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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46005 ***</div>
<div id="cover" class="img">
<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Red Fox" width="500" height="731" />
</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p005.jpg" alt="RED FOX—CHARLES·G·D·ROBERTS" width="500" height="738" />
</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p006.jpg" alt="Red Fox" width="480" height="259" />
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="fontnorm">THE WORKS OF</span>
<br /><span class="large">Charles G. D. Roberts</span></p>
<dl class="lrdent"><dt><span class="sc">Red Fox</span> $2.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Watchers of the Trails</span> 2.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Kindred of the Wild</span> 2.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">Cameron of Lochiel</span> (from the French of Gaspé) 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Prisoner of Mademoiselle</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">Earth’s Enigmas</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Heart of the Ancient Wood</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">Barbara Ladd</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Forge in the Forest</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">A Sister to Evangeline</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">By the Marshes of Minas</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">Complete Poems</span> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Book of the Rose</span> cloth, <i>net</i> 1.00</dt>
<dt> limp leather, <i>net</i> 1.50</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">Songs of the Common Day</span> (<i>Out of print</i>) 1.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">In Divers Tones</span> (<i>Out of print</i>) 1.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">The Book of the Native</span> 1.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">New York Nocturnes</span> 1.00</dt>
<dt><span class="sc">A History of Canada</span> <i>net</i> 2.00</dt></dl>
<p class="center"><span class="small">PUBLISHED BY</span>
<br /><span class="f"><span class="large">L. C. Page & Company</span></span>
<br /><span class="small"><span class="sc">Boston, Mass.</span></span></p>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p007.jpg" alt="to Laura W. Von (unclear) from her friend Charles G. D. Roberts—Xmas 1905" width="500" height="196" />
</div>
<div class="img" id="fig1">
<img src="images/p008.jpg" alt="“Red Fox, meanwhile, had been watching the whole scene from that safe little ledge of rock.” (See page 168)" width="500" height="590" />
</div>
<p class="center">“Red Fox, meanwhile, had been watching the whole scene from that safe little ledge of rock.”
<br /><span class="jr1">(<i>See <a href="#Page_168">page 168</a></i>)</span></p>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p011.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="750" />
</div>
<div class="box">
<h1><span class="rubric"><span class="large">RED FOX</span></span></h1>
<p class="center"><i>The Story of His Adventurous Career in the Ringwaak Wilds and of His Final Triumph over the Enemies of His Kind</i></p>
<p class="tbcenter"><span class="f">Told by
<br /><span class="larger"><span class="rubric">Charles G. D. Roberts</span></span></span>
<br /><span class="small"><i>Author of</i> “<i>The Kindred of the Wild</i>,” “<i>The Watchers of the Trails</i>,” “<i>The Heart of the Ancient Wood</i>,” “<i>Barbara Ladd</i>,” “<i>Poems</i>,” <i>etc.</i></span></p>
<p class="tbcenter"><span class="f"><span class="small">With Many Illustrations by</span>
<br /><span class="large"><span class="rubric">Charles Livingston Bull</span></span></span></p>
<p class="tbcenter"><span class="large"><span class="f"><span class="rubric">L. C. PAGE & COMPANY</span></span></span>
<br /><span class="f">BOSTON</span> • • • <span class="f">MDCCCCV</span></p>
</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p012.jpg" alt="" width="240" height="232" />
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="small"><i>Copyright, 1905, by</i> <span class="sc">The Outing Publishing Company</span>
<br /><i>Copyright, 1905, by</i> <span class="sc">The Outlook Company</span>
<br /><i>Copyright, 1905, by</i> <span class="sc">L. C. Page & Company</span> (INCORPORATED)
<br /><i>All rights reserved</i></span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="small">Published, September, 1905
<br /><i>COLONIAL PRESS</i>
<br /><i>Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.</i>
<br /><i>Boston, U.S.A.</i></span></p>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p013.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="171" />
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="f">To
<br /><span class="large">Henry Braithwaite</span>
<br />Master of Woodcraft</span></p>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p013a.jpg" alt="" width="280" height="322" />
</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p014.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="529" />
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_vii">[vii]</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p015.jpg" alt="" width="480" height="187" />
</div>
<h2 id="c1">Prefatory Note</h2>
<p>In the following story I have tried to trace
the career of a fox of the backwoods districts
of Eastern Canada. The hero of
the story, Red Fox, may be taken as fairly typical,
both in his characteristics and in the experiences
that befall him, in spite of the fact that he is
stronger and cleverer than the average run of foxes.
This fact does not detract from his authenticity as
a type of his kind. He simply represents the best,
in physical and mental development, of which the
tribe of the foxes has shown itself capable. In a
litter of young foxes there is usually one that is
larger and stronger, and of more finely coloured
fur, than his fellows. There is not infrequently,
also, one that proves to be much more sagacious and
<span class="pb" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span>
adaptable than his fellows. Once in awhile such
exceptional strength and such exceptional intelligence
may be combined in one individual. This
combination is apt to result in just such a fox as
I have made the hero of my story.</p>
<p>The incidents in the career of this particular fox
are not only consistent with the known characteristics
and capacities of the fox family, but there
is authentic record of them all in the accounts of
careful observers. Every one of these experiences
has befallen some red fox in the past, and may
befall other red foxes in the future. There is no
instance of intelligence, adaptability, or foresight
given here that is not abundantly attested by the
observations of persons who know how to observe
accurately. In regard to such points, I have been
careful to keep well within the boundaries of fact.
As for any emotions which Red Fox may once in
a great while seem to display, these may safely be
accepted by the most cautious as fox emotions, not
as human emotions. In so far as man is himself
an animal, he is subject to and impelled by many
emotions which he must share with not a few other
members of the animal kingdom. Any full presentation
of an individual animal of one of the more
highly developed species must depict certain emotions
<span class="pb" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span>
not altogether unlike those which a human
being might experience under like conditions. To
do this is not by any means, as some hasty critics
would have it, to ascribe human emotions to the
lower animals.</p>
<p><span class="lr"><span class="sc">C. G. D. R.</span></span>
<span class="jl"><span class="sc">Fredericton, N. B.</span>, <i>August, 1905</i>.</span></p>
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<img src="images/p017.jpg" alt="" width="280" height="337" />
</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p018.jpg" alt="" width="480" height="399" />
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_xi">[xi]</div>
<h2>Contents of the Book</h2>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p019.jpg" alt="" width="480" height="233" />
</div>
<dl class="toc">
<dt><span class="jl"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></span> <span class="jr"><span class="small">PAGE</span></span></dt>
<dt><a href="#c1"><span class="cn"> </span>Prefatory Note</a> vii</dt>
<dt><a href="#c2"><span class="cn">I. </span>“The Price of His Life”</a> 1</dt>
<dt><a href="#c3"><span class="cn">II. </span>The Lessons of the Wild</a> 22</dt>
<dt><a href="#c4"><span class="cn">III. </span>Black Marks and Birchings</a> 45</dt>
<dt><a href="#c5"><span class="cn">IV. </span>Alone in the World</a> 64</dt>
<dt><a href="#c6"><span class="cn">V. </span>Mating and Mastery</a> 85</dt>
<dt><a href="#c7"><span class="cn">VI. </span>Burning Spur and Blinding Claw</a> 101</dt>
<dt><a href="#c8"><span class="cn">VII. </span>The Foiling of the Traps</a> 116</dt>
<dt><a href="#c9"><span class="cn">VIII. </span>Some Little People of the Snow</a> 139</dt>
<dt><a href="#c10"><span class="cn">IX. </span>The Fooling of the Mongrels</a> 162</dt>
<dt><a href="#c11"><span class="cn">X. </span>The Presumption of Black Mink</a> 184</dt>
<dt><a href="#c12"><span class="cn">XI. </span>A Royal Marauder</a> 200</dt>
<dt><a href="#c13"><span class="cn">XII. </span>A Winged Invasion</a> 217</dt>
<dt><a href="#c14"><span class="cn">XIII. </span>The Yellow Thirst</a> 232</dt>
<dt><a href="#c15"><span class="cn">XIV. </span>The Red Scourge of the Forest</a> 251</dt>
<dt><a href="#c16"><span class="cn">XV. </span>The Worrying of Red Buck</a> 271</dt>
<dt><a href="#c17"><span class="cn">XVI. </span>In the Hands of the Enemy</a> 285</dt>
<dt><a href="#c18"><span class="cn">XVII. </span>Under Alien Skies</a> 306</dt>
<dt><a href="#c19"><span class="cn">XVIII. </span>The Bell-mouthed Pack</a> 319</dt>
<dt><a href="#c20"><span class="cn">XIX. </span>Triumph</a> 331</dt>
</dl>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p020.jpg" alt="" width="280" height="271" />
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</div>
<h2>A List of the Full-Page Drawings in the Book</h2>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p021.jpg" alt="" width="480" height="212" />
</div>
<dl class="toc">
<dt><span class="jr"><span class="small">PAGE</span></span></dt>
<dt><a href="#fig1">“<span class="sc">Red Fox, meanwhile, had been watching the whole scene from that safe little ledge of rock</span>” (<i>See page 168</i>)</a> <i>Frontispiece</i></dt>
