Claus,” traveled widely throughout his life. Born in California, he lived in Ireland, Germany, Italy, El Salvador, England, and Mexico. He heard the legend that inspired
STONE FOX
while in Idaho and it became his first published work. His other works include
HOW TO LIVE A LIFE THAT’S NOT BORING
.

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Cover art © 2010 by Wayne McLoughlin

Cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons