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padding-top: 1px } + + .coverpage, .titlepage, + .contents, .foreword, .preface, .introduction, .dedication, .prologue, + .epilogue, .appendix, .glossary, .bibliography, .index, .colophon, + .footnotes, + .cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 1px } + + .vfill { margin-top: 20% } + h2.title { margin-top: 20% } +} +</style> +<style type="text/css"> +.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; } +.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } +.toc-pageref { float: right } +pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35749 ***</div> +<div class="document" id="the-adventures-of-fleetfoot-and-her-fawns"> +<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">The Adventures of Fleetfoot and Her Fawns</h1> +</div> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<div class="container" id="pg-produced-by"> +<p class="noindent pfirst">Produced by Roger Frank.</p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> +<div class="line"><span class="x-large">THE ADVENTURES OF</span></div> +<div class="line"><span class="x-large">FLEET FOOT</span></div> +<div class="line"><span class="x-large">AND HER FAWNS</span></div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">A True-to-Nature Story for</div> +<div class="line">Children and Their Elders</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">BY</div> +<div class="line">ALLEN CHAFFEE</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">Author of</div> +<div class="line">“Twinkly Eyes,” “The Little Black Bear,” “Trail and</div> +<div class="line">Tree Top,” and “Lost River, or The Adventures</div> +<div class="line">of Two Boys in the Big Woods”</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">ILLUSTRATED</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY</div> +<div class="line">SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS</div> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> +<div class="line">Copyright 1920, by</div> +<div class="line">MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">SPRINGFIELD, MASS.</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">Adventures of Fleet Foot</div> +<div class="line">Bradley Quality Books for Children</div> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 36%; width: 27%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/004.jpg" src="images/004.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> +<div class="line">TO</div> +<div class="line">POLLY</div> +<div class="line">WHO IS A DEAR</div> +<div class="line">HERSELF</div> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="contents level-2 section" id="id1"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">CONTENTS</h2> +<ul class="toc-list"> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-i-the-spotted-fawns" id="id2">CHAPTER I.—THE SPOTTED FAWNS.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ii-a-foxy-trick" id="id3">CHAPTER II.—A FOXY TRICK.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iii-at-the-valley-farm" id="id4">CHAPTER III.—AT THE VALLEY FARM.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iv-the-round-up" id="id5">CHAPTER IV.—THE ROUND-UP.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-v-a-son-of-the-wild" id="id6">CHAPTER V.—A SON OF THE WILD.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-vi-a-strange-friendship" id="id7">CHAPTER VI.—A STRANGE FRIENDSHIP.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-vii-a-wit-out-witted" id="id8">CHAPTER VII.—A WIT OUT-WITTED.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-viii-steep-trails" id="id9">CHAPTER VIII.—STEEP TRAILS.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ixthe-ogre-of-the-air" id="id10">CHAPTER IX—THE OGRE OF THE AIR.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-x-wild-grapes" id="id11">CHAPTER X.—WILD GRAPES.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xi-speckled-trout" id="id12">CHAPTER XI.—SPECKLED TROUT.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xii-the-victor" id="id13">CHAPTER XII.—THE VICTOR.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xiii-the-queer-feathers" id="id14">CHAPTER XIII.—THE QUEER FEATHERS.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xivstarvation-time" id="id15">CHAPTER XIV—STARVATION TIME</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xv-the-gray-wolves" id="id16">CHAPTER XV.—THE GRAY WOLVES.</a></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xvi-the-farmers-plan" id="id17">CHAPTER XVI.—THE FARMER’S PLAN.</a></span></li> +</ul> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/008.jpg" src="images/008.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">THE ADVENTURES OF FLEET FOOT AND HER FAWNS</span></p> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-i-the-spotted-fawns"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id2">CHAPTER I.—THE SPOTTED FAWNS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">“Me-o-ow!” screamed Old Man Lynx, +from the heart of the woods. The two spotted +fawns heard the cry from their laurel copse +on the rim of Lone Lake. But, though their +big, soft eyes were round with terror, so perfectly +had they been trained, they never so +much as twitched an ear. Well did they +know that the slightest movement might +show to some prowler of the night just +where they lay hidden.</p> +<p class="pnext">Next morning, no sooner had the birds +begun to chirp themselves awake, than +Mother Fleet Foot fed the fawns as usual +and ate her own light breakfast of lily pads, +Then she lined up the two fawns before her.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Children,” she said, in deer language, +“you have a great deal to learn before ever +you can take care of yourselves in these +woods. From now on we are going to have +lessons.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Yes, Mother,” bleated the little ones, +“but what are lessons.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“They are going to be as much like play +as we can make them,” said Fleet Foot. +“You need practice in running, and we must +play ‘Follow the Leader’ every day. +Mother, of course, will be the leader. It will +be lots of fun.”</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns waggled their ears in delight.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Now listen, both of you,” said Fleet +Foot. “<em class="italics">This</em> means danger! Follow me!” +And she stamped her foot three times and +whistled, as she leaped away through the +bushes.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Just watch my white flag, and you’ll +know where to follow,” she called; and she +showed them how, when she ran, she held +the white lining of her tail straight up to +show which way she had gone. This was +because her brown back might not show between +the tree-trunks.</p> +<p class="pnext">“And when I give the danger signal, you +must give it, too, to warn the others,” she +added, leaping back to their side.</p> +<p class="pnext">“What others?” asked the tinier fawn.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Any deer within ear-shot. That is how +we help each other. And remember—obey +on the instant! It is the only safe way!”</p> +<p class="pnext">Suddenly she gave the danger signal!</p> +<p class="pnext">This time it was in real alarm, for she had +spied a black snake wiggling toward them. +The fawns bounded after her, just in time +to escape the ugly fellow. And, because +woods babies learn quickly they remembered +to give their own tiny stamp and whistle, +their own wee white flags wig-wagging behind +them. Fleet Foot could have killed the +snake with her sharp fore-hoof, but a deer’s +long legs are better suited to running away +when danger is near.</p> +<p class="pnext">The next day she taught them to leap exactly +in her footprints. She took short +steps, so that it would be easy for them. +Great skill and experience is needed for a +deer to know where and how to put his feet +down when he makes those great leaps of his. +He may land, now among the rocks, now in +marshy ground, slipping over mosses and +scrambling over tree-trunks. It would be +only too easy to break one of those slender +legs, and be at the mercy of his enemies.</p> +<p class="pnext">By the time the fawns were six weeks old, +they had learned just how to land without +stumbling and hurting their frail ankles. +Then, one day, young Frisky Fox, hiding at +the edge of the clearing, saw a strange sight. +In fact, he thought he had never seen anything +quite so odd in all his life.</p> +<p class="pnext">Down four little trails from the hill-top +came four does, Fleet Foot among the number. +And close behind each doe came her +two fawns. Then a fifth mother came from +the other side of the meadow. She had only +one baby with her.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was to be a sort of party. But the fawns +were most unwilling to get acquainted, as +their mothers intended them to do. The +baby bucks made at each other with heads +lowered, ready to fight. The infant does +backed timidly away to the edge of the +meadow. But their mothers insisted, with +gentle shakings of their heads and shovings +of their velvet noses.</p> +<p class="pnext">They were pretty creatures, these baby +deer, with their soft orange-brown coats +spotted with white, and their great innocent +brown eyes! Everything about them, from +their slender legs to their swinging stride, +was graceful.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the mothers formed in line, the little +ones trailing along behind them. “Ah!” +thought Frisky Fox, “a game of ‘Follow the +Leader’.” He and his brothers had often +played it with Father and Mother Red Fox.</p> +<p class="pnext">At first the does ran slowly around the +clearing, then they quickened their pace, the +little ones trying their best to keep up.</p> +<p class="pnext">Suddenly Fleet Foot, who was in the lead, +leaped over a fallen log at the edge of the +glade and off into the woodland. The other +does followed. Then came Fleet Foot’s +youngest. This little scamp only ran around +the log, while her brother crawled under.</p> +<p class="pnext">But that was not what Fleet Foot wanted. +She came back, stamping her foot for attention.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Do just as I do!” she insisted. “Now +come back and try it over again.” And she +trotted out into the glade, and circled around +it, the tinier fawn close at her heels, till she +came to the log again.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Now!” she stamped, taking the leap once +more. The fawn followed till she came to +the log, then stopped short, with her nose +against it. Fleet Foot hurdled back, and +coming up behind, butted the youngster +with her head till the fawn tried to jump. +This time the little creature went over, as +light as a bit of thistle-down—probably +much to her own surprise.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then Fleet Foot turned to the larger +fawn. “Come, now, there’s nothing like trying,” +she urged. But he only gave a ba-a-ah! +and wriggled under the tree-trunk again.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Follow me,” his mother bade him. First +she led him several times around the glade. +“Now!” she stamped, leaping the log once +more. This time he followed without stopping +to think about it.</p> +<p class="pnext">The other fawns behaved much the same +way, but at last their mothers had them all +in line. Then what a race they had! First +around and around the opening, faster and +faster and faster. Then, without warning, +across the log and back again, till every infant +buck and doe of them could do it perfectly.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Um!” sniffed Frisky Fox. “Wouldn’t +one of those little fellows make good eating? +I’d certainly like to try it!” For the smell +of venison that blew to his nostrils on the +breeze fairly made his mouth water.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Frisky was too wise a pup to think +for an instant he could catch one. And so he +finally trotted off to stay his appetite with +field mice. But he told Father Red Fox +about it that night in the den on the hillside, +and the older fox made up his mind that next +day he would be the one to watch when the +fawns came to the meadow. If he couldn’t +catch one, at least he liked to know all that +went on in the woods. One never knew when +an odd bit of knowledge might come in handy +to a fellow that lives by his wits.</p> +<p class="pnext">That day the fawns were being drilled to +run around and around in circles. They +made a track like a figure 8, only with three +loops instead of two. Sometimes one of the +little fellows would slip and stumble.</p> +<p class="pnext">“I have it,” Father Red Fox told himself. +“The fawns are learning to make a quick +turn. Because they’d break their legs if +they were to stumble that way in the underbrush.”</p> +<p class="pnext">The old fox knew that he could never +catch one by the usual methods. He did +wonder, though, if he might not corner one +by trickery. So, gliding from tree-trunk to +tree-trunk, he crept nearer the unsuspecting +little school, keeping always on the side +where the wind could tell no tales!</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/016.jpg" src="images/016.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ii-a-foxy-trick"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id3">CHAPTER II.—A FOXY TRICK.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Now it was chiefly in a spirit of mischief +that Father Red Fox decided to chase the +fawns. To tell the truth, the old fellow was +proud of his wits; and though he knew he +could not hope to catch them and bring them +down by a straightaway race, he thought he +might use some trickery on them.</p> +<p class="pnext">So, he watched and waited till he should +find them alone. After an hour or more in +the racing meadow, Fleet Foot called to her +little ones with a “He-eu” and a stamp of +her little fore-hoof, and led them back to +Lone Lake, where they all waded out after +their supper of lily pads. Every minute of +the time Father Red Fox was right behind, +but always with the wind in his face, so that +she wouldn’t catch his musky scent on the +breeze with that wonderful nose of hers.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now Father Red Fox knew one thing +about Fleet Foot, the doe. He knew that +when she heard a sound that alarmed her, +she always ran straight away from the +sound, without once stopping to see what +made it. No sooner, therefore, was she neck-deep +in Lone Lake, with her back to the +shore, than he cracked a twig behind +her.</p> +<p class="pnext">The doe, hearing that, supposed of course +it must be Old Man Lynx, at least, or perhaps +a big black bear, as nothing so small +and dainty as a fox ever made a sound like +that.</p> +<p class="pnext">She was terribly frightened, and whistling +the fawns to follow, she swam straight +across the Lake, never once stopping for +breath till they scrambled up the opposite +bank.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Father Red Fox had raced around +the upper end of the Lake, just far enough +back in the woods so that she couldn’t see +him. And the instant the tired little family +planted their hoofs on dry ground, Red Fox, +hiding behind a boulder, cracked an even +larger twig, and made them think there was +another bear on that side of the Lake.</p> +<p class="pnext">So she had to lead them back across the +Lake again, to the third line of shore. But +Father Red Fox was there before her and +cracked another twig to make her think +there was a bear on that side, too.</p> +<p class="pnext">This time the fawns were fairly gasping +for breath, their little spotted sides heaving +painfully and their big eyes round with +fright. But there was no help for it; Fleet +Foot had to make them swim back across the +Lake to the fourth bank, where she hoped to +get into the woods before the three bears +could catch her. She was quite worn out, +herself, by now, and it was only the fear of +death that kept her in the race at all. But +finally up the bank she stumbled, and on +down a forest trail, her fawns following +desperately.