<dt><a href="#fig2">“<span class="sc">For a little distance the fox followed its channel</span>”</a> 5</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig3">“<span class="sc">The fox stepped out upon the stones</span>”</a> 11</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig4">“<span class="sc">Slower and slower he went</span>”</a> 19</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig5">“<span class="sc">Night after night . . . the high shrill barking of a she fox was heard</span>”</a> 23</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig6">“<span class="sc">The puppy flung himself upon it without a sign of fear</span>”</a> 31</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig7">“<span class="sc">He ran up the nearest tree</span>”</a> 39</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig8">“<span class="sc">Learned to steal up and catch the brooding partridge</span>”</a> 43</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig9">“<span class="sc">He crouched, tense with anticipation</span>”</a> 49</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig10">“<span class="sc">Red Fox, sitting solitary on his knoll, heard the noise of the chase</span>”</a> 57</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig11">“<span class="sc">They all three turned and glanced back</span>”</a> 67</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig12">“<span class="sc">Glaring eyes, long tail fluffed out, and high-arched back</span>”</a> 73</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig13">“<span class="sc">He became panic-stricken, and fell to a violent kicking and struggling</span>”</a> 81</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig14">“<span class="sc">One surly old woodchuck . . . went so far as to establish himself in the door of the burrow</span>”</a> 91</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig15">“<span class="sc">Creeping with indescribable stealth around the roots of a huge beech-tree</span>”</a> 97</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig16">“<span class="sc">Delivered another of those daunting spur strokes</span>”</a> 107</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig17">“<span class="sc">The owl swooped, and struck</span>”</a> 111</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig18">“<span class="sc">She revealed a small, dark, menacing thing</span>”</a> 119</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig19">“<span class="sc">In the trap a mink was held, caught by both front feet</span>”</a> 127</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig20">“<span class="sc">He dug his powerful claws into the snow</span>”</a> 133</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig21">“<span class="sc">Red Fox rose lightly on his hind legs, . . . and pulled it down</span>”</a> 141</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig22">“<span class="sc">He caught sight of a big cock partridge</span>”</a> 151</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig23">“<span class="sc">Much chagrined, he gazed after her</span>”</a> 159</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig24">“<span class="sc">He amused himself for a minute or two with wild, fantastic leaps from trunk to trunk</span>”</a> 169</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig25">“<span class="sc">It slipped swiftly off with its exhausted passenger</span>”</a> 181</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig26">“<span class="sc">He had just missed catching the rabbit at his first rush</span>”</a> 187</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig27">“<span class="sc">At last he, too, crouched flat, eying his foe with keen curiosity</span>”</a> 191</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig28">“<span class="sc">Helped himself to the rabbit</span>”</a> 195</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig29">“<span class="sc">The crow-haunted fir-groves on its flanks</span>”</a> 201</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig30">“<span class="sc">The eagle, with the prize dangling from his claws, was already far out of reach</span>”</a> 207</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig31">“<span class="sc">In an instant Red Fox was upon him again</span>”</a> 213</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig32">“<span class="sc">A dark cluster began to form</span>”</a> 221</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig33">“<span class="sc">Nearer and nearer came the whirling cloud</span>”</a> 227</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig34">“<span class="sc">He saw a big raccoon go running by</span>”</a> 233</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig35">“<span class="sc">Settled himself down by the hole to watch for the woodchuck to come out</span>”</a> 241</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig36">“<span class="sc">The little maniac clung to the big beast’s tender snout</span>”</a> 245</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig37">“<span class="sc">A doe and two fawns . . . went bounding past</span>”</a> 253</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig38">“<span class="sc">The diminished family sped on</span>”</a> 259</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig39">“<span class="sc">Himself kept watch where he could see everything</span>”</a> 265</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig40">“<span class="sc">Red Fox was enjoying a good stretch</span>”</a> 273</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig41">“<span class="sc">Moved away grandly about his business</span>”</a> 277</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig42">“<span class="sc">Resumed his flight through the trunks and rampikes</span>”</a> 281</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig43">“<span class="sc">Stiffening himself on the instant</span>”</a> 287</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig44">“<span class="sc">A shadowy shape came flitting soundlessly around the corner of the hen-house</span>”</a> 301</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig45">“<span class="sc">Behind a massive clump of rhododendrons</span>”</a> 317</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig46">“<span class="sc">The centre of the most difficult patch of swamp</span>”</a> 321</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig47">“<span class="sc">On a fallen sapling he crossed the brook</span>”</a> 327</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig48">“<span class="sc">Came tumbling over the wall into the lane</span>”</a> 333</dt>
<dt><a href="#fig49">“<span class="sc">He came out upon a jutting cape of rock</span>”</a> 337</dt>
</dl>
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</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="images/p024.jpg" alt="" width="350" height="418" />
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_1">[1]</div>
<h1 title=""><span class="f">Red Fox</span></h1>
<h2 id="c2"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER I.</span>
<br /><span class="small">“THE PRICE OF HIS LIFE”</span></h2>
<p>Two voices, a mellow, bell-like baying and
an excited yelping, came in chorus upon
the air of the April dawn. The musical
and irregularly blended cadence, now swelling, now
diminishing, seemed a fit accompaniment to the
tender, thin-washed colouring of the landscape
which lay spread out under the gray and lilac lights
of approaching sunrise. The level country, of
mixed woodland and backwoods farm, still showed
a few white patches here and there where the snow
lingered in the deep hollows; but all over the long,
wide southward-facing slope of the uplands, with
their rough woods broken by occasional half-cleared,
hillocky pastures, the spring was more advanced.
<span class="pb" id="Page_2">[2]</span>
Faint green films were beginning to show on the
birch and poplar thickets, and over the pasture hillocks;
and every maple hung forth a rosy veil that
seemed to imitate the flush of morning.</p>
<p>The music of the dogs’ voices, melodious though
it was, held something sinister in its sweetness,—a
sort of menacing and implacable joy. As the first
notes of it came floating up from the misty lowlands,
an old red fox started up from his sleep under
a squat juniper-bush on the top of a sunny bank.
Wide-awake on the instant, he stood listening critically
to the sound. Then he came a few paces
down the bank, which was open, dotted with two
or three bushes and boulders, and its turf already
green through the warmth of its sandy soil. He
paused beside the mouth of a burrow which was
partly screened by the evergreen branches of a juniper.
The next moment another and somewhat
smaller fox appeared, emerging briskly from the
burrow, and stood beside him, intently listening.</p>
<p>The thrilling clamour grew louder, grew nearer,
muffled now and then for a few moments as the
trail which the dogs were following led through
some dense thicket of spruce or fir. Soon an uneasy
look came over the shrewd, grayish-yellow
face of the old fox, as he realized that the trail
<span class="pb" id="Page_3">[3]</span>
in question was the one which he had himself made
but two hours earlier, on his return from a survey
of a neighbouring farmer’s hen-roost. He had
taken many precautions with that homeward trail,
tangling and breaking it several times; but he knew
that ultimately, for all its deviations and subtleties,
it might lead the dogs to this little warm den on
the hillside, wherein his mate had but yesterday
given birth to five blind, helpless, whimpering puppies.
As the slim red mother realized the same
fact, her fangs bared themselves in a silent snarl,
and, backing up against the mouth of the burrow,
she stood there an image of savage resolution, a
dangerous adversary for any beast less powerful
than bear or panther.</p>
<p>To her mate, however, it was obvious that something
more than valour was needed to avert the
approaching peril. He knew both the dogs whose
chiming voices came up to him so unwelcomely on
the sweet spring air. He knew that both were
formidable fighters, strong and woodswise. For
the sake of those five helpless, sprawling ones at the
bottom of the den, the mother must not be allowed
to fight. Her death, or even her serious injury,
would mean their death. With his sharp ears
cocked very straight, one paw lifted alertly, and
<span class="pb" id="Page_4">[4]</span>
an expression of confident readiness in his whole
attitude, he waited a moment longer, seeking to
weigh the exact nearness of the menacing cries.
At length a wandering puff of air drawing up from
the valley brought the sound startlingly near and
clear. Like a flash the fox slipped down the bank
and darted into the underbrush, speeding to intercept
the enemy.</p>
<p>A couple of hundred yards away from the den
in the bank a rivulet, now swollen and noisy with
spring rains, ran down the hillside. For a little
distance the fox followed its channel, now on one
side, now on the other, now springing from rock
to rock amid the foamy darting of the waters, now
making brief, swift excursions among the border
thickets. In this way he made his trail obscure and
difficult. Then, at what he held a fitting distance
from home, he intersected the line of his old trail,
and halted upon it ostentatiously, that the new scent
might unmistakably overpower the old.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_5">[5]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig2">
<img src="images/p029.jpg" alt="“FOR A LITTLE DISTANCE THE FOX FOLLOWED ITS CHANNEL.”" width="500" height="653" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“FOR A LITTLE DISTANCE THE FOX FOLLOWED ITS CHANNEL.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_7">[7]</div>
<p>The baying and yelping chorus was now very
close at hand. The fox ran on slowly, up an open
vista between the trees, looking over his shoulder
to see what the dogs would do on reaching the fresh
trail. He had not more than half a minute to wait.
Out from a greening poplar thicket burst the dogs,
running with noses to the ground. The one in the
lead, baying conscientiously, was a heavy-shouldered,
flop-eared, much dewlapped dog of a tawny
yellow colour, a half-bred foxhound whose cur
mother had not obliterated the instincts bequeathed
him by his pedigreed and well-trained sire. His
companion, who followed at his heels and paid less
scrupulous heed to the trail, looking around excitedly
every other minute and yelping to relieve his
exuberance, was a big black and white mongrel,
whose long jaw and wavy coat seemed to indicate
a strain of collie blood in his much mixed ancestry.</p>
<p>Arriving at the point where the trail was crossed
by the hot, fresh scent, the leader stopped so
abruptly that his follower fairly fell over him. For
several seconds the noise of their voices was redoubled,
as they sniffed wildly at the pungent turf.
Then they wheeled, and took up the new trail. The
next moment they saw the fox, standing at the edge
of a ribbon of spruce woods and looking back at
them superciliously. With a new and wilder note
in their cries, they dashed forward frantically to
seize him. But his white-tipped, feathery brush
flickered before their eyes for a fraction of a second,
and vanished into the gloom of the spruce wood.</p>
<p>The chase was now full on, the quarry near, and
<span class="pb" id="Page_8">[8]</span>
the old trail forgotten. In a savage intoxication,
reflected in the wildness of their cries, the dogs tore
ahead through brush and thicket, ever farther and
farther from that precious den on the hillside. Confident
in his strength as well as his craft, the old
fox led them for a couple of miles straight away,
choosing the roughest ground, the most difficult
gullies, the most tangled bits of underbrush for his
course. Fleeter of foot and lighter than his foes,
he had no difficulty in keeping ahead of them. But
it was not his purpose to distance them or run any
risk of discouraging them, lest they should give
up and go back to their first venture. He wanted
to utterly wear them out, and leave them at last
so far from home that, by the time they should be
once more ready to go hunting, his old trail leading
to the den should be no longer decipherable by
eye or nose.</p>
<p>By this time the rim of the sun was above the
horizon, mounting into a rose-fringed curtain of
tender April clouds, and shooting long beams of
rose across the level country. These beams seemed
to find vistas ready everywhere, open lines of roadway,
or cleared fields, or straight groves, or gleaming
river reaches all appearing to converge toward
the far-off fount of radiance. Down one of these
<span class="pb" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
lanes of pink glory the fox ran in plain sight, looking
strangely large and dark in the mystic glow.
Very close behind him came the two pursuers, fantastic,
leaping, ominous shapes. For several minutes
the chase fled on into the eye of the morning,
then vanished down an unseen cross-corridor of the
woods.</p>
<p>And now it seemed to the brave and crafty old
fox, a very Odysseus of his kind for valour and
guile, that he had led the enemy almost far enough
from home. It was time to play with them a little.
Lengthening out his stride till he had secured a safer
lead, he described two or three short circles, and
then ran on more slowly. His pursuers were quite
out of sight, hidden by the trees and bushes; but
he knew very well by his hearing just when they
ran into those confusing loops in the trail. As the
sudden, excited confusion in their cries reached him,
he paused and looked back, with his grayish-ruddy
head cocked to one side; and, if laughter had been
one of the many vulpine accomplishments, he certainly
would have laughed at that moment. But
presently the voices showed him that their owners
had successfully straightened out the little snarl
and were once more after him. So once more he
ran on, devising further shifts.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_10">[10]</div>
<p>Coming now to a rocky brook of some width,
the fox stepped out upon the stones, then leaped
back upon his own trail, ran a few steps along it,
and finally jumped aside as far as he could, alighting
upon a log in the heart of a patch of blueberry
scrub. Slipping down from the log, he raced back
a little way parallel with his tracks and lay down
on the top of a dry hillock to rest. A drooping
screen of hemlock branches here gave him effective
hiding, while his sharp eyes commanded the brook-side
and perhaps a hundred yards of the back trail.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig3">
<img src="images/p035.jpg" alt="“THE FOX STEPPED OUT UPON THE STONES.”" width="500" height="672" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE FOX STEPPED OUT UPON THE STONES.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div>
<p>In a moment or two the dogs rushed by, their
tongues hanging far out, but their voices still eager
and fierce. Not thirty paces away the old fox
watched them cynically, wrinkling his narrow nose
with aversion as the light breeze brought him their
scent. As he watched, the pupils of his eyes contracted
to narrow, upright slits of liquid black, then
rounded out again as anger yielded to interest. It
filled him with interest, indeed, to watch the frantic
bewilderment and haste of his pursuers when the
broken trail at the edge of the brook baffled them.
First they went splashing across to the other bank,
and rushed up and down, sniffing savagely for the
scent. Next they returned to the near bank and
repeated the same tactics. Then they seemed to
conclude that the fugitive had attempted to cover
his tracks by travelling in the water, so they traced
the water’s edge exactly, on both sides, for about
fifty yards up and down. Finally they returned to
the point where the trail was broken, and silently
began to work around it in widening circles. At
last the yellow half-breed gave voice. He had recaptured
the scent on the log in the blueberry patch.
As the noisy chorus rose again upon the morning
air, the old fox got up, stretched himself somewhat
contemptuously, and stood out in plain view with
a shrill bark of defiance. Joyously the dogs accepted
the challenge and hurled themselves forward;
but in the same instant the fox vanished, leaving
behind him a streak of pungent, musky scent that
clung in the bushes and on the air.</p>
<p>And now for an hour the eager dogs found themselves
continually overrunning or losing the trail.
More than half their time and energy were spent
in solving the riddles which their quarry kept propounding
to them. Once they lost fully ten minutes
racing up and down and round and round a
hillocky sheep-pasture, utterly baffled, while the fox,
hidden in the cleft of a rock on the other side of
the fence, lay comfortably eying their performances.
The sheep, huddling in a frightened mass in one
<span class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
corner of the pasture, scared by the noise, had given
him just the chance he wanted. Leaping lightly
upon the nearest, he had run over the thick-fleeced
backs of the whole flock, and gained the top of the
rail fence, from which he had sprung easily to the
cleft in the rock. To the dogs it was as if their
quarry had suddenly grown wings and soared into
the air. The chase would have ended there but
for the mischance of the shifting of the wind. The
light breeze which had been drawing up from the
southwest all at once, without warning, veered over
to the east; and with it came a musky whiff which
told the puzzled dogs the whole story. As they
raced joyously and clamorously toward the fence,
the fox slipped down the other side of the rock and
fled away.</p>
<p>A fox’s wits are full of resource, and he seldom
cares to practise all his accomplishments in one run.
But this was a unique occasion; and this fox was
determined to make his work complete and thoroughly
dishearten his pursuers. He now conceived
a stratagem which might, possibly, prove discouraging.
Minutely familiar with every inch of his
range, he remembered a certain deep deadwater on
the brook, bridged by a fallen sapling. The sapling
was now old and partly rotted away. He had
<span class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</span>
crossed it often, using it as a bridge for his convenience;
and he had noticed just a day or two
ago that it was growing very insecure. He would
see if it was yet sufficiently insecure to serve his
purpose.</p>
<p>Without any more circlings and twistings, he led
the way straight to the deadwater, leaving a clear
trail. The tree was still there. It seemed to yield,
almost imperceptibly, as he leaped upon it. His
shrewd and practised perceptions told him that its
strength would just suffice to carry him across, but
no more. Lightly and swiftly, and not without
some apprehension (for he loathed a wetting), he
ran over, and halted behind a bush to see what
would happen.</p>
<p>Arrived at the fallen tree, the dogs did not hesitate.
The trail crossed. They would go where it
went. But the tree had something to say in the
matter. As the double weight sprang up it, it
sagged ominously, but the excited hunters were in
no mood to heed the warning. The next moment
it broke in the middle with a punky, crumbling
sound; and the dogs plunged, splashing and yelping,
into the middle of the icy stream.</p>
<p>If the fox, however, had imagined that this unexpected
bath would be cold enough to chill the
<span class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</span>
ardour of his pursuers, he was speedily disillusioned.
Neither dog seemed to have his attention for one
single moment distracted by the incident. Both
swam hurriedly to land, scrambled up the bank,
and at once resumed the trail. The fox was already
well away through the underbrush.</p>
<p>By this time he was tired of playing tricks. He
made up his mind to lead the enemy straight, distance
them completely, and lose them in the rocky
wilderness on the other side of the hill, where their
feet would soon get sore on the sharp stones. Then
he could rest awhile in safety, and later in the day
return by a devious route to the den in the bank
and his slim red mate. The plan was a good one,
and in all ways feasible. But the capricious fate
of the woodfolk chose to intervene.</p>
<p>It chanced that, as the fox passed down an old,
mossy wood-road, running easily and with the
whole game well in hand, a young farmer carrying
a gun was approaching along a highway which
intersected the wood-road. Being on the way to
a chain of shallow ponds along the foot of the uplands,
he had his gun loaded with duck shot, and
was unprepared for larger game. The voices of
the dogs—now much subdued by weariness and
reduced to an occasional burst of staccato clamour—gave
<span class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
him warning of what was afoot. His eyes
sparkled with interest, and he reached for his pocket
to get a cartridge of heavier shot. But just as he
did so the fox appeared.</p>
<p>There was no time to change cartridges. The
range was long for B B, but the young farmer was
a good shot and had confidence in his weapon.
Like a flash he lifted his gun and fired. As the heavy
report went banging and flapping among the hills,
and the smoke blew aside, he saw the fox dart
lightly into the bushes on the other side of the way,
apparently untouched. With a curse, devoted impartially
to his weapon and his marksmanship, he
ran forward and carefully examined the tracks.
There was no smallest sign of blood. “Clean miss,
by gum!” he ejaculated; and strode on without
further delay. He knew the dogs could never overtake
that seasoned old fox. They might waste their
time, if they cared to. He would not. They
crossed the road just as he disappeared around the
next turning.</p>
<p>But the fox, though he had vanished from view
so nonchalantly and swiftly, had not escaped unscathed.