</p> +<p class="pnext">Father Red Fox laughed as he ran +around the Lake. They were all so worn +out that it should be an easy matter to +corner them. In fact, that wicked fellow +had one of the meanest plans in his black +heart that ever deserved the name of a foxy +trick. And so far it had worked.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot, believing she had nothing less +than a bear on her trail, raced on and on till +her flanks dripped foam and her legs felt +weak and wobbly—which was just what the +old fox intended. On he raced after her, +knowing she wouldn’t stop even to turn her +head.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then, suddenly, he made a short cut in +the trail and headed her straight toward a +brush heap. The tired doe drew her trembling +legs together for the leap that would +carry her over in safety. But there was not +quite enough spring left in those delicate +hind quarters. She came down too soon, +catching one of her slim feet in the brush. +It broke her leg.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ah, but Red Fox had hoped it would be +one of the fawns. Fleet Foot he dared not +approach, because she could strike him with +her sharp fore-hoofs, and punish him severely. +In fact, had she known it was only +a fox behind her, she would have stopped to +face him long ago.</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns—little rascals that they were—had +not tried to leap the brush heap; they +had left the trail and gone around it, hiding—when +their mother fell—by crawling under +a juniper bush. And there they waited, +without so much as waggling an ear, till Red +Fox had given up his quest in disgust and +trotted away home.</p> +<p class="pnext">But their troubles were not ended. For +one thing, they were hungry. Besides, what +was Fleet Foot to do, helpless there where a +real bear might find her?</p> +<p class="pnext">Just then they heard a cowbell.</p> +<p class="pnext">Clover Blossom, the soft-eyed Jersey at +the Valley Farm, must have found a broken +place in the pasture fence, and wandered into +the woods again. She loved to go exploring.</p> +<p class="pnext">This time she gave the Boy a chase. Here +it was, nearly dark! Straining his ears to +catch the sound, he decided he must creep +very softly upon her, or she would never let +him catch her.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Boy, however, was not the only one +to hear the tinkle of the cowbell. Though +Clover Blossom grazed quite unaware that +she was being watched, as an actual fact she +had quite an audience of wood folk around +her, peering and sniffing and studying the +situation. Softly, silently, creeping through +the hazel copse, came Frisky, the fox pup, +as curious as his nose was long. Then came +Bobby, Madame Lynx’s kitten, to whose nostrils +the odor was most tempting, though he +did not dare attack an animal so large. +Crouched flat along a low-hanging branch, he +peered and peered with his narrow gold-green +eyes, his claws working nervously into +the bark.</p> +<p class="pnext">Came also Unk-Wunk, the Porcupine, rattling +his slow way up a beech tree from +whose top he could see all that was going +on. He, too, watched curiously as the Jersey +wandered from one huckleberry bush to +another, lowing faintly now and then as she +realized that she needed to be milked.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the two who were most interested as +she came their way were the hungry fawns. +They had waited hours for the familiar +stamp of their mother’s foot that should +call them to her, and for the warm milk that +had never failed them when they needed it, +and their little stomachs ached worse and +worse.</p> +<p class="pnext">The hot sun had crept across the sky, and +the birds who had chirped and warbled over +their breakfast had come out again for the +cool of the late afternoon to chatter over +their worms. Then the sun had grown large +and red in the west, and the crickets had +begun to chirp, and the white-footed deer +mice to scuttle through the leaves in search +of beetles. Finally the shadows had grown +long and black, and the woods full of a +breathing silence, and still they waited for +their mother to come and feed them.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then, at last, they crept to where Clover +Blossom mooed her invitation for some +one to relieve her udders of their creamy +burden. And when the Boy finally peered +through the bushes beyond which she stood, +he stopped amazed. For there on either side +of her a tiny fawn stood nursing!</p> +<p class="pnext">“Something must have happened to their +mother,” he told himself. “I wonder if I +could coax them to go home with Clover +Blossom?”</p> +<p class="pnext">Then he heard a rustle behind him. Bobby +Lynx was slinking home. (He was ever a +coward where human beings were concerned.) +The next instant the boy spied +Fleet Foot, lying helpless in the brush heap.</p> +<p class="pnext">In her exhaustion after the chase, the pain +of her broken leg, and her terror, as she listened, +hour after hour, for the coming of +stealthy padded feet, she had been too weak +to struggle. Then had come a kindly stupor.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Boy set about applying such first aid +as he had at his command. First knotting +her fore feet together with his handkerchief +so that she could not struggle, he searched +until he found a cedar sapling very nearly +the size of the leg that was broken. With his +jack-knife he made two length-wise slits and +removed the bark in two pieces, as nearly the +same size as he could make them. They were +just long enough to reach below the foot of +the deer and above the knee.</p> +<p class="pnext">These he lined comfortably with dry moss +and crumpled grass, for he was going to be +as tender of the doe as he would be of a person. +Next he tore his shirt, which was an +old one, into bandages the width of his wrist, +knotting their ends together. For splints he +went down to Lone Lake and gathered a +bundle of good strong rushes.</p> +<p class="pnext">But when he tried to set the bone, Fleet +Foot struggled so that he had to run home +for his father.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Valley Farmer was a man who could +not see any creature suffer, so he came +straight back with his son. Lifting her to +the ground, the farmer braced himself and +held the injured leg while the Boy gently +but firmly grasped it with one hand above +the fracture and one below. My! How it +must have hurt! But his practised fingers +pulled the two pieces of bone in opposite +directions till he got them end to end! Fleet +Foot tried hard to struggle free, for of +course she did not understand. But she was +helpless. Then the Boy worked the bones, +ever so gently, till a slight thud announced +to his listening ear that they had fitted +together right. Next, he applied the padded +halves of the cedar bark, which—as he had +intended—did not reach quite around the +leg. For, in this way, he could tie them more +firmly, as he bandaged them immovably in +place with the strips of his torn shirt.</p> +<p class="pnext">“There!” the Farmer sighed at last. +“That ought to heal. I don’t see why a few +weeks of rest and good feeding ought not +to set her on her feet again. But we’ll have +to make a litter to take her home.”</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/025.jpg" src="images/025.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iii-at-the-valley-farm"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id4">CHAPTER III.—AT THE VALLEY FARM.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Now that her broken leg had been set so +skillfully, Fleet Foot felt better. And the +fawns were content to get their supper of +the Jersey cow.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the Boy and his father had to face +the problem of getting them all back to the +Valley Farm.</p> +<p class="pnext">“How can we make a litter?” asked the +Boy, who was not so skilled in wood-craft +as the Farmer.</p> +<p class="pnext">“First, find two good long poles,” his +father directed. “I wish we’d brought an +axe, but perhaps you can manage with your +jack-knife.” And under his direction the +Boy found what he needed. Next they +peeled the bark from a chestnut tree, and on +this they arranged a mattress of dried moss, +then tied it firmly between the two long +poles. Stretching this flat on the ground, +they laid Fleet Foot on it and carried her +home in state, one of them shouldering either +end of the litter.</p> +<p class="pnext">“She ought to ride easy on that,” said the +backwoodsman. But the doe shrank back +in fear when the Boy tried laying his hand +caressingly on her velvet throat. For every +moment she expected they would kill her.</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns followed Clover Blossom, and +finally they came out into the star-lit +meadow, where Fleet Foot caught the odor +of cows and sheep from the big red barn. +The next thing she knew, she was lying on a +mound of sweet-smelling dried clover, in a +clean stall of that same barn, and there was +a pail of water beside her. She roused herself +to drink feverishly, standing on three +legs, but she could not eat. Then followed +a few hours when she slept despite her fears, +because she was too tired to keep awake.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the pink dawn she awoke at the sound +of the milk-pails, and her first thought was +of the fawns. The Boy brought her a hatful +of grass; but her great eyes only searched +wistfully through the woodland and meadow +before the open door, and on to the dew-wet +forest where she thought they waited, and +she struggled weakly to get to her feet and +go to them.</p> +<p class="pnext">“She’s worrying about her babies,” said +the Boy. “Can’t we show them to her?” he +begged his father.</p> +<p class="pnext">“The only trouble with that,” the farmer +replied, “is that, once they get a sight of +her, they won’t have anything more to do +with Clover Blossom, and she’s got to take +care of them till their own mother is well +again. But that leg will heal quickly. The +bone was broken in only one place. We’ve +got to keep her quiet, though,—and the +fawns are better off where they are.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Thus several weeks went by, till at last +Fleet Foot was able to trip daintily into the +pasture lot. But still she worried about the +fawns. She was comfortable and well fed, +and was even becoming used to the Boy, who +brought her food and water every morning +and sometimes a few grains of rock salt. +Through the bars of the open doorway she +could gaze straight into the cool green woods +all day. Had it not been for her longing for +the fawns, she would have been quite content +to lie still and get well.</p> +<p class="pnext">The bone had set quickly, for her life in +the open had given her pure blood and much +reserve strength. But she was anxious to +make her escape and search for her babies. +Little did she dream, in the confusion of +sounds and smells that filled the barn every +day, that the pair actually came to Clover +Blossom’s stall.</p> +<p class="pnext">Meantime, the fawns throve on the Jersey +milk. Though too shy to mingle with the +cows and sheep in the pasture lot, they +spent their days in a clump of alders down +by the brook.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Won’t they be happy when they get their +own mother back?” the Boy exclaimed to his +father one evening.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Father looked at his son in a puzzled +way.</p> +<p class="pnext">“The doe has disappeared,” he +announced. “I had just taken the splints off +her leg. It was healed as good as new. +Thought I’d turn her loose in the pasture to +limber up a bit, when—would you believe +it?—she leaped clean over that fence, and +off into the woods out of sight.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Honestly?” exclaimed the Boy. “Without +so much as a thank you! And what will +become of her now?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Oh, she’ll be all right. But isn’t it a +shame now we didn’t let her have her +fawns?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Perhaps we can keep them ourselves,” +ventured the Boy wistfully, for he loved +pets. “We could tame them and let them +grow up with the cows. They’re half tame +already.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“I don’t believe a wild thing is ever really +happy that way,” mused the Farmer. “Do +you?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“No, perhaps not,” decided the Boy. +“And besides, their mother will break her +heart if she never finds them again.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“She’ll feel badly, of course. But don’t +you see, the fawns will take to the woods +again, sooner or later, unless we keep them +tied all the time. And then do you know +what would happen? They wouldn’t know +how to take care of themselves, without their +mother’s training.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Oh,” said the Boy. “And some hungry +animal might catch them for its dinner!”</p> +<p class="pnext">“I’m afraid so,” agreed the Farmer. “It +is always the young animals that have lost +their mothers that get caught.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Say, I’ve noticed a funny thing,” said +the Boy, a few days later. “Clover Blossom +has been giving more milk lately, and yet +the fawns aren’t weaned.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“You didn’t see what I saw last night,” +said the Farmer, smiling. And he told the +Boy where to watch.</p> +<p class="pnext">Meantime what had become of Fleet Foot? +First she leaped the fence, and took to the +trail down which Clover Blossom had wandered—here +over the smooth pine needles, +there through the crackling oak leaves, and +yonder over a fallen log. And as she went, +she nibbled course after course of the +dainties of the woodland.</p> +<p class="pnext">How fit she felt, after her long imprisonment! +How swift her slender hoofs, how +strong her long hind legs that could send +her over a hazel copse like steel springs! +And how good it was to be alive in a world +all sunshine and dancing butterflies and +tinkling streams!</p> +<p class="pnext">But where were her fawns? She searched +and searched for some sign of the little fellows. +But she searched in vain. And all +the joy went out of life again.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then, one evening, as she stood on a hill-top +watching the Boy drive the cows home +from pasture, she saw something that made +her lonely heart beat high with hope. She +couldn’t make out the little spotted coats so +far away, but she did see their red-brown +outlines, so tiny beside the cows, and the +furtive way they shied along, as if they +never could get used to coming right out in +the open. And her anxious mother-heart +assured her that they were worth a closer +view.</p> +<p class="pnext">So, the next night, before they turned off +the lane to the pasture lot, the fawns heard +the little stamp that had always been their +mother’s signal. “Wait where you are—and +hide!” she bade them with her whistled +“Hiew!” “I will come to you.”</p> +<p class="pnext">And they obeyed, thrilling with a great +wave of homesick longing for the mother +they had thought lost to them. The Boy, +tip-toeing back to see what had become of +his pets, found the doe in the pasture lot, +nursing her fawns.</p> +<p class="pnext">And though he did not know it, she stayed +with them until the first gray light in the +east warned her that she must leave them +for the day. For the fence was too high for +the fawns to leap.