With the report, he had felt a sudden
burning anguish, as of a white-hot needle-thrust,
go through his loins. One stray shot had found
<span class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</span>
its mark; and now, as he ran, fierce pains racked
him, and every breath seemed to cut. Slower and
slower he went, his hind legs reluctant to stretch
out in the stride, and utterly refusing to propel him
with their old springy force. Nearer and nearer
came the cries of the dogs, till presently he realized
that he could run no farther. At the foot of a big
granite rock he stopped, and turned, and waited,
with bare, dangerous fangs gleaming from his narrow
jaws.</p>
<p>The dogs were within a dozen yards of him
before they saw him, so still he stood. This was
what they had come to seek; yet now, so menacing
were his looks and attitude, they stopped short.
It was one thing to catch a fugitive in flight. It
was quite another to grapple with a desperate and
cunning foe at bay. The old fox knew that fate
had come upon him at last. But there was no coward
nerve in his lithe body, and the uncomprehended
anguish that gripped his vitals added rage to his
courage. The dogs rightly held him dangerous,
though his weight and stature were scarcely half
what either one of them could boast.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig4">
<img src="images/p043.jpg" alt="“SLOWER AND SLOWER HE WENT.”" width="500" height="723" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“SLOWER AND SLOWER HE WENT.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</div>
<p>Their hesitation, however, was but momentary.
Together they flung themselves upon him, to get
lightning slashes, almost simultaneously, on neck
and jaw. Both yelped angrily, and bit wildly, but
found it impossible to hold down their twisting foe,
who fought in silence and seemed to have the
strength and irrepressibility of steel springs in his
slender body. Presently his teeth met through the
joint of the hound’s fore paw, and the hound, with
a shrill <i>ki yi</i>, jumped backward from the fight. But
the black and white mongrel was of better grit.
Though one eye was filled with blood, and one ear
slit to the base, he had no thought of shirking the
punishment. Just as the yelping hound withdrew
from the mix-up, his long, powerful jaws secured
a fair grip on the fox’s throat, just back of the
jawbone. There was a moment of breathless, muffled,
savage growling, of vehement and vindictive
shaking. Then the valorous red body straightened
itself out at the foot of the rock, and made no more
resistance as the victors mauled and tore it. At
a price, the little family in the burrow had been
saved.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div>
<h2 id="c3"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER II.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE LESSONS OF THE WILD</span></h2>
<p>Night after night, for several weeks, the
high, shrill barking of a she fox was
heard persistently along the lonely ridges
of the hills. The mother fox was sorrowing for her
mate. When he came no more to the den, she waited
till night, then followed the broad, mingled trail of
the chase till she found out all that had happened.
She was too busy, however—too much driven by
the necessities of those five blind sprawlers in the
musky depths of the burrow—to have much time
for mourning. But when the softly chill spring
night lay quiet about her hunting, her loneliness
would now and then find voice.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig5">
<img src="images/p047.jpg" alt="“NIGHT AFTER NIGHT, . . . THE HIGH SHRILL BARKING OF A SHE FOX WAS HEARD.”" width="500" height="374" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“NIGHT AFTER NIGHT, . . . THE HIGH SHRILL BARKING OF A SHE FOX WAS HEARD.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div>
<p>Her hunting was now carried on with the utmost
caution. For a time, while her puppies were still
blind, she lay in her den all day long, nursing them,
and never stirring abroad till the piping of the frogs
in the valley pools proclaimed the approach of twilight.
Then she would mount the hill and descend
into the next valley before beginning to hunt. She
would take every precaution to disguise her tracks
while in the neighbourhood of her den. Wherever
possible, she would steal through the pungent-scented,
prickly dwarf-juniper bushes, whose smell
disguised her own strong scent, and whose obstinate
sharpness was a deterrent to meddlesome and inquisitive
noses. Not until she had passed through
a belt of particularly rough, stony ground near the
top of the hill would she allow her attention to be
absorbed in the engrossing labours of the hunt.</p>
<p>Once in what she held a safe region, however,
she flung her precautions aside and hunted vehemently.
The cubs as yet being entirely dependent
upon her milk, it was her first care that she herself
should be well fed. Her chief dependence was the
wood-mice, whose tiny squeaks she could detect at
an astonishing distance. Next in abundance and
availability to these were the rabbits, whom she
would lie in wait for and pounce upon as they went
by. Once in awhile an unwary partridge afforded
her the relish of variety; and once in awhile, descending
to the marshy pools, she was cunning and
swift enough to capture a wild duck. But the best
and easiest foraging of all was that which, just now
<span class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
when she most needed it, she least dared to allow
herself. The hens, and ducks, and geese, and turkeys
of the scattered backwoods farms were now,
with the sweet fever of spring in their veins, vagrant
and careless. But while she had the little ones
to consider, she would not risk drawing to herself
the dangerous attention of men. She did permit
herself the luxury of a fat goose from a farmyard
five miles away in the other valley. And a couple
of pullets she let herself pick up at another farm
half a mile beyond. But in her own valley, within
a couple of miles of her lair, all the poultry were
safe from tooth of hers. She would pass a flock
of waddling ducks, near home, without condescending
to notice their attractions. Notoriety, in her
own neighbourhood, was the last thing she desired.
She had no wish to advertise herself.</p>
<p>Thanks to this wise caution, the slim red mother
saw no menace approach her den, and went on cherishing
her little ones in peace. For a time she heard
no more of that ominous hunting music down in
the plain, for the hound’s well-bitten joint was long
in healing. He could not hunt for the soreness
of it; and the black and white mongrel did not
care to hunt alone, or lacked the expertness to follow
the scent. When at length the baying and barking
<span class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
chorus once more came floating softly up to
her retreat, somewhat muffled now by the young
leafage which had burst out greenly over the hillside,
she was not greatly disturbed. She knew it
was no trail of hers that they were sniffing out.
But she came to the door of her den, nevertheless,
and peered forth. Then she emerged altogether,
and stood listening with an air of intense hostility,
untouched by the philosophic, half-derisive interest
which had been the attitude of her slaughtered mate.
As she stood there with bared fangs and green-glinting,
narrowed gaze, a little group of pointed
noses and inquiring ears and keen, mischievous,
innocently shrewd eyes appeared in the doorway
of the den behind her. The sound was a novel one
to them. But their mother’s attitude showed plainly
that it was also a dangerous and hateful sound,
so they stayed where they were instead of coming
out to make investigations. Thus early in their
lives did they hear that music which is the voice
of doom to so many foxes.</p>
<p>As spring ripened toward summer over the warm
lowlands and windy uplands, and the aerial blue
tones of far-off Ringwaak deepened to rich purples
with the deepening of the leafage, the little foxes
spent more and more of their time outside the door
<span class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</span>
of their den, and took a daily widening interest in
the wonderful, radiant, outer world. Though they
little knew it, they were now entering the school
of life, and taking their first lessons from the inexorable
instructress, Nature. Being of keen wits
and restless curiosity, they were to be counted, of
course, among Nature’s best pupils, marked out
for much learning and little castigation. Yet even
for them there was discipline in store, to teach them
how sternly Nature exacts a rigid observance of
her rules.</p>
<p>In mornings, as soon as the sun shone warm
upon the face of the bank, the mother would come
forth, still sluggish from her night’s hunting, and
stretch herself out luxuriously on the dry turf a
few paces below the mouth of the den. Then would
come the cubs, peering forth cautiously before adventuring
into the great world. As the mother lay
there at full length, neck and legs extended and
white-furred belly turned up to the warmth, the
cubs would begin by hurling themselves upon her
with a chorus of shrill, baby barking. They would
nip and maul and worry her till patience was no
longer a virtue; whereupon she would shake them
off, spring to her feet with a faint mutter of warning,
and lie down again in another place. This
<span class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</span>
action the puppies usually accepted as a sign that
their mother did not want to play any more. Then
there would be, for some minutes, a mad scuffle
and scramble among themselves, with mock rages
and infantile snarlings, till one would emerge on
top of the rolling heap, apparently victor. Upon
this, as if by mutual consent, the bunch would scatter,
some to lie down with lolling tongues and rest,
and some to set about an investigation of the problems
of this entertaining world.</p>
<p>All five of these brisk puppies were fine specimens
of their kind, their woolly puppy coats of
a bright rich ruddy tone, their slim little legs very
black and clean, their noses alertly inquisitive to
catch everything that went on, their pale yellow
eyes bright with all the crafty sagacity of their race.
But there was one among them who always came
out on top of the scramble; and who, when the
scramble was over, always had something so interesting
to do that he had no time to lie down and
rest. He was just a trifle larger than any of his
fellows; his coat was of a more emphatic red; and
in his eyes there was a shade more of that intelligence
of glance which means that the brain behind
it can reason. It was he who first discovered the
delight of catching beetles and crickets for himself
<span class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</span>
among the grass stems, while the others waited for
their mother to show them how. It was he who
was always the keenest in capturing the mice and
shrews which the mother would bring in alive for
her little ones to practise their craft upon. And he
it was alone of all the litter who learned how to
stalk a mouse without any teaching from his
mother, detecting the tiny squeak as it sounded
from under a log fifty feet or more from the den,
and creeping up upon it with patient stealth, and
lying in wait for long minutes absolutely motionless,
and finally springing triumphantly upon the
tiny, soft, gray victim. He seemed to inherit with
special fulness and effectiveness that endowment of
ancestral knowledge which goes by the name of
instinct. But at the same time he was peculiarly
apt in learning from his mother, who was tireless
in teaching her puppies, to the best of her ability,
whatever it behoved small foxes to know and believe.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig6">
<img src="images/p055.jpg" alt="“THE PUPPY FLUNG HIMSELF UPON IT WITHOUT A SIGN OF FEAR.”" width="500" height="700" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE PUPPY FLUNG HIMSELF UPON IT WITHOUT A SIGN OF FEAR.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div>
<p>At this stage in their development she brought
in the widest variety of game, large and small,
familiarizing the puppies with the varied resources
of the forest. But large game, such as rabbits and
woodchucks, she brought in dead, because a live
rabbit might escape by one of its wild leaps, and
a woodchuck, plucky to the last gasp and armed
with formidable teeth, might kill one of its baby tormentors.
Partridges, too, and poultry, and all
strong-winged and adult birds, she brought in with
necks securely broken, lest they should escape by
timely flight. It was only young birds and very
small animals that were allowed the privilege of
helping along the education of the red fox litter.</p>
<p>One day she brought in a black snake, holding
its head in her mouth uncrushed, while its rusty,
writhing body twined about her head and neck.
At her low call the cubs came tumbling eagerly from
the burrow, wondering what new game she had
for them. But at the sight of the snake they recoiled
in alarm. At least, they all but one recoiled.
The reddest and largest of the family rushed with
a baby growl to his mother’s assistance, and tried
to tear the writhing coils from her neck. It was
a vain effort, of course. But when the old fox,
with the aid of her fore paws, wrenched herself
free and slapped the trailing length upon the
ground, the puppy flung himself upon it without
a sign of fear and arrested its attempt at flight.
In an instant its tense coils were wrapped about him.
He gave a startled yelp, while the rest of the litter
backed yet farther off in their dismay. But the
<span class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</span>
next moment, remembering probably how he had
seen his mother holding this strange and unmanageable
antagonist, he made a successful snap and
caught the snake just where the neck joined the head.
One savage, nervous crunch of his needle-like young
teeth, and the spinal cord was cleanly severed. The
tense coils relaxed, fell away. And proudly setting
both fore paws upon his victim’s body, the young
conqueror fell to worrying it as if it had been a mere
mouse. He had learned how to handle a snake of
the non-poisonous species. As there were no rattlers
or copperheads in the Ringwaak country, that
was really all he needed to know on the subject of
snakes. Emboldened by his easy victory, and seeing
that the victim showed no sign of life except
in its twitching tail, the other four youngsters now
took a hand in the game, till there was nothing
left of the snake but scattered fragments.</p>
<p>As the young foxes grew in strength and enterprise,
life became more exciting for them. The
mother still did her hunting by night, and still
rested by day, keeping the youngsters still close
about the door of the burrow. In her absence they
kept scrupulously out of sight, and silent; but while
she was there basking in the sun, ready to repel any
dangerous intruder, they felt safe to roam a little,
<span class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</span>
along the top of the bank and in the fringes of the
thickets.</p>
<p>One day toward noon, when the sky was clear
and the shadows of the leaves lay small and sharp,
a strange, vast shadow sailed swiftly over the face
of the bank, and seemed to hover for an instant.
The old fox leaped to her feet with a quick note
of warning. The big red puppy, superior to his
brothers and sisters in caution no less than in courage,
shot like a flash under the shelter of a thick
juniper-bush. The others crouched where they happened
to be and looked up in a kind of panic. In
what seemed the same instant there was a low but
terrible rushing sound overhead, and the great
shadow seemed to fall out of the sky. One of the
little foxes was just on top of the bank, crouching
flat, and staring upward in terrified amazement.
The mother, well understanding the fate that impended,
sprang toward him with a screeching howl,
hoping to frighten away the marauder. But the
great goshawk was not one to be scared by noise.
There was a light blow, a throttled yelp, a sudden
soundless spread of wide wings, then a heavy flapping;
and just as the frantic mother arrived upon
the spot the huge bird sprang into the air, bearing
a little, limp, red form in the clutch of his talons.
<span class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</span>
When he was gone the rest of the puppies ran shivering
to their mother,—all but Red Fox himself,
who continued to stare thoughtfully from the covert
of his juniper-bush for some minutes. For a long
time after that experience he never failed to keep
a sharp watch upon the vast blue spaces overhead,
which looked so harmless, yet held such appalling
shapes of doom.</p>
<p>It was not long after this event, and before the
mother had begun to take her young ones abroad
upon the serious business of hunting, that the Fate
of the wood kindreds struck again at the little family
of the burrow. It was just in the most sleepy
hour of noon. The old fox, with one of the puppies
stretched out beside her, was dozing under
a bush some distance down the bank. Two others
were digging fiercely in a sandy spot on top of the
bank, where they imagined perhaps, or merely pretended
to imagine, some choice titbit had been
buried. A few paces away Red Fox himself, busy,
and following his own independent whim as usual,
was intent upon stalking some small creature, mouse
or beetle or cricket, which had set a certain tuft
of grains twitching conspicuously. Some live thing,
he knew, was in that tuft of grains. He would
<span class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</span>
catch it, anyway; and if it was good to eat he would
eat it.</p>
<p>Closer and closer he crept, soundless in movement
as a spot of light. He was just within pouncing
distance, just about to make his pounce and pin
down the unseen quarry, when a thrill of warning
ran through him. He turned his head,—but fortunately
for him he did not wait to see what danger
threatened him. Being of that keen temperament
which can act as swiftly as it can think, even as
he was turning his head he made a violent lightning-swift
leap straight down the bank, toward his mother’s
side. At the same instant he had a vision of
a ghostly gray, crouching, shadowy form with wide
green eyes glaring upon him from the embankment.
The very next moment a big lynx came down upon
the spot which he had just left.</p>
<p>Startled from their work of digging in the sand,
the two puppies looked up in wonder. They saw
their enterprising brother rolling over and over
down the bank. They saw their mother leaping
toward them with a fierce cry. They sprang apart,
with that sound impulse to scatter which Nature
gives to her weak children. Then upon one of
them a big muffled paw, armed with claws like steel,
came down irresistibly, crushing out the small, eager
<span class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</span>
life. He was snatched up by a pair of strong jaws;
and the lynx went bounding away lightly over the
bushes with his prize. Finding himself savagely
pursued by the mother fox, he ran up the nearest
tree, a spreading hemlock, and crouched in the
crotch of a limb with his victim under one paw.
As the mother circled round and round below,
springing up against the trunk in voiceless rage,
the lynx glared down on her with vindictive hissings
and snarlings. He was really more than a
match for her, both in weight and weapons; but
he had no desire for a battle with her mother-fury.
For perhaps ten minutes she raged against the base
of the impregnable trunk. Then realizing her impotence,
she turned resolutely away and went back
to her three remaining little ones.</p>
<p>For some days now the fox family was particularly
cautious. They kept close beside their mother
all the time, trembling lest the flame-eyed terror
should come back.</p>
<p>Among the wild kindreds, however, an experience
of this sort is soon forgotten, in a way. Its
lesson remains, indeed, but the shock, the panic
fear, fades out. In a little while the green summer
world of the hillside was as happy and secure as
ever to the fox family, except that a more cunning
caution, now grown instinctive and habitual, was
carried into their play as into their work.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig7">
<img src="images/p063.jpg" alt="“HE RAN UP THE NEAREST TREE.”" width="500" height="673" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE RAN UP THE NEAREST TREE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div>
<p>Work, in fact, now began to enter the lives of
the three little foxes, work which to them had all
the zest of play. Their mother began to take them
hunting with her, in the moonlight or the twilight.
They learned to lie in wait beside the glimmering
runways, and pounce unerringly upon the rabbit
leaping by. They learned to steal up and catch
the brooding partridge, which was a task to try
the stealth of the craftiest stalker. They learned
to trace the grassy galleries of the meadow mice,
and locate the hidden scurriers by their squeaks and
faint rustlings. And they learned to relish the sweet
wild fruits and berries beginning to ripen in the
valleys and on the slopes. The youngsters were
now losing the woolly baby look of their fur, and
beginning to show a desire of independence which
kept their mother busy watching lest they should
get themselves into mischief. With their independence
came some unruliness and overconfidence,
natural enough in men or foxes when they first
begin to realize their powers. But of the three,
Red Fox, who surpassed his brother and sister no
less in stature and intelligence than in the vivid
colouring of his young coat, was by far the least
<span class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</span>
unruly. It was no small part of his intelligence
that he knew how much better his mother knew
than he. When she signalled danger, or caution,
or watchfulness, he was all attention instantly to
find out what was expected of him; while the other
two were sometimes wilful and scatter-brained.
Taking it all in all, however, the little family was
harmonious and contented, and managed, for all
its tragedies, to get an immense amount of fun
out of its life in the warm summer world.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig8">
<img src="images/p067.jpg" alt="“LEARNED TO STEAL UP AND CATCH THE BROODING PARTRIDGE.”" width="500" height="732" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“LEARNED TO STEAL UP AND CATCH THE BROODING PARTRIDGE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div>
<h2 id="c4"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER III.</span>
<br /><span class="small">BLACK MARKS AND BIRCHINGS</span></h2>
<p>Now came the critical time when the young
foxes showed a disposition to wander off
and hunt by themselves; and at this stage
of his education Red Fox, whose quickness had
hitherto saved him from any sharp discipline in the
school of Nature, came under the ferule more than
once. Instinct could not teach him everything.