</p> +<p class="pnext">The next night the Boy watched again, +from the cover of the hay-stack. Before +long the doe leaped smoothly into the pasture, +stamping for the fawns. Then he saw +the flash of her white tail signaling for them +to follow, and after that, two tinier tails wig-wagging +through the dusk as they disappeared +in the alders down by the brook that +ran through the lower end of the pasture.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Boy stared after them awhile, a smile +of sympathy in his eyes. Then—ever so +softly, so as not to alarm them—he slipped +across to where she had leaped the fence, +and lifted the top bars away.</p> +<p class="pnext">The next morning the fawns were gone!</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/034.jpg" src="images/034.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/035.jpg" src="images/035.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iv-the-round-up"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id5">CHAPTER IV.—THE ROUND-UP.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Once back in the good green woods, both +Fleet Foot and the fawns capered joyously.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was good just to be alive.</p> +<p class="pnext">Up and down through the forest trails +they galloped,—down to Lone Lake, then +back to Pollywog Pond and along the +familiar trails on the slopes of Mt. Olaf. +Summer was even riper and lovelier than +when they had been taken to the Valley +Farm,—and to the fawns, remember, it was +their first taste of mid-summer in the Maine +woods.</p> +<p class="pnext">These tiny fellows leaped and gamboled +hide-and-seek, till you would have thought they +would have broken their fragile legs among +the boulders and fallen tree-trunks. But +their mother knew her training had been +thorough, and they would know just how to +leap and land with safety.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Hello, there!—Chick-a-dee-dee, Chick-a-dee-dee,” +a little gray bird in a black cap +kept calling, as he followed from tree to +tree.</p> +<p class="pnext">When at last they had had their dinner +of warm milk, and Fleet Foot had cropped +her fill of the tender green things that lay +like a banquet table everywhere about them, +she led them to a little rocky ledge that over-looked +Lone Lake, where they could lie +under the partial shade of a clump of yellow +birch trees and rest, while she chewed her +cud. The black fly season was well past, and +there was nothing to disturb them save a +passing swarm of midges that couldn’t +begin to bite through their thick fur.</p> +<p class="pnext">(They little dreamed that Frisky, the Red +Fox Pup, was peering down on them from +a higher crag, where he, too, crouched on the +red-brown soil that proved such a perfect +cam-ou-flage.)</p> +<p class="pnext">No one save a fox could have seen the +fawns, so long as they lay still, their tawny +orange-brown coats blended so perfectly +with the ground. And if anyone had noticed +the white spots on their sides, he would have +taken them for a glint of the creamy birch-bark.</p> +<p class="pnext">At first the 'two youngsters watched a +yellow-jacketed bumble-bee, who bumbled +and tumbled among the perfumed spikes of +the Solomon’s seals. Then their ears +pricked to a new voice.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Greetings, my friends!” called a cheery +red-brown coated bird who had been rustling +about among the dead leaves just behind +them.</p> +<p class="pnext">He was as large as a robin, with even +longer beak and tail, and his creamy breast +was streaked with darker brown.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Hello, Thrush,” bleated the fawns in +shy friendliness.</p> +<p class="pnext">“You mustn’t look for any nest in the +bushes around here, because you won’t find +it,” twittered Thrush, in a tone Old Man +Red Fox would have been suspicious of. +“Listen! I am going to give you a concert!” +And he flew to the birch tree over their +heads.</p> +<p class="pnext">There followed a program of the most +varied trills and whistles the fawns had ever +heard; and though his voice was not so sweet +toned as some of the tinier birds’, his throaty +trills and liquid, low-pitched chirps and +whistles were just as delightful as they +could be.</p> +<p class="pnext">There were bird calls all around them, +“Pee-wees” and “Chip-chip-chips” and +“Wee-wee-wee-wees” and all sorts of soft +little calls and answers.</p> +<p class="pnext">They none of them minded the fawns in +the least, except those who had nests on the +ground. They always watched nervously +when the frisky fellows capered too near, +with their sharp little hoofs, though they +knew the fawns wouldn’t hurt an ant if they +knew it.</p> +<p class="pnext">Every now and again the singers would +cease, when one of the soft patches of white +cloud got in front of the sun; for instantly +the air grew chilly, and a breeze started all +the tree-tops to waving till the birds had to +hang on hard.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the Lake would ruffle into tiny wave-lets +and grow dark green like the woods +along the shore-line. For before, the water +had lain as still as a silver mirror, reflecting +the pale blue of the warm sky.</p> +<p class="pnext">In weather like this, it was good just to +lie still and watch and listen, or drowse off +with the sun warm on one’s fur and the spicy +earth smells in one’s nostrils. The green +world was so interesting.</p> +<p class="pnext">When a passing cloud of a darker gray +brought the big drops pattering about them +for a few minutes, they merely scampered +under an over-hanging boulder, where they +huddled together on a drift of leaves, and +watched it all.</p> +<p class="pnext">Later, when the bull-frogs began their +“Ke-dunk, ke-dunk,” down under the banks +of Lone Lake, where the ducks were feeding +their nestlings, and the sun began to +send long red beams slanting through the +tree-trunks, Fleet Foot led them down to a +shallow cove for a taste of lily pads, and +they waded in and tried a nibble of everything +she tasted.</p> +<p class="pnext">After that came a night under a drooping +pine tree, whose lowest branch roofed over +a boulder in the most inviting way, and the +wind droned through the branches and blew +the mosquitoes all away, and they lay +snuggled warmly together on the fragrant +needles, and watched the stars come out.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the morning they were just starting +out on an exploring tour when they were +alarmed by the baying of a hound.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now Lop Ear had always had an important +duty at the Valley Farm. It had been +his part to round up the cows when night +came, or when any of them went astray in +the woods. And all day yesterday he had +missed Fleet Foot from her stall in the hay-barn.</p> +<p class="pnext">True, she had always seemed different +from the regular cows. Until she came there +with her broken leg, he had always supposed +she belonged in the woods. But surely, +surely the Farmer would not have kept her +there unless she belonged there, reasoned the, +faithful dog. And now she was gone!</p> +<p class="pnext">There was but one thing to do: he must go +in search of her and bring her home.</p> +<p class="pnext">All that day he tried in vain to find her +trail. The next morning he was up with the +sun. This time he would search farther +afield. “Wow! Bow-wow! Wow-wow-wow!” +Here was a footprint, unless his +nose deceived him! What’s more, they had +passed that way not ten minutes since! It +was but a matter of following the trail, and +he would be nipping at their heels and driving +them back to the Farm.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Wow-wow-wow!” he bayed; and Frisky, +the Red Fox Pup, heard and came trotting +to peek at him and see what it was all about.</p> +<p class="pnext">The sound filled the fawns with uneasiness. +They had always been afraid of Lop Ear, +with his nipping and yapping around the +cattle.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Children,” bade Fleet Foot sternly, +“hurry to that clump of bracken and lie +down. Stretch your heads and fore legs out +straight in front of you and lie there as flat +as you can make yourselves,—while I lead +this hound off somewhere where he’ll lose +your scent.”</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns obeyed instantly.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot then doubled back on her trail, +and with a stamp and a snort to call the +hound’s attention, she soon had him following +her great bounds in quite the opposite +direction. She kept just far enough ahead +of him to make sure he wouldn’t give up +the chase—though she could easily have out-distanced +him.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/042.jpg" src="images/042.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/043.jpg" src="images/043.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-v-a-son-of-the-wild"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id6">CHAPTER V.—A SON OF THE WILD.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Now Frisky, the Red Fox Pup, admired +no one so much as he did his father. And +he had heard his father tell how he had +chased the doe and her fawns that dreadful +day when Fleet Foot broke her leg.</p> +<p class="pnext">Not that the little rascal really wanted to +hurt those gentle soft-eyed babies. He +wasn’t hungry, and besides, he couldn’t have +killed them had he wanted to. He just +thought it would be fun to play that he was +Father Red Fox and give them a good scare. +(But how were the fawns to know that?) +In other words, like a great many very +young persons, he didn’t stop to think of +the other fellow’s point of view in the +matter.</p> +<p class="pnext">Thus, no sooner had he seen Fleet Foot +headed in the other direction, leaving the +fawns unprotected, than he pranced merrily +up to them, his yellow eyes gleaming with +mischief.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Yip, yip!” he yelled at them in his high-pitched +little voice.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the fawns had been told to lie still. +But how could they, when danger was almost +upon them? They were certainly not going +to lie there and let this little wild dog bite +them!</p> +<p class="pnext">With a bleat of alarm they sprang to their +feet and raced through the brush, leaping +over bush and brier and boulder as if their +very lives depended on it.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Frisky Fox could also leap bush and +brier and boulder. And he came leaping +after, just two jumps behind them!</p> +<p class="pnext">Now around a clump of greenbriar, down +a trail of dainty pointed hoof prints that led +through brush head high,—up hill, down hill +the trio sped, startling the pheasants and +sending them into the air with a whirr.</p> +<p class="pnext">Here the trail turned abruptly down the +side of a precipice, and the fawns followed, +while Frisky, having paused for a moment +when his tail got caught in a bramble, had +to come trotting after with his nose to the +ground, as he could no longer see them.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the fawns had never been taught that +water carries no scent. They just happened +to go splashing across a bit of a frog pond +that lay cupped among hillocks of seedling +pines. But looking back at every seventh +leap or so, they could see that the fox pup +followed his nose to the water’s edge, and +there stopped and sniffed all about uncertainly, +before again catching a glimpse of +them.</p> +<p class="pnext">But though the chase went merrily on +(that is, merrily on the fox’s part), the +fawns had learned a valuable lesson.</p> +<p class="pnext">They now made straight for Lone Lake, +and my! You should have seen the ducks +take flight as these two alarming little fellows +came splashing in among them!</p> +<p class="pnext">A deer, when pursued by hounds, will +always take to water when he can, and the +hounds have no scent to follow. Then, unless +there is a hunter along, and he catches sight +of his quarry, and fires, the deer are safe.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Red Fox Pup uses his eyes, as +well as his nose, and he was so close behind, +and understood so well this trick of taking +to water, (for he escaped the hounds that +way himself), that he wasn’t fooled the least +little bit in the world. Not he!</p> +<p class="pnext">Only once they had taken the plunge, the +little fellows decided to swim out to a reedy +islet where they could rest. And the fox pup +didn’t think it worth while to get his fur +wet. For when his great brush of a tail gets +wet, it is so heavy that it weighs him down, +and he can’t run nearly so fast, so the mice +all get away.</p> +<p class="pnext">Of course the fawns thought it was all +their own cleverness, and you should have +heard them telling Fleet Foot about it when +she found them there!</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns never tired of watching the life +that stirred everywhere about them, their +great soft eyes filled with pleasant wonder.</p> +<p class="pnext">One day it would be the one soft cluck +of Mother Grouse Hen, calling to her chicks +to hide before Frisky Fox should pass that +way.</p> +<p class="pnext">When he had passed, looking so wise and +knowing, (with his bright eyes peering into +every nook and corner, and his pointed little +nose testing the air for a taint), Mother +Grouse Hen would give a different sort of +cluck; and back the frightened chicks would +come to her, and she would gather them comfortingly +under her wings, pressing each +wee brown baby to her down-covered breast +to reassure him.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then she would utter a soft, brooding +cluck that told them how she loved them, and +how safe they were with Mother to look out +for them.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/047.jpg" src="images/047.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/048.jpg" src="images/048.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vi-a-strange-friendship"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id7">CHAPTER VI.—A STRANGE FRIENDSHIP.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">What was the matter with the hen-roost +at the Valley Farm, the fox pup asked himself? +He had killed so many field mice in the +course of the summer that he felt he was +really entitled to one of the farmer’s nice fat +hens,—because the mice might have destroyed +the farmer’s crops, had Frisky not +prevented.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the same time he knew that Lop Ear, +the hound at the Valley Farm, would have +another opinion in the matter.</p> +<p class="pnext">Frisky sat up and thought.</p> +<p class="pnext">Lop Ear would give the alarm, and then, +even if he threw the hound off the scent, +there would be men with guns, and more +dodging of bullets than he cared to risk. +He had often seen it, watching from his hill-top +in the woods. And he always tried to +profit by other people’s experience.</p> +<p class="pnext">Suddenly his bright eyes began to snap. +The very idea! He would make friends with +Lop Ear.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then Lop Ear might try to be sound +asleep on the night when Frisky visited the +chicken coop; and should the Hired Man get +out his gun, the hound would surely lose +his trail.</p> +<p class="pnext">Thereafter, for days on end, Frisky made +the strangest advances to the dignified old +hound, whenever the latter fared forth into +the woods to catch him a mouse for supper. +It was very much like a puppy trying to +coax an old dog to play.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Come chase me!” Frisky would invite, +dancing ahead just out of Lop Ear’s reach. +Then, “I’ll chase you,” he would vary the +program. And Lop Ear (half unwillingly) +played the role assigned him, till at last he +came to look on his evening ramble in the +woods with Frisky as a distinct part of his +day’s pleasuring.</p> +<p class="pnext">Not that Frisky ever came within reach +of Lop Ear’s jaws. No, indeed! That was +carrying the thing a bit too far. But he +did finally get the hound to the point where +he no longer considered it his duty to try to +make an end of the young fox. And he +really enjoyed their games of hide and seek.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Boy from the Valley Farm did not +know what to make of Lop Ear’s growing +fondness for solitary rambles.</p> +<p class="pnext">One night, when the October moon +gleamed cool and sparkling through the +fringe of fir trees, young Frisky Fox might +have been seen loping softly through the +corn-field.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Who goes there?” bayed Lop Ear, as he +leaped the barn-yard fence.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Come and play,” coaxed Frisky. “You +can’t catch me!” and leaping up the sloping +roof of the hen-house, he squeezed gracefully +through the barred window. A +moment more and there was a stifled squawk +and Frisky squeezed his way back through +the bars, dragging a hen behind him.</p> +<p class="pnext">But alas for the best laid plans.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Bow-wow-wow! You can’t do that, you +know!” suddenly bayed Lop Ear. “That’s +carrying the game a little too far. After +all, I have my duty to perform.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“What is it?” yelled the Hired Man, poking +his head from his sleeping-room in the +barn-loft. “A fox, eh?” and he grabbed for +his gun, leaning far out to scan the moonlit +fields.</p> +<p class="pnext">Frisky Fox, by keeping the shed between +himself and the gun, made off through the +corn-field with the hen across his shoulder.</p> +<p class="pnext">Lop Ear, his warning uttered, now dashed +madly in quite the wrong direction,—for the +memory of the fox pup’s friendship was +strong upon him. But the Hired Man was +not to be fooled.</p> +<p class="pnext">In less time than it takes to tell it, he was +out circling the field, gun in hand. And the +bright moonlight soon showed him where the +cornstalks rustled with Frisky’s passing.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Hi, there!” yelled the Hired Man, gun +in hand, as he raced around the corn-field.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Frisky was an excellent judge of distance, +and he knew to a certainty that he +was out of gun range.</p> +<p class="pnext">He therefore deliberately stopped where +he was and snatched a bite of his hen.</p> +<p class="pnext">As the Hired Man came nearer, the fox +pup ran farther, always keeping just about +so much distance between himself and the +gun. He could easily have out-distanced his +pursuer. But he was in a mischievous mood +to-night, and it pleased him to see how far he +could go toward devouring the entire hen +while the angry man looked on.</p> +<p class="pnext">He did it, too, saucily enough, gobbling a +bite here and a bite there, looking back over +his shoulder the while at the man with the +gun. One or two shots did ring out on the +crisp night air, kicking up the dirt a few +rods behind him, but Frisky Fox ate on, +secure by those few rods of space, as well +he knew.</p> +<p class="pnext">Only once did he miscalculate, the shot +landing so near him that he knew the next +one would surely get him if the Hired Man +tried again.</p> +<p class="pnext">Quick as a flash the clever rascal toppled +over on his side, playing dead. The ruse +worked, for the Hired Man did not shoot +again. And while he was fumbling his way +through the corn-field to where he believed +the fox lay waiting, Frisky was making for +the woods with his nimble black feet fairly +twinkling over the ground.</p> +<p class="pnext">Throwing himself at last on the soft pine +needles on a little hill-top, he peered through +the moonlight to where the Hired Man was +staring helplessly about him wondering +where the dead fox lay. Frisky laughed +silently at the success of his ruse,—the first +time he had ever played ’possum himself, +though he had seen it done once before, when +his mother had been hard pressed. In her +case she had actually let the boy pick her +up, when he found her with one foot in a +trap. But to her surprise he had only +released her with pitying words and a caress +on her silky red head.</p> +<p class="pnext">No such treatment could be expected of +the Hired Man, Frisky knew.</p> +<p class="pnext">Lop Ear, slinking back to the barn-yard +with tail between his legs, was just unlucky +enough to catch the Hired Man’s notice as +the latter was returning foxless.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Here,” he ordered threateningly. “Put +your nose to that trail and follow it, or I’ll +show you what’s what!”</p> +<p class="pnext">The next thing Frisky knew, he heard the +baying of his one-time friend close on his +trail. With a yawn and a lick at his jaws, +where a feather still clung, he struck off as +easily as if he had just arisen from a sound +night’s sleep.</p> +<p class="pnext">He didn’t even bother to keep very far +ahead of the dog.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/054.jpg" src="images/054.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/055.jpg" src="images/055.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vii-a-wit-out-witted"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id8">CHAPTER VII.—A WIT OUT-WITTED.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Not that Frisky Fox believed greatly in +Lop Ear’s friendship.</p> +<p class="pnext">Not after the way the hound had given +the alarm at the chicken coop!</p> +<p class="pnext">But he knew that at any moment he could +so far outdistance that doubtful ally that he +wasn’t in the slightest danger. The ground +was firm and dry, and he had all the advantage +of his lighter weight and nimbler feet.</p> +<p class="pnext">Had there been soft snow on the ground +it might have been different. But the first +frost had not yet ripened the hazel nuts +in the woods around Mt. Olaf.</p> +<p class="pnext">Once, just to punish him, Frisky turned +back and bared his teeth so viciously at Lop +Ear that the hound was driven back—to the +Hired Man’s amazement.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then Frisky tripped his way down to +Rapid River and crossed on the wet brook +stones, leaving no scent for Lop Ear to +follow.</p> +<p class="pnext">The hound well off the trail, Frisky again +crossed the stream farther up on a fallen +log. And circling around through the +shadows, he was soon following the Hired +Man, slipping behind trees and boulders and +smiling from ear to ear as the latter stumbled +along with his useless gun.</p> +<p class="pnext">When at last the hound stopped short at +the river bank, where he lost the scent, the +Hired Man gave it up in disgust, and went +back home to his bed.</p> +<p class="pnext">And Frisky, the handsome little scoundrel, +calmly sought out the dry south side +of a hill which would shelter him from the +wind and slept with his black legs doubled +under him and his white-tipped brush of +a tail curled comfortably around him to +keep out the draft.</p> +<p class="pnext">Shrewd, cautious, daring, the Red Fox +Pup bade fair at this stage of his career to +develop the best set of brains in all the +North Woods.</p> +<p class="pnext">Yet there was one at the Valley Farm that +could out-wit him.</p> +<p class="pnext">Frisky was sitting on his haunches a few +days later in the midst of the now deserted +hay field, listening for the squeak of a +meadow mouse, when something made him +prick up his ears.</p> +<p class="pnext">There was something about that squeak +that sounded just a wee bit different from +any squeak he had ever heard before.</p> +<p class="pnext">But no, there it was again, unmistakably +the tiny voice of a mouse on the other side +of the field. The fox pup had such needle-sharp +ears that he could hear fainter +sounds than any human being ever could +have.</p> +<p class="pnext">But though Frisky Fox was clever, the +Boy at the Valley Farm was more so. And +the Boy sat behind a bush at the farther +end of the field, as motionless as the gray +stump that Frisky thought he was. This +time the joke was on the Red Fox Pup, for +the squeaks he heard issued from the Boy’s +pursed lips. It was an excellent imitation.</p> +<p class="pnext">He tip-toed nearer and nearer the +tiny squeaks, while the Boy gazed at the +graceful fellow through his new field +glasses.</p> +<p class="pnext">He was a handsome fellow, was Frisky +Fox, with his yellow-red coat shining sleek +in the sunlight. And my! How his great +plume of a tail fluffed out behind him! His +tail was nearly as long as the rest of his +body put together, and it fluffed out nearly +as broadly. Mother Red Fox certainly had +a son to be proud of!</p> +<p class="pnext">Of a sudden a little breeze shifted around +to where it brought the foxy one a faint +scent. It told his keen black nose there was +something down there besides the bush.</p> +<p class="pnext">It wasn’t a mouse, either!</p> +<p class="pnext">“No, sir, that’s no field mouse,” said +Frisky’s nose, as the Red Fox Pup circled +to windward of the tiny squeaking sounds.</p> +<p class="pnext">“That’s the Boy at the Valley Farm! +That’s what that is! Now I’ll just pretend +not to see him at all till I get behind that +rock, then I’ll race for the woods.”</p> +<p class="pnext">For Frisky didn’t know that the thing the +Boy was pointing at him was only a pair of +field glasses. And it wouldn’t have made +much difference even had he known. Frisky +did not like to be watched. He therefore did +exactly as he had planned, crossing the field +with seeming lack of interest in anything +save the purple and yellow of asters and +golden-rod and the scarlet of woodbine, and +the blue of the Indian summer sky, till he +felt himself out of range.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the instant of his discovery that it was +one of those dangerous human creatures that +sat there like a stump he had cocked his ears +sharply and leaped fully two feet into the +air in his surprise.</p> +<p class="pnext">That was the only sign he made, however, +of the extreme anxiety that set his heart to +thumping, till he was just on the edge of +the woods; then he suddenly looked back +with one of his thin, husky barks, to know +why the Boy should have tried to fool him.</p> +<p class="pnext">But afterwards, from the shelter of the +barberry vines that fringed the old stone +wall, he peered and peeked and wondered +about it all as long as the Boy remained.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/060.jpg" src="images/060.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/061.jpg" src="images/061.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viii-steep-trails"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id9">CHAPTER VIII.—STEEP TRAILS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">These hot days in August, when the trout +took to the very deepest, coldest pools they +could find, and hid themselves all day under +the over-hanging rocks, and every creature +that couldn’t take to the water longed for +rain, Fleet Foot used to lead her little family +up the steep trails to the top of Mount +Olaf or some near-by mountain-top, where +the wind blew cool night and day.</p> +<p class="pnext">These trips were full of much joy for the +fawns, for there was all the spice of adventure +in following a winding hoof-path that +led—they knew not where. For one never +knew what might be just around the next +turn.</p> +<p class="pnext">How their hearts thumped when they came +suddenly to the edge of a precipice, where +they could look down at Beaver Brook tumbling +over the rocks away, ’way down below I +Or perhaps they could get just a glimpse of +Lone Lake lying gleaming in the hollow of +the hills.</p> +<p class="pnext">Not that there was any trail in the real +sense of the word.</p> +<p class="pnext">Left to themselves, they could not have +told one rock from another, save here and +there where a bit of mica gleamed silver +against the gray, or a scraggly pine leaned +too far out over a ledge to look safe.</p> +<p class="pnext">But to their mother their trail was as +plain as the nose on your face. It was just +a matter of turning and twisting, here to +pass between those two queer-shaped boulders, +and there to go around that flat rock +which teetered alarmingly beneath one’s +feet. She had been over it all so many times +that she had learned the look of each new +turn of the pathway. Had so much as one +pinnacle been out of place, she would have +known,—and wondered why.</p> +<p class="pnext">One still, sunshiny morning, after they +had drunk their fill at a cool green pool of +Beaver Brook, they started up the mountain-side +for a day under the shade of the +last fringe of evergreens before one came +to the bare, rocky ridges, where it got too +cold for anything to grow, except in sheltered +crevices.</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns danced and capered to the +music of the bird song that filled the woods, +while Fleet Foot cropped all sorts of delicious +tid-bits,—now a clump of oyster mushrooms +growing shelf-like on a fallen log, +and now a bunch of blue-berries, plump and +juicy and sun-sweet. Life was one long +holiday.</p> +<p class="pnext">One misty morning, as Fleet Foot was +leading them in great bounds through the +tall meadow grass, the fawns came to a sudden +stand-still, their eyes popping with surprise. +For they had just barely escaped +stepping on the writhing coils of a great long +snake.</p> +<p class="pnext">Their bleat of fear brought Fleet Foot +instantly.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Pouf! That’s only a garter snake,” she +reassured them, with one glance at the +length-wise stripes (yellow and dark gray). +“That’s nothing to be afraid of. The only +kind you want to look out for is the kind +with cross-wisp stripes. I don’t believe there +is more than one snake in all the North +Woods that is poisonous,—and there are at +least a dozen that are perfectly harmless.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“What is the poisonous one?” bleated the +trembling fawns.</p> +<p class="pnext">“The rattler. But you won’t see one of +those in a year’s time,—not in these woods, +where it gets so cold in winter. They love +it hot and dry, and so of course they live +mostly out West, though you do find a few +sometimes among the rocks on the warm +south side of a mountain.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Oo! What if we’d meet a rattler?” +shivered the fawns.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Well, he’d warn you before you went +too near.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Warn us?—How?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“He’d rattle, of course. He has a little +set of bones on his tail that he can rattle, and +when you hear that, you need to look out, +and get away quickly.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Are the others really harmless, Mother?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Harmless to fawns. That is, they have +no poison bite. Snakes do a lot of good, eating +pests.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“But I don’t like snakes,” insisted the +tinier fawn.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Well, neither does Mother. But it’s so +silly, children, to be afraid. Where is that +garter snake? Gone, to be sure! And even +the rattler only strikes because he thinks +you are going to kill him.”</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns were very thoughtful after +that. “Mother,” they finally bleated, +“Seems as if even the meanest creatures in +the woods had <em class="italics">some</em> use.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“That’s right,” their mother answered +them.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/065.jpg" src="images/065.