His mother was somewhat overbusy with the other
members of the family, who had shown themselves
so much more in need of her care. And so it came
about that he had to take some lessons from that
rude teacher, experience.</p>
<p>The first of these lessons was about bumblebees.
One afternoon, while he was hunting field-mice in
a little meadowy pocket half-way up the hillside, his
eager nose caught scent of something much more
delicious and enticing in its savour than mice. It
was a smell of warmth and sweetness, with a pungent
<span class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
tang; and instinct assured him confidently that
anything with a smell like that must be very good to
eat. What instinct forgot to suggest, however, was
that anything so delectable was likely to be expensive
or hard to get. It is possible (though some say
otherwise!) to expect too much of instinct.</p>
<p>Field-mice utterly forgotten, his mouth watering
with expectation, the young fox went sniffing
hungrily over the turf, following the vague allurement
hither and thither, till suddenly it steamed up
hot and rich directly under his nose. A big black
and yellow bumblebee boomed heavily past his ears,
but he was too busy to notice it. His slim pink
tongue lolling out with eagerness, he fell to digging
with all his might, heedless of the angry, squeaking
buzz which straightway began under his paws.</p>
<p>The turf over the little cluster of comb was very
thin. In a moment those busy paws had penetrated
it. Greedily Red Fox thrust his nose into the mass
of bees and honey. One taste of the honey, enchantingly
sweet, he got. Then it seemed as if
hot thorns were being hammered into his nose. He
jumped backwards with a yelp of pain and astonishment;
and as he did so the bees came swarming
about his eyes and ears, stinging furiously. He
ran for his life, blindly, and plunged into the nearest
<span class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</span>
clumps of juniper. It was the best thing he
could do, for the stiff twigs brushed off those bees
which were clinging to him, and the rest, like all
of their kind, hated to take their delicate wings into
the tangle of the branches. They hummed and
buzzed angrily for awhile outside the enemy’s retreat,
then boomed away to repair the damage to
their dwelling. Within his shelter, meanwhile, the
young fox had been grovelling with hot anguish,
scratching up the cool, fresh earth and burying his
face in it. In a few minutes, finding this remedy
insufficient, he crept forth and slunk miserably down
to the brook, where he could rub his nose and eyes,
his whole tormented head, indeed, in a chilly and
healing mess of mud. There was no better remedy
in existence for such a hurt as his, and soon the
fever of the stings was so far allayed that he remembered
to go home. But he carried with him
so strangely disfigured a countenance that the rest
of the family regarded him with disapproval, and
he felt himself an outcast.</p>
<p>For nearly two days Red Fox stayed at home,
moping in the dark of the burrow, and fasting.
Then his clean young blood purged itself of the
acrid poison, and he came forth very hungry and
bad-tempered. It was this bad temper, and the
<span class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</span>
recklessness of his unwonted hunger, that procured
him the second taste of Nature’s discipline.</p>
<p>It was late in the afternoon, and the rest of the
family were not yet ready to go a-hunting, so he
prowled off by himself to look for a rabbit. His
appetite was quite too large to think of being satisfied
with mice. About a hundred yards above the
den, as he crept stealthily through the underbrush,
he saw a black and white striped animal moving
sluggishly down a cattle path. It did not look
at all formidable, yet it had an air of fearlessness
which at any other time or in any other mood would
have made so shrewd a youngster as Red Fox stop
and think. Just now, however, he was in no sort
of humour to stop and think. He crouched, tense
with anticipation; waited till he could wait not
another second; then bounded forth from his hiding-place,
and flung himself upon the deliberate
stranger.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig9">
<img src="images/p073.jpg" alt="“HE CROUCHED, TENSE WITH ANTICIPATION.”" width="500" height="675" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE CROUCHED, TENSE WITH ANTICIPATION.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</div>
<p>Red Fox, as we have seen, was extraordinarily
quick. In this case his rush was so quick that he
almost caught the stranger unawares. His jaws
were almost about to snap upon the back of that
striped neck. But just before they could achieve
this an astounding thing happened. The stranger
whirled as if for flight. His tail went up in the
air with a curious jerk. And straight in his eyes
and nose and mouth Red Fox received a volley of
something that seemed to slap and blind and choke
him, all three at once. His eyes felt as if they were
burnt out of his head. At the same time an overpowering,
strangling smell clutched his windpipe
and seemed almost to close up his throat in a
paroxysm of repulsion. Gasping desperately, sputtering
and staggering, the unhappy youngster
rushed away, only to throw himself down and
grovel wildly in the moss and leaves, coughing,
tearing at mouth and eyes with frantic paws, struggling
to rid himself of the hideous, throttling, slimy
thing. And the skunk, not turning to bestow even
one scornful glance upon his demoralized assailant,
went strolling on indifferently down the cow-path,
unafraid of the world. As for the Red Fox, it was
many minutes before he could breathe without
spasms. For a long time he rolled in the leaves
and moss, scrubbing his face fiercely, getting up
every minute and changing his place, till all the
ground for yards about was impregnated with
skunk. Then he betook himself to a mound of
dusty soil, and there repeated his dry ablutions till
his face was so far cleansed that he could breathe
without choking, and his scalded eyes were once
<span class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</span>
more of some use to see with. This accomplished,
he went sheepishly home to the burrow,—to be
received this time with disgust and utter reprobation.
His mother stood obstinately in the doorway
and snarled him an unequivocal denial. Humiliated
and heartsore, he was forced to betake himself
to the hollow under the juniper-bush above
the den, where his valiant father had slept before
him. Not for three unhappy days was he allowed
to enter the home den, or even come very close to
the rest of the family. Even then an unprejudiced
judge would have felt constrained to declare that
he was anything but sweet. But it really takes a
very bad smell to incommode a fox.</p>
<p>During the days when the curse of the skunk
still lay heavy upon him, he found that his adversity,
like most others, had its use. His hunting
became distinctly easier, for the small wild creatures
were deceived by his scent. They knew that
a skunk was always slow in movement, and therefore
they were very ready to let this unseen hunter,
whose smell was the smell of a skunk, come within
easy springing distance. In this way, indeed, Red
Fox had his revenge for the grievous discomfiture
which he had suffered. For presently, it seemed,
word went abroad through the woods that some
<span class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</span>
skunks were swift of foot and terrible of spring
as a wildcat; and thenceforth all skunks of the
Ringwaak country found the chase made more difficult
for them.</p>
<p>In the meantime, the mother fox was beginning
to get very nervous because two of her litter were
inclined to go foraging in the neighbourhood of
the farmhouse in the valleys. In some way, partly
by example and partly no doubt by a simple language
whose subtleties evade human observation,
she had striven to impress upon them the suicidal
folly of interfering with the man-people’s possessions.
Easy hunting, she conveyed to them, was
not always good hunting. These instructions had
their effect upon the sagacious brain of Red Fox.
But to his brother and sister they seemed stupid.
What were ducks and chickens for if not to feed
foxes; and what were farmers for if not to serve
the needs of foxes by providing chickens and ducks?
Seeing the trend of her offspring’s inclinations, the
wise old mother made up her mind to forsake the
dangerous neighbourhood of the den and lead her
little family farther back into the woods, out of
temptation. Before she had quite convinced herself,
however, of the necessity of this move, the
<span class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</span>
point was very roughly decided for her—and Red
Fox received another salutary lesson.</p>
<p>It came about in this way. One afternoon, a little
before sundown, Red Fox was sitting on a knoll
overlooking the nearest farmyard, taking note of
the ways of men and of the creatures dependent
upon men. He sat up on his haunches like a dog,
his head to one side, his tongue showing between
his half-open jaws, the picture of interested attention.
He saw two men working in the field just
behind the little gray house. He saw the big black
and white mongrel romping in the sunny, chip-strewn
yard with the yellow half-breed, who had
come over from a neighbouring farm to visit him.
He saw a flock of fat and lazy ducks paddling in
the horse-pond behind the barn. He saw, also, a
flock of half-grown chickens foraging carelessly
for grasshoppers along the edge of the hay-field,
and thought wistfully what easy game they would
be for even the most blundering of foxes. In a
vague way he made up his mind to study the man-people
very carefully, in order that he might learn
to make use of them without too great risk.</p>
<p>As he watched, he caught sight of a small red
shape creeping stealthily through the underbrush
near the hay-field. It was his heedless brother; and
<span class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
plainly he was stalking those chickens. Red Fox
shifted uneasily, frightened at the audacity of the
thing, but sympathetically interested all the same.
Suddenly there was a rush and a pounce, and the
small red shape landed in the midst of the flock.
The next moment it darted back into the underbrush,
with a flapping chicken swung over its shoulder;
while the rest of the flock, squawking wildly
with terror, fled headlong toward the farmyard.</p>
<p>At the sudden outcry, the dogs in the yard
stopped playing and the men in the field looked up
from their work.</p>
<p>“That’s one o’ them blame foxes, or I’ll be jiggered!”
exclaimed one of the men, the farmer-woodsman
named Jabe Smith, whose knowledge
of wilderness lore had taught him the particular
note of alarm which fowls give on the approach
of a fox. “We’ll make him pay dear for that
chicken, if he’s got one!” and the two hurried up
toward the house, whistling for the dogs. The dogs
came bounding toward them eagerly, well knowing
what fun was afoot. The men got their guns from
the kitchen and led the dogs across the hay-field
to the spot where the chickens had been feeding.