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/066.jpg" src="images/066.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ixthe-ogre-of-the-air"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id10">CHAPTER IX—THE OGRE OF THE AIR.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It was one of those breezy days when +white wind clouds piled up against the sky, +and patches of shadow traveled across the +mountain-sides.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot had decided to take the fawns +to Mountain Pond, in the pass between +Mount Olaf and Old Bald-face, a peak that +had been burned bare of trees by a forest +fire, and now grew nothing much save blue-berries +for the bears to feast on.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot wasn’t a bit afraid of bears +at this time of year, knowing how greatly +they prefer a vegetarian diet, though, at +that, she didn’t intend to go too near. (After +all, the steep gulch of Beaver Brook Bed lay +between the two mountain-sides.)</p> +<p class="pnext">They had a lovely time at the Pond, where +they met several other does, with their +fawns, and the youngsters played together +while their mothers gossiped over their cuds. +The cool breeze ruffled their fur delightfully, +and they found enough shade in the patch +of woods that huddled in the head of the +gulch.</p> +<p class="pnext">As the sun neared the tops of the purple +peaks that faded away to the west, the little +group started back down the trail to where +there was more herbage to browse upon, +Fleet Foot lingering along to allow the +fawns plenty of time to pick out a sure footing. +For it was their first trip over this +particular trail.</p> +<p class="pnext">Carefully they wound over a great over-hanging +boulder, on the edge of which they +paused to peer, with braced hoofs, over the +precipice, which here dropped sheer to the +rocks below. Just beyond, the first falls of +Beaver Brook dashed green-white over the +ledges.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then Fleet Foot hurried on to the foot +of the falls, where one might take a shower +bath in the spray.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Come on, children,” she whistled over +her shoulder, her eyes on the path ahead. +And the tinkle of the falling water filled her +ears till she could not have heard their foot-steps +following, had she tried.</p> +<p class="pnext">But fawns will be fawns. And the +youngsters stopped to watch a queer shadow +that now danced across their path. Cloud +shadows they had watched all day, but this +one was different. In the first place, it was +such a tiny thing,—for a cloud. And it +danced about in the most amusing manner,—much +faster than any cloud shadow they had +seen before. In fact, it seemed to be going +around and around them in big circles. And +it looked exactly as if the little cloud had +wings like a bird.</p> +<p class="pnext">Alas for two such little helpless ones!—Had +they but looked above their heads, +instead of at the circling shadow, they +would have discovered that it was a giant +bird that made it. In short, it was Baldy +the Eagle, the ogre of the air,—and an ogre +that especially delighted in having fawn for +supper!</p> +<p class="pnext">An ugly fellow was Baldy, with his great +curved beak and his great yellow claws. His +body alone was bigger than that of the +fawns, and his wings spread out like the +wings of an aeroplane. He was mostly a +muddy brown, with white head and fan-spread +tail, and he smelled horribly fishy, +for he isn’t a bit particular about what he +eats, and frequently stuffs himself so full +of the spoiled fish he finds on the shore that +he can’t even fly.</p> +<p class="pnext">The air hissed to his wings.</p> +<p class="pnext">He waited now till he felt that Fleet Foot +was surely too far away to come to their +rescue, should he attack the fawns. For he +knew from experience that with her sharp +hoofs she could put up a fight he would +rather not face.</p> +<p class="pnext">For a while he wandered if he should just +simply drop down upon one of the little fellows +and pin his talons into his back, and +fly away to his nest. But it would be awfully +heavy to carry and of course it would kick +and wriggle, ’till like enough he would be +unable to manage his feathered aeroplane, +and they would run into some jagged rock.</p> +<p class="pnext">If the fawns had been orphans, he might +have killed one right there, and no one would +have interfered.</p> +<p class="pnext">But they were not orphans, and their +mother would come racing back and cut him +to pieces with those knife-edged fore-hoofs.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ha! An idea popped into his ugly old +head.—He would scare one of the fawns off +the edge of the precipice, and it would leap +to its death on the rocks below; and then he +could wait till Fleet Foot had gone, for his +feast.</p> +<p class="pnext">Swooping lower and lower, while still the +foolish fawns stared innocently at the dancing +shadow, he suddenly flapped his wings +about the tinier fawn, startling him terribly, +but not enough to make him back off the cliff.</p> +<p class="pnext">Stronger measures must be tried,—and +there was no time to waste; for at the fawn’s +first bleat of terror, Fleet Foot heard and +was now leaping like the wind, back the trail +to his rescue.</p> +<p class="pnext">Swooping again, Baldy began beating the +little fellow with great heavy blows of his +middle wing joints. It hurt dreadfully, and +the frightened fawn turned first this way, +then that, in his endeavor to get away. +Nearer and nearer the edge of the precipice +he crowded. Now one hind foot had actually +slipped off the rock face, and he had to +struggle to regain his balance.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the one thing happened that could +have saved him. Fleet Foot reached the +spot. Rearing furiously on her hind legs, +she struck at Baldy’s head with her +sharp hoofs, tearing great wounds in +his scalp. Then, with a scream of rage and +pain, he raised his wings and slanted swiftly +upward, wings hissing, to his granite peak.</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawn was not seriously hurt,—only +terribly frightened. His back was bruised, +but that would heal, and he would be none +the worse for his experience.</p> +<p class="pnext">But where was the other fawn?—They +found him wedged in between the boulders,—the +one place where he could ever have +escaped the beat of those wings. Fleet Foot +praised him mightily for having so much +sense, and he felt quite cocky,—though of +course his brother was the real hero of +the day.</p> +<p class="pnext">One other danger marred their summer.</p> +<p class="pnext">Every now and again, as they were passing +beneath some low-hanging branch, they +would catch a glimpse of a tawny form flattened +along the limb, watching them with +pale yellow eyes that gleamed through narrowed +lids.</p> +<p class="pnext">Perhaps it would be in a deep, dark hemlock +thicket, or a cedar swamp, that they +would meet the giant cat.</p> +<p class="pnext">He was a ferocious-looking fellow, was +Old Man Lynx, with his great, square, whiskered +face, and his ears with their black +tassels and the black stripe down the middle +of his back. And my, how his claws +crunched the bark as he sharpened them! +How his whiskers twitched and his mouth +watered as the fawns passed beneath him! +He seemed all teeth and claws.</p> +<p class="pnext">Perhaps the little family would be drowsing +peacefully in the shade of a long +September afternoon when suddenly some spirit +of their ancestors, (or was it some guardian +angel of their antlered tribe?) would whisper +“Danger!” and set their fur to rising +along their spines in a cold shiver of nameless +fear.</p> +<p class="pnext">Had Old Man Lynx ever really put +it to the test, he could have won out with +Fleet Foot. But he knew the sharp drive +of her little hoofs, and he was terribly afraid +of pain. (Did he not wear a great scar in +his side, due to an adventure of his rash +young days, when a fat buck had given him +a rip with his antlers?)</p> +<p class="pnext">Perhaps that was why Fleet Foot always +raced away in a wide curve that presently +brought her back to where she could peer +curiously at the invader of her solitude, +without herself being seen.</p> +<p class="pnext">She used to spy in the same way on Old +Man Red Fox, and Frisky, his promising +young hopeful.</p> +<p class="pnext">In fact, what with Frisky spying on the +fawns, and the fawns watching Frisky, these +children of hostile tribes kept pretty close +track of one another.</p> +<p class="pnext">The summer passed on the whole, however, +with no more adventure than the sound +of the lonely “Hoo-woo-o-o-o” of a loon at +twilight, or the sudden whirr of a startled +pheasant’s wings, or a quarrel between some +wicked red squirrel caught robbing a crow’s +nest. (Or was it a crow that had robbed the +squirrel’s little hoard, and was getting handsomely +scolded for his villainy?).</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/074.jpg" src="images/074.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/075.jpg" src="images/075.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-x-wild-grapes"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id11">CHAPTER X.—WILD GRAPES.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It had been one of those cool, crisp days +when the sun shone just warm enough to +feel good to the furred and feathered folk. +Frisky, the Red Fox Pup, had been creeping +up on a flying squirrel, who sat nibbling +the ripe berries of the Solomon’s Seal with +her three little ones beside her, when the +entire family took alarm and went leaping +back to the beech-nut tree.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now Frisky had not reached the age of +six whole months in vain. He had sharp +eyes, and he used them. And he had never +seen a squirrel that could spread sail like +that. He felt that his eyes must have +deceived him.</p> +<p class="pnext">He forgot his surprise at the very next +turn of the trail, when he suddenly spied a +tangle of wild grape vine that hung in a +canopy of the luscious purple clusters over +the stag-horn sumac.</p> +<p class="pnext">Frisky Fox had never seen wild grapes +before, though he had often passed the vines +when the fruit was green. Now his keen +little nose told him enough to make him +eager for a taste.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the fruit hung just too high. Leaping +into the air, he occasionally got a nibble +from the low-hanging bunches. But these +only served to whet his appetite for more.</p> +<p class="pnext">To add to his discontent, Fairy the Flying +Squirrel suddenly sailed down from a tree-top, +alighting on the very top of the grapevine +canopy. And there she perched saucily +and munched and sucked at grape after +grape before his very eyes.</p> +<p class="pnext">This was too much for Frisky. Around +and around the vines he circled, screwing up +his courage for a leap.</p> +<p class="pnext">He finally discovered a place where the +vine hugged a slanting tree trunk, and he +climbed as far as he could.</p> +<p class="pnext">The next instant Fairy had sailed back to +her branch as easily as if she had been +laughing at him. But Frisky didn’t mind +that. It would take just a stretch of his +neck and his jaws would close on a great +cluster of the fragrant fruit.</p> +<p class="pnext">If young Frisky Fox had only been content +with that one taste, all might have been +well. But just beyond was a larger bunch. +Frisky gave a leap, landing on his tip-toes +on crossed vines. But the vines parted +beneath his weight, and down he plunged—almost +to the ground, but not quite. Not +far enough for a foot-hold.</p> +<p class="pnext">And there he hung, head downward, hind +legs tangled in the vines, unable to better +his position!</p> +<p class="pnext">My, how he writhed and squirmed, and bit +at the vine that shackled him! But to no +avail! He was a prisoner, just as surely as +if he had been tied with a rope. Little his +brains availed him now.</p> +<p class="pnext">If any one had asked young Frisky Fox, +as he hung head downward from that +grapevine, what he thought of the +situation, he would have said it couldn’t be worse.</p> +<p class="pnext">Yet it speedily became worse,—so much +worse, indeed, that Frisky redoubled his +efforts to free himself,—though he had an +awful feeling that it was no use.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was Tattle-tale the Jay who warned +him.</p> +<p class="pnext">Tattle-tale kept pretty close track of all +that went on in the forest, and then told all +he knew.</p> +<p class="pnext">So many times had he flown ahead of +Frisky Fox, screaming at the top of his +lungs: “A Fox! A Fox! Beware!” that +Frisky had come to dread the sound of his +voice.</p> +<p class="pnext">This time Tattle-tale, who played no +favorites, was doing Frisky a good turn, but +the little fox was in no position to appreciate +the fact.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Look out, there! Look out, everybody,” +Tattle-tale was screaming. “Old Man +Lynx is coming!”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Old Man Lynx!” squeaked Shadow Tail, +the Red Squirrel, making for his hole in the +oak tree.</p> +<p class="pnext">“OLD MAN LYNX, Mammy, Old Man +Lynx!” squealed Timothy Cottontail, hopping +madly for a hollow log.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Old Man Lynx!” grunted Unk-Wunk, +the Porcupine. “A lot I care!” And he +rolled himself up into a prickly ball in the +top of a swaying birch tree.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Old Man Lynx!” thought Frisky Fox, +fairly beside himself with frenzy. Hanging +there heels uppermost in the grapevine, he +was as helpless as a mouse in a trap. And +here was the great cat, his ancient enemy, +creeping, creeping, creeping through the +shadows, his nose sniffing this way and that +for the scent that would tell him where to +find a good supper.</p> +<p class="pnext">Another moment and out of the tail of his +eye he saw the great, heavy, bob-tailed cat, +with his cruel face, squared off with a fringe +of whiskers that framed his chin, and sharp +ears tasseled with little tufts of fur at +their tips.</p> +<p class="pnext">The yellow eyes gleamed evilly as Old Man +Lynx caught sight of Frisky hanging there +so helplessly, and his grizzled gray-brown +fur rose along his spine.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now he was wriggling along the ground +flattened out like a snake. Now he was +creeping up the tree trunk as silently as a +shadow, and now he was gathering his legs +beneath him for the leap that would land +him squarely on Frisky Fox.</p> +<p class="pnext">Frisky knew that one crunch of those +gleaming teeth would end it all, so far as the +Red Fox Pup was concerned.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Frisky had a trick up his sleeve. His +wits were still in working order.</p> +<p class="pnext">“What a pity!” sighed Shadow Tail, the +Red Squirrel, as he peered from his hole in +the oak tree.</p> +<p class="pnext">For Old Man Lynx had no objection what-ever +to having fox for supper. The only +objection he had to foxes was that he could +never catch one.</p> +<p class="pnext">For to look at poor Frisky Fox, his red-brown +fur still soft and silky, his black feet +tapering so delicately and his white throat +exposed, it didn’t seem as if he had a show +in the world of escaping the huge cat.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Old Man Lynx was stupid. He had +nothing but his powerful muscles and his +murderous teeth and claws, whereas Frisky +had the nimble wit of one who lives by being +both hunter and hunted.</p> +<p class="pnext">And even as he waited for the leap for +which he saw the Lynx preparing, he +thought of a way out of both the grapevine +and the danger he was in.