In five minutes the robber’s trail was picked up,
and the dogs were in full cry upon it. Red Fox,
<span class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</span>
watching from his knoll behind the house, cocked
his ears as the musical but ominous chorus arose
on the sultry air; but he knew it was not he the
dogs were hunting, so he could listen more or less
philosophically.</p>
<p>The reckless youngster who had stolen the
chicken was terrified by the outcry which he had
excited at his heels; but he was plucky and kept
hold of his prize, and headed straight for the den,
never stopping to think that this was one of the
deadliest sins on the whole of the fox kins’ calendar.
Running for speed only, and making no attempt
at disguising his trail, he was nevertheless lucky
enough to traverse a piece of stony ground where
the trail refused to lie, and then to cross the brook
at a point where it was wide and shallow. Here
the pursuers found themselves completely at fault.
For a time they circled hither and thither, their
glad chorus hushed to an angry whimpering. Then
they broke into cry again, and started off madly
down along the brook instead of crossing it. They
had a fresh fox trail; and how were they to know
it was not the trail of the fox which had taken the
chicken?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig10">
<img src="images/p081.jpg" alt="“RED FOX, SITTING SOLITARY ON HIS KNOLL, HEARD THE NOISE OF THE CHASE.”" width="500" height="778" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“RED FOX, SITTING SOLITARY ON HIS KNOLL, HEARD THE NOISE OF THE CHASE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div>
<p>Red Fox, sitting solitary on his knoll, heard the
noise of the chase swerve suddenly and come clamouring
in his direction. At first this did not disturb
him. Then all at once that subtle telepathic
sense which certain individuals among the wild kindreds
seem to possess signalled to him that the
dogs were on a new trail. It was <i>his</i> trail they
were on. <i>He</i> was the hunted one, after all. And
doom was scarcely a hundred yards away. He
fairly bounced into the air at the shock of this
realization. Then he ran, lengthened straight out
and belly to the ground, a vivid ruddy streak darting
smoothly through the bushes.</p>
<p>It was not in the direction of home that Red Fox
ran, but straight away from it. For awhile the
terror of the experience made his heart thump so
furiously that he kept losing his breath, and was
compelled to slow up from time to time. In spite
of his bursts of great speed, therefore, he was unable
to shake off these loud-mouthed pursuers. The
suddenness and unexpectedness of it all were like
a hideous dream; and added to his panic fear was
a sense of injury, for he had done nothing to invite
this calamity. When he reached the brook—which
was shallow at this season and split up into pools
and devious channels—his sheer fright led him to
forget his keen aversion to a wetting, and he darted
straight into it. In midstream, however, as he
<span class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
paused on a gravelly shoal, inherited lore and his
own craft came timely to his aid. Instead of seeking
the other shore, he turned and kept on straight
up mid-channel, leaping from wet rock to rock, and
carefully avoiding every spot which might hold
his scent. The stream was full of windings, and
when the dogs reached its banks the fugitive was
out of sight. His trail, too, had vanished completely
from the face of the earth. Round and round in
ever widening circles ran the dogs, taking in both
sides of the stream, questing for the lost scent; till
at last they gave up, baffled and disgusted.</p>
<p>Red Fox continued up the stream bed for fully
a mile, long after he had satisfied himself that
pursuit was at an end. Then he made a long détour
to the rocky crest of the ridge, rested awhile
under a bush, and descended through the early
moonlight to the home den in the bank. Here he
found his scatter-brained brother highly elated, having
escaped the dogs without difficulty and brought
home his toothsome prize in triumph. But his
mother he found so anxious and apprehensive that
she would not enter the burrow at all, choosing
rather to take her nap in the open, under a juniper-bush,
before setting out for the night’s hunting.
Here Red Fox curled up beside her, while the other
<span class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</span>
two youngsters, ignorantly reckless, stuck to the
old home nest.</p>
<p>That night Red Fox contented himself with
catching mice in the little wild meadow up the
slope. When he returned home, on the gray-pink
edge of dawn, his mother and sister were already
back, and sleeping just outside the door of the den,
under the sheltering bush. But the triumphant
young chicken-hunter was still absent. Presently
there floated up on the still, fragrant air that baleful
music of dogs’ voices, faint and far off but unmistakable
in its significance. The yellow half-breed
and the black and white mongrel were again upon
the trail. But what trail? That was the question
that agitated the little family as they all sat upon
their brushes, and cocked their ears, and listened.</p>
<p>With astonishing rapidity the noise grew louder
and louder, coming straight toward the den. To
the wise old mother there was no room to mistake
the situation. Her rash and headstrong whelp had
once more got the dogs upon his trail and was leading
them to his home refuge. Angry and alarmed,
she jumped to her feet, darted into the burrow and
out again, and raced several times round and round
the entrance; and first Red Fox, and then his less
quick-witted sister, followed her in these tactics,
<span class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</span>
which they dimly began to comprehend. Then all
three darted away up the hillside, and came out
upon a well-known bushy ledge from which they
could look back upon their home.</p>
<p>They had been watching but a minute or two
when they saw the foolish fugitive run panting up
the bank and dive into the burrow. At his very
heels were the baying and barking dogs, who now
set up a very different sort of chorus, a clamour of
mingled impatience and delight at having run their
quarry at last to earth. The black and white mongrel
at once began digging furiously at the entrance,
hoping to force his way in and end the whole matter
without delay. But the half-breed hound preferred
to wait for the men who would, he knew,
soon follow and smoke the prisoner out. He contented
himself with sitting back on his haunches
before the door, watching his comrade’s futile
toil, and every now and then lifting his voice to
signal the hunters to the spot. Meanwhile, the wise
old mother fox on the ledge above knew as well
as he what would presently happen. Having no
mind to wait for the inevitable conclusion of the
tragedy, she slunk away dejectedly and led the two
surviving members of her litter over the ridge,
<span class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</span>
across the next broad valley, and far up the slope
of lonely and rugged Ringwaak, where they might
have time to mature in strength and cunning before
pitting their power against men.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div>
<h2 id="c5"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER IV.</span>
<br /><span class="small">ALONE IN THE WORLD</span></h2>
<p>For some days after this sudden flight
into exile, the diminished family wandered
wide, having no fixed lair and feeling
very much adrift. In a curious outburst of
bravado or revenge, or perhaps because she for
the moment grew intolerant of her long self-restraint,
the mother fox one violet sunset led her
two young ones in fierce raid upon the barnyard
of one of the remoter farms. It seemed a reckless
piece of audacity; but the old fox knew there were
no dogs at this farm save a single small and useless
cur; and she knew, also, that the farmer was no
adept with the gun.</p>
<p>All was peace about the little farmyard. The
golden lilac light made wonderful the chip-strewn
yard and the rough, weather-beaten roofs of cabin
and barn and shed. The ducks were quacking and
bobbing in the wet mud about the water-trough,
<span class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
where some grain had been spilled. The sleepy
chickens were gathering in the open front of the
shed, craning their necks with little murmurings of
content, and one by one hopping up to their roosts
among the rafters. From the sloping pasture above
the farmyard came a clatter of bars let down, and
a soft tunk-a-tonk of cowbells as the cows were
turned out from milking.</p>
<p>Into this scene of secure peace broke the three
foxes, rushing silently from behind the stable. Before
the busy ducks could take alarm or the sleepy
chickens fly up out of danger, the enemy was among
them, darting hither and thither and snapping at
slim, feathered necks. Instantly arose a wild outcry
of squawking, quacking, and cackling; then
shrill barking from the cur, who was in the pasture
with the cows, and angry shouting from the
farmer, who came running at top speed down the
pasture lane. The marauders cared not a jot for
the barking cur, but they had no mind to await the
arrival of the outraged farmer. Having settled
some grudges by snapping the necks of nearly a
dozen ducks and fowls, each slung a plump victim
across his back and trotted leisurely away across
the brown furrows of the potato-field toward the
woods. Just as they were about to disappear under
<span class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</span>
the branches they all three turned and glanced back
at the farmer, where he stood by the water-trough
shaking his fists at them in impotent and childish
rage.</p>
<p>This audacious exploit seemed in some way to
break up the little family. In some way, at this
time, the two youngsters seemed to realize their
capacity for complete independence and self-reliance;
and at the same moment, as it were, the
mother in some subtle fashion let slip the reins of
her influence. All three became indifferent to each
other; and without any misunderstanding or ill
will each went his or her own way. As for Red
Fox, with a certain bold confidence in his own craft,
he turned his face back toward the old bank on the
hillside, the old den behind the juniper-bush, and
the little mouse-haunted meadow by the friendly
brook.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig11">
<img src="images/p091.jpg" alt="“THEY ALL THREE TURNED AND GLANCED BACK.”" width="500" height="705" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THEY ALL THREE TURNED AND GLANCED BACK.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div>
<p>As he neared the old home, with the memory of
tragic events strong upon him, Red Fox went very
circumspectly, as if he thought the dogs might still
be frequenting the place. But he found it, of course,
a bright solitude. The dry slope lay warm in the
sun, the scattered juniper-bushes stood prickly and
dark as of old, and unseen behind its screen of leafage
the brook near by babbled pleasantly as of old
over its little falls and shoals. But where had been
the round, dark door of his home was now a gaping
gash of raw, red earth. The den had been
dug out to its very bottom. Being something of
a philosopher in his young way, and quite untroubled
by sentiment, Red Fox resumed possession of
the bank. For the present he made his lair under
the bush on top of the bank, where his father had
been wont to sleep. He knew the bank was a good
place for a fox to inhabit, being warm, dry, secluded,
and easy to dig. Well under the shelter of
another juniper, at the extreme lower end of the
bank and quite out of sight of the old den, he started
another burrow to serve him for winter quarters.</p>
<p>Engrossed in the pursuit of experience and provender,
Red Fox had no time for loneliness. Every
hour of the day or night that he could spare from
sleep was full of interest for him. The summer
had been a benignant one, favourable to all the wild
kindreds, and now the red and saffron autumn
woods were swarming with furtive life. With a
flicker of white fluffy tails, like diminutive powder-puffs,
the brown rabbits were bounding through the
underbrush on all sides. The dainty wood-mice,
delicate-footed as shadows, darted and squeaked
among the brown tree roots, while in every grassy
<span class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</span>
glade or patch of browning meadow the field-mice
and the savage little shrews went scurrying in
throngs. The whirring coveys of the partridge
went volleying down the aisles of golden birch,
their strong brown wings making a cheerful but
sometimes startling noise; and the sombre tops of
the fir groves along the edges of the lower fields
were loud with crows. In this populous world
Red Fox found hunting so easy that he had time
for more investigating and gathering of experience.</p>
<p>At this time his curiosity was particularly excited
by men and their ways; and he spent a great
deal of his time around the skirts of the farmsteads,
watching and considering. But certain precautions
his sagacious young brain never forgot. No trail
of his led between the valley fields and his burrow
on the hillside. Before descending toward the lowlands
he would always climb the hill, cross a spur
of the ridge, and traverse a wide, stony gulch where
his trail was quickly and irretrievably lost. Descending
from the other side of this gulch, his track
seemed always as if it came over from the other
valley, below Ringwaak. Moreover, when he
reached the farms he resolutely ignored ducks, turkeys,
chickens,—and, indeed, in the extremity of
his wisdom, the very rats and mice which frequented
<span class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</span>
yard and rick. How was he to know that the rats
which enjoyed the hospitality of man’s fodder stack
were less dear to him than the chickens who sheltered
in his shed? He had no intention of drawing
down upon his inexperienced head the vengeance
of a being whose powers he had not yet learned
to define. Nevertheless, when he found beneath a
tree at the back of an orchard a lot of plump, worm-bitten
plums, he had no hesitation in feasting upon
the juicy sweets; for the idea that man might be
interested in any such inanimate objects had not
yet penetrated his wits.</p>
<p>Another precaution which this young investigator
of man and manners very carefully observed was
to keep aloof from the farm of the yellow half-breed
hound. That was the chief point of danger.