</p> +<p class="pnext">The next instant the Old Man gave one of +his blood-curdling screeches, by which he so +often paralyzed his prey with fright. Then +he dropped to the branch just above, claws +out for Frisky Fox.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the very instant his heavy form +touched the tangled vines, they gave way +beneath him, and he, too, went crashing down +in a net-work that held him fast. And, +what’s more, his huge weight loosed the vines +that held Frisky prisoner.</p> +<p class="pnext">But wait! With his great steel claws the +giant cat wrenched himself free. Frisky +made for a clump of greenbriar, for his leg +had gone to sleep, and he couldn’t run right +till it had had time to wake up.</p> +<p class="pnext">Was Old Man Lynx to get him after all?</p> +<p class="pnext">There was only one reason why he didn’t—he +had no great fondness for brambles. +Cats, wild and tame, are mighty fond of their +own skins, and Old Man Lynx was no exception. +He’d have to be mighty hungry before +he’d either scratch his fur out or get it wet.</p> +<p class="pnext">While Old Man Lynx thought it over, +Frisky Fox was certainly not standing still. +Not Frisky! He was struggling so hard to +tear himself free that the brambles were +all trimmed up with little tufts of his tawny +coat.</p> +<p class="pnext">That the gray form crouched so near him +meant to spring he could easily guess, and +his heart thumped so loudly in his furry +chest that he could hardly breathe. Eyes +straining wide with fright, as he tugged this +way and that, (for he was really caught fast +again), he suffered far more from terror +than from the pain of the brambles. His +leg was awake now, and with one last twinge +he wrenched himself loose.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the same instant the great gray cat +launched itself almost upon him.</p> +<p class="pnext">But Frisky was too quick for it. By the +time Old Man Lynx had reached the spot, +Frisky was tearing down the slope.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now lynxes have poor eyesight. Following +their nose is their one best guide. Of +this Frisky was aware, as his mother had +told him so.</p> +<p class="pnext">He could hear the great cat scrambling +after him at a terrific pace. But he was +going too fast to try any dodges, for one +stumble and the other would be upon him. +If it had been Mother Red Fox, she could +have laughed at her pursuer. But Frisky +was only a pup, remember, and his short +legs had all they could do to keep ahead of +such a big fellow.</p> +<p class="pnext">Just as he was beginning to wonder how +long this would keep up, he recalled something +else his mother had taught him. +Lynxes cannot swim. At least, they won’t. +The river was just off to the left, and with +a quick turn and a sidewise leap that might +or might not throw the Old Man off his +scent, he dashed for the water.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the very brink of the moonlit current, +he suddenly remembered one thing more. +The last time he had tried that swim he had +let his tail get so wet and heavy that he had +only reached the other bank by hanging on +to his father’s brush. Now there was no one +to tow him. Should he risk it, or was he +safer where he was?</p> +<p class="pnext">To cross or not to cross, that was the question +before him.</p> +<p class="pnext">If he trusted his fate to the current, he +might drown. And if he remained on the +same side with Old Man Lynx, he might meet +another fate.</p> +<p class="pnext">There was but a heart’s beat to decide.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ah! What was that dark object just +upstream? Could it be a log? What luck! +Frisky veered to the right, his long agile +leaps once more outdistancing the merciless +form behind him.</p> +<p class="pnext">He reached the log. Alas, it reached only +half way across! But he raced that half. +Then one of his powerful forward leaps and +he had landed within easy swimming distance +of the other shore!</p> +<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx stood raging on the bank +he had left, afraid to risk it. His disappointed +screech sent shivers along Frisky’s +spine, but he knew he was safe.</p> +<p class="pnext">Pup-like, no sooner was his mind relieved +of worry than he burrowed into an old +gopher hole and fell fast asleep.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/085.jpg" src="images/085.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/086.jpg" src="images/086.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xi-speckled-trout"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id12">CHAPTER XI.—SPECKLED TROUT.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">The still warmth of Indian summer +passed, with its dreamy days and its crisp +nights ablaze with twinkling stars.</p> +<p class="pnext">And Fleet Foot left the fawns to shift +more and more for themselves,—though +they still followed her about. At first they +were puzzled and a little hurt by her growing +indifference. Then, as they began to +feel the strength of their coming buck-hood, +they began to enjoy their taste of freedom.</p> +<p class="pnext">Indeed, the little rascals even began to +watch the bucks, (their big cousins and +uncles), who were returning in little bands +from their summer’s wanderings. Someday +they, too, would have those lordly +antlers, and they, too, could join their bachelor +explorations, while the does and younger +fawns remained safely behind in the low-lands.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now no longer could they hear Vesper +Sparrow trilling in the meadows and locusts +twanging in the tree-tops. The brook beds +were drying, 'and the deer now pastured +along the sedgy shore-line of Lone Lake or +splashed knee-deep in the shallows, while +here and there the scarlet of a maple told +of approaching winter.</p> +<p class="pnext">No longer did the gabbling of countless +ducks fill their ears when the pink sunsets +tinted the Lake. Instead, there were many +V-shaped flocks constantly migrating to the +Southland, where the waters would not +freeze.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now it was that the speckled trout, whom +all summer long they had watched flashing +silvery through the shallows, began putting +on their coats of many colors.—At least the +bride-grooms did. The prospective brides +remained a quiet brown, for reasons the +fawns were soon to learn. (For October is +the month when trout start housekeeping +together.)</p> +<p class="pnext">In the early summer the fawns had +watched these same finny fellows racing and +leaping up the water-falls to the rapids. +With the long, hot days, they had taken to +the deep, shadowy pools—those watery +caverns that afford such peaceful coolness +everywhere along Beaver Brook.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now as the woods turned red and gold, +the trout changed their cream colored vests +to the most vivid orange, which looked gay +enough with their red and white fins.</p> +<p class="pnext">Their coats were still olive-green, mottled +with darker splotches, and on their sides the +green melted into yellow, with the little red +spots and speckles that give the trout their +name.</p> +<p class="pnext">Their thousands of tiny scales were like +suits of mail,—which came in very handy +when they fought, as you shall see.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the fawns noticed that the larger and +brighter colored fish were prospecting +around in the shallows, where the water ran +fastest, shoveling the gravel about with their +bony noses, aided by their tails. Each trout +soon had a little nest scooped out in the +stream bed, and over it he stood guard, (or +perhaps we ought to say swam guard), +defending his homestead against all comers.</p> +<p class="pnext">Sometimes a larger trout would come by +and try to steal the nest of a smaller fish; +and then what a fight they had! How they +butted each other about, ramming each +other’s soft sides, and even, at times, biting +each other on the lip. It must have hurt +dreadfully, because each trout had a mouthful +of the sharpest teeth, that turned backward, +so that when they caught a worm he +was hooked as surely as he would be on the +end of a fish-line.</p> +<p class="pnext">In trout-land, you know, it is the father +of the family that makes the nest. He it is +who wears the gayest clothing, too,—because +if the mother were too bright colored, +her enemies could see her on her nest.</p> +<p class="pnext">Once the nests were ready the mother +trout came swimming upstream and +promptly set to work filling them with +leathery yellow-brown eggs, which they +covered with gravel so that no pike or other cannibal +of the river’s bottom could find and +make a breakfast off of them.</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns marveled as they watched, day +after day, till at last the trout all went back +into deep water for the winter, leaving the +eggs behind them. And Fleet Foot +explained how, next spring, each leathery +brown egg that had escaped the cannibal +fish and the muskrats would be burst open +by the baby trout inside, and out would +wiggle the teeniest, weeniest troutlet you +can possibly imagine!</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/090.jpg" src="images/090.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/091.jpg" src="images/091.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xii-the-victor"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id13">CHAPTER XII.—THE VICTOR.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">One evening when the frost lay glittering +in the moonlight, the fawns were suddenly +awakened, in their soft beds of drifted +leaves, by a loud belling down on the lake +shore; and wide-eyed, they tip-toed down to +see what it meant.</p> +<p class="pnext">There on the muddy beach—stamped with +long lines of little cloven hoof prints—stood +a handsome buck, with polished antlers, +dancing about as if too full of energy to +stand still.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the fawns had never seen their +father, for he had been killed by a hunter. +And the other bucks of the herd had been +rambling about all summer in the higher +hills.</p> +<p class="pnext">They now saw Fleet Foot mince daintily +down to inspect the new-comer, who was +belling his greeting at the top of his lungs.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the meeting was brought to a sudden +end. For out of the woods pranced another +buck, belling a saucy challenge to a fight. +Fleet Foot withdrew to a safe distance, as +did the fawns, and watched admiringly as +the two bucks came together; and the excitement, +no less than the keen, frosty air, set +the blood to racing hot through their young +veins.</p> +<p class="pnext">Stamping their steel-shod hoofs defiantly +and tossing their antlered heads in the pride +of their strength, the two bucks bellowed +their battle challenge.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Well, where did you come from?” +shrilled Fleet Foot’s champion.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Never mind that. I’ve come to stay,” +bellowed the new-comer. “If either of us +has got to go, it will be yourself, because +I’m the strongest.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Not if I know myself!”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Look out! The strongest wins!”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Yes, the strongest wins. So look out for +your own self!” and the first buck gave a +shrill snort of defiance.</p> +<p class="pnext">Straightway the pair began dancing a sort +of war-dance around each other. Slim and +supple, they looked about equally fit.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot stepped gracefully a little +nearer, and stood looking on, with her back +to the fawns,—who thought best to keep +their distance. They noticed that another +little audience had gathered on the opposite +side of the lake,—a couple of yearling bucks +with proud spikes of horns and three with +two-pronged antlers.</p> +<p class="pnext">Around and around the two combatants +tip-toed, heads flung back, chins in air. Then +they lowered their antlers like shields, and +Fleet Foot’s champion got in a good dig at +the other’s ribs. With a bellow of rage, the +second buck came plunging, and the two +crashed together, antlers against antlers. +Their sharp hoofs fairly ploughed the +ground as they strove and struggled and +pushed each other about, the very whites of +their eyes showing in their rage.</p> +<p class="pnext">“There’s ginger for you!” thought the +fawns.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the fighting pair were shouldering +each other about roughly with their horns, +lips foaming, gasping for breath,—almost +locking horns in a butting match. At last +the first buck lifted his knife-edged forelegs +and struck at the intruder. The next +moment he was belling in triumph, for he +had cut a great gash in the other’s shoulder, +and the latter had had enough.</p> +<p class="pnext">The victor now turned for the look of +admiration he felt he ought to find in Fleet +Foot’s eyes. But instead, he barely caught +a glimpse of her dancing away through the +thicket, with just one merry backward +glance to see if he would race her.</p> +<p class="pnext">But he knew where to follow; for there +was the faintest, loveliest perfume on the +air where she had passed.</p> +<p class="pnext">The fawns gazed after the pair, as they +disappeared, then found themselves alone. +All that month, while the woods turned from +scarlet and yellow to brown and gray, and +the nights grew frosty under the stars, the +fawns were left very much to their own +devices. But they were well capable of looking +out for themselves at this time of year, +for they found a beech wood and began fattening +on the beech nuts against the increasing +chill.</p> +<p class="pnext">Their coats were changing from tawny +red to bluish gray, and their fur thickening +to keep a layer of warm air next their skins. +There were coarser hairs growing out as +well, that helped to shed the rain. Their +new fur glistened in the sunshine, and the +fawns raced and hurdled in the keen air, +and took running high jumps to work off +their surplus energy.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then Fleet Foot and the winning buck +returned, and with them came two of the +young bucks who had watched the battle. +The six ranged happily from cranberry bog +to evergreen swamp, feasting, feasting, +feasting on mosses, lichens, anything and +everything that grew, till their sides rounded +with their winter plumpness, and a layer of +warm fat lay just underneath their skins.</p> +<p class="pnext">But with the first powdering of snow came +a new danger. The hunting season had +opened, and to the huntsman our little family +meant merely a few pounds of venison +for his table, and the pride of a pair of +antlers to hang his gun upon.</p> +<p class="pnext">To the buck, however, one little bullet +might in an instant rob him of life and the +keen joy of his airy speed, and all the glad +wonderful world about them, and leave his +family defenseless through the long, hard +winter.</p> +<p class="pnext">He was therefore more than wary. With +the first crash of the Hired Man’s thunder +stick, he led his little herd to a distant cedar +swamp, where they were soon joined by other +groups as nervous as themselves at this new +peril that could pick them out and wound +them from so far away.</p> +<p class="pnext">Sometimes, even then, a member of the +band would have a race for his life.—And +sometimes he never came back! But Fleet +Foot and her five pulled through in safety.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the thunder-stick ceased to roar in +the woods about Mount Olaf. The “season” +was over, and the entire, band set about making +active preparations for the on-coming +winter. Already there were chill, drizzly +days when all the world looked gray.</p> +<p class="pnext">The former rivals now chewed their cuds +together as peacefully as you please, the +bucks sleeping on one side of the thicket, +the does and their fawns on the other.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then came a big surprise for the fawns.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was a surprise for the Red Fox Pup +as well.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/097.jpg" src="images/097.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/098.jpg" src="images/098.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiii-the-queer-feathers"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id14">CHAPTER XIII.—THE QUEER FEATHERS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Frisky, the Red Fox Pup, had learned +many lessons since the day he so nearly +hanged himself in the wild grape-vines.</p> +<p class="pnext">There was the day of the first snow, for +instance.</p> +<p class="pnext">Awakening one morning, cramped and +chilled because he had not lined his bed +deeply enough with leaves to keep off the +cold, he peered from his little den on the +hillside with wide eyes.</p> +<p class="pnext">The air seemed filled, as far as he could +see, with tiny white feathers, and the ground +was covered with them.</p> +<p class="pnext">He peered this way and that, wondering +what kind of birds they could be whose +plumage was being shed so freely. It must +be a flock large enough to cover the whole +sky, he decided, mystified.</p> +<p class="pnext">He crept stealthily from the den, afraid, +because he did not understand.</p> +<p class="pnext">The instant his black feet touched the cold +stuff, he leaped high into the air, with a yip +of fright and amazement. But when he +opened his mouth he got a taste of the falling +flakes.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Ha!” he said to himself, “that accounts +for it. It is just rain turned white.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Still, he crept warily down to Pollywog +Pond for his breakfast, stepping high, +because he hated wet feet.</p> +<p class="pnext">Arrived at the pond he stopped for a +drink, when his lapping tongue came plump +against a film of something hard and shining +that seemed to cover the water. What could +it be, he asked himself, lapping up a mouthful +of the snow-flakes to ease his thirst. (He +wisely held them in his mouth till they had +melted, for fear of chilling his stomach.)</p> +<p class="pnext">It was certainly very queer. Now the +very trees were beginning to be outlined in +white. It made the world look quite a different +place.</p> +<p class="pnext">As for the deer, they took to a thicket of +poplar, birch and spruce, on which they +could feed when the snow lay deep.</p> +<p class="pnext">There was one other to whom winter +brought a change and that was Old Man +Lynx.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now it is very, very seldom that good luck +falls right at one’s feet undeserved.</p> +<p class="pnext">So Old Man Lynx warned himself when +he came upon the muskrat in the trap.</p> +<p class="pnext">Of course the giant cat did not know it was +a trap, as he circled around and around the +struggling rat. His green eyes gleamed hungrily +in his tawny face, and he crouched so +close to the snow crust that his whiskers +dragged on the ground. His tasseled ears +twitched nervously, his stubby tail thrashed +the earth and his claws were bared in a +fringe across the great awkward paws, as he +crept nearer and nearer the struggling bait.</p> +<p class="pnext">To the nostrils of the cat tribe the musky +smell of the water-rat is most tempting, and +his mouth watered till he licked his jaws at +thought of the feast within such easy reach.</p> +<p class="pnext">And yet—and yet—some spirit of the wild—some +instinct of the dumb brute who must +fight to live—seemed to warn him that where +man had been, there would be trouble for +him. And he circled his prey without quite +daring to close in upon it and end its squeaking +protest.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now the Hired Man at the Valley Farm +had not meant the trap for Old Man Lynx. +He had placed it there on the bare chance of +there being a wolf at large in the forest +around Mount Olaf.</p> +<p class="pnext">As the midwinter dawn deepened from +salmon to rose, and the snow began to glitter +in the sun’s first rays, Old Man Lynx decided +that the thing was altogether too mysterious +to be wholesome. Instead, he trotted +down to Lone Lake, where muskrats were +supposed to be. And he promised himself +that even were it too late in the day to catch +a rat, he could at least afford the pleasure of +sniffing at the chimneys to their round +houses,—those air-holes in the top, where +their musky breath steamed out, while the +rats themselves lay snug and warm within.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then, suddenly, just as Old Man Lynx +was passing a snow-laden clump of spruces, +he caught a little movement in their lower +branches. Circling till he had the ribbon of +the wind in his nostrils, he discovered that it +was a covey of grouse.</p> +<p class="pnext">Grouse! How infinitely more delicious +than muskrat—more tender even than rabbit! +Now indeed he was glad he had saved his appetite.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/102.jpg" src="images/102.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/103.jpg" src="images/103.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xivstarvation-time"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id15">CHAPTER XIV—STARVATION TIME</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Fleet Foot, the Doe, would never have +dreamed of taking her fawns down to the +hay-stack at the Valley Farm, had not the +Farmer and his Boy set her leg the summer +before, and gained her confidence by their +kindness.</p> +<p class="pnext">But, though the herd had selected a south-west +slope where the feeding was good, and +though they had trampled the snow till it +raised them higher and higher, and they +could browse on the limbs of the fir trees, it +was proving a cruel winter. As blizzard followed +blizzard, and bark and browse alike +were frozen stiff, they huddled together, +weak with hunger.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the thought of the big hay-mow provided +for the sheep and cattle proved too +much for Fleet Foot, and she resolved to +take the fawns, (now well grown,) slip down +under cover of the early winter dusk, and +there help herself to the few mouthfuls she +could reach through the bars. For part of +the hay stood in the open meadow, with only +a canvas over top to keep it dry, and a few +bars to keep it from being blown away.</p> +<p class="pnext">The other deer of the herd, though they +were starving, were far too timid to make +the venture with her. To them it seemed a +perilous undertaking to go so near human-kind. +For they had seen many things in the +woods. They had seen the Hired Man with +his long black stick that spoke like thunder, +and killed more surely than tooth or claw. +They preferred to starve!</p> +<p class="pnext">For Fleet Foot, the dangers of traveling +alone with the fawns through the winter +woods were many. First there was the +chance of meeting Old Man Lynx. For now +they would not have the protection of the +hoofs and horns of the herd.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then they might get lost and freeze, should +another storm catch them far from the herd-yard. +But, once having made up her mind, +Fleet Foot whistled to the fawns and started +off in a series of long, graceful bounds that +carried them over one snow-bank after another.</p> +<p class="pnext">Had they dared delay, they would have +sunk to their knees in the hard, dry snow to +rest for a while and nibble the tops of some +bush that promised a few mouthfuls of supper, +for their empty stomachs fairly hurt. +And if it had been freezing in the herd-yard, +with its wall of snow, and the crowding +bodies that helped keep each other warm, +imagine how cold Fleet Foot’s little family +must have been, out on the open hill-top! +The savage wind and the snow-filled air +made it all but impossible at times to draw +breath.</p> +<p class="pnext">But worst of all was the shadow of fear +that never left the doe’s anxious mother +heart. The tree-trunks crackled alarmingly +with the frost, keeping her alert for enemies, +and the wind tore savagely through the +brush. Of a sudden Fleet Foot’s spine began +to prickle! It was one of those mysterious +things that she had never been able +to account for. But it usually meant danger!</p> +<p class="pnext">Half blindly, they had been making their +way, hardly able to see in the green-black of +the darkness. But they marked their path +by the darker blackness of the clumps of +spruce trees, which to their trained instinct +pointed the way like a map.</p> +<p class="pnext">Again a chill ran down their spine and the +hair raised along the backs of their necks! +Some instinct told them real danger was +near—what danger, they could not know. +Rolling their startled eyes behind them, they +could see points of light gleaming at them +through the darkness.</p> +<p class="pnext">At length, through the winter night, came +a long, shrill cry like that of a hound, only +wilder and more terrifying. Then came another, +and a third. It was an uncanny sound, +that of the three gray wolves, watching from +behind the snowy evergreens.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot knew, more by instinct than experience, +what they were, for their like she +had never seen before. Nor had any one in +those woods known a winter when these ravenous +beasts had come down out of the Canadian +wilds. But it had been handed down +from grand-sire to grand-son that once, when +the snows were uncommonly deep, and half +the wild folk starved and frozen, wolves had +come down from the far North in search of +prey.</p> +<p class="pnext">There were three of the lean gray shapes, +like collie dogs, yet so much larger and +fiercer—large enough to attack even bigger +game than Fleet Foot, the doe.</p> +<p class="pnext">Should worst come to worst, she would +have no more chance with even one such foe +than a rabbit with a hound. It would all be +a matter of which could run the faster. And +she had to look out for the fawns!</p> +<p class="pnext">Their one chance of escape lay in their +nimble heels. They might, for a time, outspeed +their enemies, if their strength held +out. The combined hoofs and antlers of the +herd might have fought off the beasts for a +time, but the herd-yard was now too far +away for Fleet Foot ever to reach it with the +fawns before those lean gray shapes would +be at their throats. The Valley Farm lay +straight ahead, and her fear of man shrank +to nothing beside the terrors behind her.</p> +<p class="pnext">Yes, the one hope on the horizon lay at the +Valley Farm, where the fear of man might +keep the wolves from following.</p> +<p class="pnext">And to the Farm Fleet Foot and the +fawns now sped with their great, bounding +strides that took whole drifts at a leap. +Would their feet slip in the darkness, crippling +them and leaving them helpless almost +within sight of safety?</p> +<p class="pnext">On and on they ran, and behind them +through the forest crept the three gray +shapes, slinking along like shadows with +glowing coals for eyes. Every now and again +their barking howl, long drawn out and fearful, +tore the darkness. Could they reach the +Valley Farm, Fleet Foot asked herself with +pounding heart?</p> +<p class="pnext">It was hard going through the powdery +snow, into which she sank dangerously every +time she came to a drift too wide to leap. +And the fawns were having an even harder +time, the cold cutting into their lungs ’till it +hurt.</p> +<p class="pnext">At last, straight ahead, gleamed the dim +lighted windows of the farmhouse. A few +more bursts of speed would get them over the +fence and into the pasture lot, and perhaps +the wolves would stop at the boundary of +man’s domain. But—could they make it? +Could they reach that fence before their +grim pursuers?</p> +<p class="pnext">Their eyes were fairly popping with the +effort they were making. Here was a mammoth +drift that in summer had been a creek, +and there a patch of the higher wind-swept +ground where the ice might take their hoofs +from under them.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ah! The fence at last! One leap over its +smooth pyramid, and with a sobbing cough, +Fleet Foot and the fawns were safe, with the +wolves not ten paces behind!</p> +<p class="pnext">Then, suddenly, the door at the farmhouse +opened, throwing a long streak of +lamp-light across the snow!</p> +<p class="pnext">The wolves slunk back in fear. But so, +too, did Fleet Foot. The terror of the great +gray beasts behind her, all her old fear of +man flooded back upon her, and what to do +she did not know. She dared not go back, nor +could she go forward. So she stood stock +still, her fawns huddling, trembling against +her sides. The sudden light half-blinded her, +and made the darkness blacker. What could +be its meaning? Curiosity might, at another +time, have conquered fear, but now +she was trembling in every joint, her spent +lungs wheezing with the effort she had made. +This was far different from slipping in under +cover of darkness as she had planned.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Father! Come quick! I do believe there +is a deer out there—no, a doe, and two +fawns!” cried the Boy of the Valley Farm, +as the light from the open door threw a long +ray across the barn-yard to the pasture beyond.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Wait! I’ll get her for you!” exclaimed +the Hired Man, springing for his gun. But +at the Boy’s sharp command he dropped it, +shame-faced.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then from farther back in the evergreens +came the spine-chilling howl of the gray +wolves, baying their lost prey.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Wolves, my son!” exclaimed the Farmer, +joining the group in the doorway. +“Wolves from Canada. It’s a hard winter +that has brought them down. I don’t remember +seeing wolves since I was a little shaver, +forty years ago. And I expect that is what +has driven the deer so close. Sh! Come out-side.” +The two closed the door behind them. +“We mustn’t frighten them away, or the +wolves will get them, sure.”</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/111.jpg" src="images/111.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/112.jpg" src="images/112.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xv-the-gray-wolves"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id16">CHAPTER XV.—THE GRAY WOLVES.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">“That’s what I heard,” exclaimed the Boy +at the Valley Farm. “Wolves! Imagine! I didn’t +suppose they ever came into these woods.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“It’s been an unusual winter,” his father +assured him, stepping out into the snowy +barn-yard. “I saw them once when I was +ten years old. But I thought they had been +driven away for good. I suppose the rabbits +all froze, up where they come from, and +they got so starved they were driven to it. +They’ve certainly been chasing these deer.”</p> +<p class="pnext">For as their eyes became accustomed to the +snowy darkness, they could once more see +the shadowy forms of Fleet Foot and the +fawns by the hay-mow.</p> +<p class="pnext">“It must have been those wolves that I +heard ten minutes back,” said the Farmer, +rubbing his unmittened hands together.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Just see how hollow these poor things +look!” exclaimed the Boy. “They must be +starving. Let’s go back inside, so they won’t +be afraid.”</p> +<p class="pnext">They met the Hired Man just starting +forth with his gun. “I’m going for those +wolves,” he hastened to explain.</p> +<p class="pnext">“That’s more like it,” said the Farmer.