The big black and white mongrel, whose scent was
not keen, he did not so very much dread. But when
he saw the two dogs playing together, then he knew
that the most likely thing in the world was a hunting
expedition of some kind; and he would make
all haste to seek a less precarious neighbourhood.
Toward dogs in general he had no very pronounced
aversion, such as his cousin the wolf entertained;
but these two dogs in particular he feared and
hated. Whenever, gazing down from one of his
<span class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</span>
numerous lookouts or watch-towers, he saw the
two excitedly mussing over one of his old, stale
trails—which straggled all about the valley—his
thin, dark muzzle would wrinkle in vindictive scorn.
In his tenacious memory a grudge was growing
which might some day, if occasion offered, exact
sharp payment.</p>
<p>Among the animals associated in the young fox’s
mind with man there was only one of which he
stood in awe. As he was stealing along one day
in the shadow of a garden fence, he heard just above
him a sharp, malevolent, spitting sound, verging
instantly into a most vindictive growl. Very much
startled, he jumped backward and looked up. There
on top of the fence crouched a small, grayish, dark
striped animal, with a round face, round, greenish,
glaring eyes, long tail fluffed out, and high-arched
back. At the sound of that bitter voice, the glare
of those furious eyes, Red Fox’s memory went back
to the dreadful day when the lynx had pounced at
him from the thicket. This spitting, threatening
creature on the fence was, of course, nothing like
the lynx in size; and Red Fox felt sure that he
was much more than a match for it in fair fight.
He had no wish to try conclusions with it, however.
For some seconds he stood eying it nervously.
Then the cat, divining his apprehensions, advanced
slowly along the top of the fence, spitting explosively
and uttering the most malignant yowls. Red
Fox stood his ground till the hideous apparition
was within five or six feet of him. Then he turned
and fled ignominiously; and the cat, the instant he
was gone, scurried wildly for the house as if a
pack of fiends were after her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig12">
<img src="images/p097.jpg" alt="“GLARING EYES, LONG TAIL FLUFFED OUT, AND HIGH-ARCHED BACK.”" width="500" height="698" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“GLARING EYES, LONG TAIL FLUFFED OUT, AND HIGH-ARCHED BACK.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div>
<p>Among the man creatures whom Red Fox
amused himself by watching at this period, there
were two who made a peculiar impression upon
him, two whom he particularly differentiated from
all the rest. One of these was the farmer-hunter,
Jabe Smith, who owned the black and white
mongrel,—he whose stray shot had caused the
death of Red Fox’s father. This fact, of course,
Red Fox did not know,—nor, indeed, one must
confess, would he have greatly considered it had
he known. Nevertheless, in some subtle way the
young fox came to apprehend that this Jabe Smith
was, among all the man creatures of the settlement,
particularly dangerous and implacable,—a man to
be assiduously studied in order to be assiduously
avoided. It was from Jabe Smith that the furry
young investigator got his first idea of a gun. He
saw the man come out of the house with a long
<span class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</span>
black stick in his hands, and point it at a flock of
ducks just winging overhead. He saw red flame
and blue-white smoke belch from the end of the
black stick. He heard an appalling burst of thunder
which flapped and roared among the hills. And he
saw one of the ducks turn over in its flight and
plunge headlong down to earth. Yes, of a certainty
this man was very dangerous. And when,
a few evenings later, as the colour was fading
out of the chill autumn sky, he saw the man light
a fire of chips down in the farmyard, to boil potatoes
for the pigs, his dread and wonder grew ten-fold.
These red and yellow tongues that leaped
so venomously around the black pot—terrible creatures
called forth out of the chips at the touch of
the man’s hand—were manifestly akin to the red
thing which had jumped from the end of the stick
and killed the voyaging duck. Even when away
over in the other valley, hunting, or when curled
up safely under his juniper-bush on the bank, Red
Fox was troubled with apprehensions about the
man of the fire. He never felt himself quite secure
except when he had the evidence of his own eyes
as to what the mysterious being was up to.</p>
<p>The one other human creature whom Red Fox
honoured with his interest was the Boy. The Boy
<span class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</span>
lived on one of the farther farms, one of the largest
and most prosperous, one equipped with all that
a backwoods farm should have except, as it chanced,
a dog. The Boy had once had a dog, a wise bull
terrier to which he was so much attached that when
it died its place was kept sacredly vacant. He was
a sturdy, gravely cheerful lad, the Boy, living much
by himself, playing by himself, devoted to swimming,
canoeing, skating, riding, and all such strenuous
outdoor work of the muscles, yet studious,
no less of books than of the fascinating wilderness
life about him. But of all his occupations woodcraft
was that which most engrossed his interest.
In the woods he moved as noiselessly as the wild
kindreds themselves, saw as keenly, heard as alertly,
as they. And because he was quiet, and did not
care to kill, and because his boyish blue eyes were
steady, many of the wild kindreds came to regard
him with a curious lack of aversion. It was not
that the most amiable of them cared a rap for him,
or for any human being; but ceasing to greatly fear
him, they became indifferent. He was able, therefore,
to observe many interesting details of life in
that silent, populous, secretive wilderness which to
humanity in general seems a solitude.</p>
<p>To Red Fox the Boy became an object of interest
<span class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</span>
only second to Jabe Smith. But in this case
fear and antagonism were almost absent. He
watched the Boy from sheer curiosity, almost as the
Boy might have watched him if given the same
sort of chance. It puzzled Red Fox to see the Boy
go so soundlessly through the woods, watching,
listening, expectant, like one of the wild folk. And
in an effort to solve the puzzle he was given to
following warily in the Boy’s trail,—but so warily
that his presence was never guessed.</p>
<p>For weeks Red Fox kept studying the Boy in
this way, whenever he had a chance; but it was
some time before the Boy got a chance to study
Red Fox. Then it came about in a strange fashion.
One afternoon, some time after Red Fox had discovered
and enjoyed the fallen plums in the orchard,
he came upon a wild grape-vine on the edge
of the valley, loaded with ripe fruit. Grape-vines
were a rare growth in the Ringwaak region; but
this one, growing in a sheltered and fertile nook,
was a luxuriant specimen of its kind. It had draped
itself in serpentine tangles over a couple of dying
trees; and the clusters of its fruit were of a most
alluring purple.</p>
<p>Red Fox looked on this unknown fruit and felt
sure that it was good. He remembered the plums,
<span class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</span>
and his lips watered. One small bunch, swinging
low down on a vagrant shoot of vine, he sampled.
It was all that he had fancied it might be. But
the rest of the bursting, purple clusters hung out
of reach. Leap as he might, straight up in the
air, with tense muscles and eagerly snapping jaws,
he could reach not a single grape. Around and
around the masses of vine he circled, looking for
a point of attack. Then he attempted climbing,
but in vain. His efforts in this direction were as
futile as his jumping; and the grapes remained
inviolate.</p>
<p>Red Fox was resourceful and persistent; but
there are occasions when resourcefulness and persistence
prove a snare. He sat down on his
haunches and carefully thought out the situation.
At one place he had found that, owing to the twists
of the great vine around its supporting tree, he
could scale the trunk for a