</p> +<p class="pnext">Here they were at last, beside the hay-stack, +Fleet Foot and her fawns. And as +three disappointed howls arose from the +woods at their back, the famished deer +turned to snatch their first ravenous mouthfuls +from between the bars of the crib. They +paused in their banquet only long enough to +stare at the Hired Man, as with snow-shoes +strapped to his feet, he strode down the Old +Logging Road,—Lop Ear, the Hound, at his +heels.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Who-o-o-o!” howled the three gray +wolves from the blackness of the woods. +The Hired Man raised his thunder-stick +and fired—straight between a pair of the red +eyes that gleamed at him through the night.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Yoo-o-o-o!” screamed one of the wolves, +as he fell, while the cries of the other two retreated +into the forest. And Whoo Lee, the +great barred owl, could have told you that +they carried their tails between their legs. +Their weird voices faded rapidly into the +depths of the woods; for wolves travel fast +on their round, furry feet, which spread out +beneath them like round snow-shoes.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Hired Man strode on down the Old +Logging Road past the charred trunks +which the forest fire had swept,—standing +like white ghosts now in their snowy mantles,—and +on nearly to Lone Lake. But +never a sign of the gleaming eyes of the two +remaining wolves could he see, though his +ears shuddered at the weird howls that rang +down the wind, and Lop Ear bristled and +growled.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot and the starving fawns nibbled +and nibbled at the hay-mow,—for the time, at +least, safe and happy. But could they ever +get back to the herd-yard, with those wolves +still at large?</p> +<p class="pnext">For once they were in luck. The Hired +Man was not the only hunter who followed +the wolves that night. Old Man Lynx, that +fierce, furry fellow with tassels on his ears +and claws that could rend like steel hooks, +had also been driven down to the Valley by +the winter’s famine. He, too, heard the +howling of the wolves.</p> +<p class="pnext">He heard the piercing scream of the wolf +the Hired Man had shot, and he knew what +it meant. The lynx was hungry, for the +storms had lasted many days, and the rabbits +and grouse hens hid away where he could +not find them. On his own wide, spreading +paws, therefore, he set out over the snow to +find the wolf that had fallen. His heart was +glad at the unexpected feast in store, and he +whined hungrily under his breath.</p> +<p class="pnext">Every now and again he had to pause to +bite off the icy balls that had formed under +his warm feet. But before ever the Hired +Man had turned back from Lone Lake, Old +Man Lynx was peering and sniffing at the +wolf that lay dead.</p> +<p class="pnext">One thing he did not know, though. No +sooner had the two remaining wolves raced +to Lone Lake, with their tails between their +legs, and the roar of the thunder-stick in +their ears, than it occurred to them that they +were still ravenously hungry. And the one +that had fallen would go far toward easing +that terrible emptiness that drew their sides +together and made them desperate. (For +wolves are cannibals!)</p> +<p class="pnext">So, back the horrid beasts came, running +on their furry snow-shoes—back down the +wind, which told the noses of these great wild +dogs as plainly as words that Old Man Lynx +was there before them.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Who-o-o-o,” they howled wrathfully, +speeding back through the burnt-wood, over +whose ghost-like trunks they leapt in the +darkness so fast that no Hired Man could +have shot them had he tried.</p> +<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx raised his whiskered face +and yowled an answering challenge.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Ye-ow-w-w!” he screamed at them defiantly. +Then he bent his head to snatch another +mouthful of the meat he knew the +wolves were on their way to claim.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Ye-ow-w-w!” he screamed again, as the +wolf cry swept nearer. This time he saw +two pairs of red eyes gleaming in the darkness.</p> +<p class="pnext">“I got here first, and I’ll make it hot for +the first one that comes within reach of my +claws,” he warned them, in tones they understood +without words.</p> +<p class="pnext">“We are two to your one!” they answered +him.</p> +<p class="pnext">Little did Old Man Lynx imagine that he +had an ally so near. To him it was merely +a case of having found a meal in the wolf the +Hired Man had shot, and of having the rest +of the pack demand it of him. So the giant +cat took his stand, with claws outspread over +the prize, his savage face tense with hate. +His green eyes blazed at them through the +darkness.</p> +<p class="pnext">The cowardly wolves paused just out of +reach, neither one of them quite daring to +begin the attack, yet willing to fall in, should +the other go first, for both were wild with +hunger.</p> +<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx was not afraid. He meant +merely to meet each wolf as he came, and +fight him off with tooth and claw—or if +worst came to worst, he could climb the nearest +tree. For the power to climb is the one +great advantage that cats have over all members +of the dog tribe.</p> +<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx himself was lean with famine, +for the great storm had made hunting +all but impossible for him. Not so much as +a wood-mouse had shown its tracks on the +snow for days. And there had been nothing +in his rocky den save the dried and frozen +bones of dinners long since past.</p> +<p class="pnext">To surrender his supper to-night might +mean starvation and actual death to him. +But so it did to the wolves. It was to be a +fight for life!</p> +<p class="pnext">Now a lynx’s claws are like so many little +curved swords of poisoned steel,—and he had +five on each foot. He could dig at a wolf’s +unprotected sides with his hind legs while +his fore legs were clinging to the throat in +which he would try to fasten his fangs.</p> +<p class="pnext">The gray wolves knew all this, for Old +Man Lynx visited the same Canadian wilds +that they had come from. But even so, in +another moment they had taken the leap—together! +And there was more lynx fur flying +than wolf fur—as Whoo Lee, the owl +overhead, could have told you.</p> +<p class="pnext">Just in the nick of time for Old Man Lynx, +the Hired Man returned. When he heard +the shrill chorus of returning wolves, he had +hastened back, his great snow-shoes shuffling +their way down the Old Logging Road at a +speed of which he had not known them capable.</p> +<p class="pnext">He was not thinking of Fleet Foot and the +fawns. But with the barn full of cattle, it +would never do to leave such beasts at large +in the forest. When he heard Old Man Lynx, +however, the Hired Man understood just +what was going on. He had not lived in the +back-woods for nothing all his days. And he +decided to draw a little nearer, in the hope of +getting another shot or two at the great gray +terrors from the North.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/120.jpg" src="images/120.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/121.jpg" src="images/121.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvi-the-farmers-plan"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id17">CHAPTER XVI.—THE FARMER’S PLAN.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It was thus at the very moment that Old +Man Lynx was striking out with bared claws, +and the gray wolves were closing in on him +both at once, that his unexpected ally +reached the scene.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Hired Man raised his gun, pointing it +straight between two gleaming eyes that +shone out in the darkness. He had to do it +quickly, they jumped about so fast. Then a +shot rang out on the silent night!</p> +<p class="pnext">It singed a streak across the lynx’s flank, +but it felled the wolf whose jaws were just +about to clamp about his leg. A second shot +nicked the tasseled ear of the great cat +fighting so desperately. But it singed the fur +on the neck of the second wolf, just in time +to check him, as his fangs were finding their +way through the thick fur ruff that protected +the lynx’s throat. At this second shot, the +wolf, with a howl of terror, tucked his tail +between his legs and ran.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Hired Man hesitated, then decided +that the lynx had won the right to live by his +pluck. Thus Old Man Lynx was left, somewhat +the worse for the meeting, but still able +to enjoy the rest of his meal; while the Hired +Man, counting the night well spent, shuffled +home on his snow-shoes. But there was still +a gaunt gray wolf at large in the forest—and +Fleet Foot and the fawns had still to get back +to the herd-yard before morning found them +in the haunts of man!</p> +<p class="pnext">But strange things can happen. No sooner +had the lone gray wolf fled from the unexpected +slaughter than the wind shifted, and +he caught an odor most agreeable to his palate. +For his gaunt sides were so hollow that +every rib showed. It was an odor he had +never before followed up. He had not met it +in his Northern wilds, but it smelled porky +and delicious.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was on the trunk of a wild apple tree +that he found the little round bristly fellow. +And he could see, by the gray light of dawn, +that his black sides bulged with fat, in a winter +when all the furry folk were lean and +hungry.</p> +<p class="pnext">That alone was puzzling. But what surprised +him even more was that this queer +fellow showed no sign of fear. He was singing +a little song, all in one flat key—“Unk-wunk, +unk-wunk, unk-wunk.” It was a +young porcupine, one of these prickly fellows +so like a tiny bear, only with long black +needles instead of fur. The gray wolf did +not know how terrible those needle-like quills +can be, when once they get in one’s paw. For +they are barbed like a hook on the end, and +when they stick into one, it hurts worse to +pull them out than to leave them where they +are. The wood folk that lived around Lone +Lake knew enough to leave Unk-Wunk +strictly alone. So, he was never afraid. But +the wolf did not know. And when the little +porcupine, instead of climbing higher, out of +his reach, came lazily back down the trunk +and began to gnaw the frozen bark, the wolf +thought it was easy game.</p> +<p class="pnext">Thus, without so much as wondering what +made this strange beast so fearless, he leaped +open-jawed upon the little porcupine. There +was just one howl of agony, as he clamped +his jaws on those barbed quills, and it was +not the porcupine who gave it!</p> +<p class="pnext">Whining and clawing at his tortured +mouth, the wolf rolled about in the snow-drift, +choking and spluttering in mingled +wrath and terror. For Unk-Wunk’s terrible +barbed quills were working deeper and deeper +into the roof of his mouth. Finally he +rolled over on them, and they pierced +through to the brain. That was the last of +the great gray wolf that had come down out +of the North to prey upon the forest folk +around the Valley Farm.</p> +<p class="pnext">Unk-Wunk, without in the least realizing +that he had done so, had performed a public +service. And in particular, he had made it +safe for Fleet Foot and her fawns to go back +home to the deer yard in the gray of the winter +dawn.</p> +<p class="pnext">“I tell you what,” said the Farmer to his +son next day. “I’ve a plan that I think will +interest you.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“What is it?” asked the Boy, eagerly.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Just this: I’ve plenty of hay this year, +(more than enough for the stock,) and I’m +going to pitch a little of it out, after this, +every time the storms make it hard for the +deer. I declare, I can’t bear to think of +their being so starved!” And he gazed +thoughtfully out over the drifting snow, as +he thought how Fleet Foot had braved everything +to reach their hay-stack.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Hurray!” shouted the Boy. “May I +pitch some out right now? Poor things, +there wasn’t much they could reach between +the bars,” and he gazed at the dainty footprints +the fawns had made the night before.</p> +<p class="pnext">The deep, dry snow was followed by a +freeze that left a glistening crust over every +drift. Once more Fleet Foot and the rest +of the deer could run nimbly on their spreading +hoofs; and young Frisky Fox and +Mother Grouse Hen and Mammy Cotton +tail, the brown bunny, could foot their way +across the white expanse in search of food. +For they were sure of at least a fighting +chance of getting home again.</p> +<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot and the fawns, returning every +night to the hay-stack, with a little band +whose sides were as pinched with hunger as +their own, now passed Old Man Lynx without +a fear. For where there was footing that +would bear their weight, they knew they +could outspeed him.</p> +<p class="pnext">Hereafter the snow might whirl and the +spruce trees bend and sway in the wind that +wailed through their tops, but the white-tailed +deer of the woods about Mount Olaf +were always sure of a little hay to tide them +over the month of hunger.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Father,” said the Boy, “I’ve made a +birthday resolution. I am going to befriend +every furred and feathered creature in these +woods.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“All of them?” his Father asked. The +Hired Man paused in the smoking of his +traps to listen. “You aren’t going to tell +us we can’t do any more trapping this winter?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“You can trap muskrats,” said the Boy +thoughtfully. “And, of course, wolves, if +any more should come. And weasels—the +wicked creatures! They are only cruel, +blood-thirsty ruffians who kill without need, +just for the love of killing.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“What about Old Man Lynx?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Well, I know he is not popular. But, after +all, he’s a good mouser. And we must +spare our mousers, the fox and the skunk +and the big barn owl,—for the mice destroy +our grain, and I don’t know anything muskrats +are good for except their fur. I’m not +quite sure about the wild cat, but he doesn’t +do much harm, does he, as long as there are +fish to be caught? And he is a good +mouser.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“What about bears?” asked the Hired +Man, with one foot on the chopping block.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Never do any great amount of harm,” returned +the Farmer. “They can catch mice +with the best of them. Besides, they’re +mostly vegetarians. It isn’t once in a coon’s +age you’ll find one of these black bears that +would harm a baby, if you let him alone.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“The deer seem awfully afraid of bears.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“They have a lot more reason for being +afraid of men,” said the Farmer, eyeing the +Hired Man’s gun.</p> +<p class="pnext">“And porcupines? What about porcupines?” +asked the latter.</p> +<p class="pnext">“They mind their own business,” spoke +up the Boy. “Let them live. You’ll have +plenty to do, hunting animals like wolverines +and martins and mink and weasels. But +don’t any one hurt my friends!”</p> +<p class="pnext">Thus Fleet Foot and her fawns were allowed +to live happily on, as season followed +season in the good green woods.</p> +<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/128.jpg" src="images/128.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 5em"> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35749 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |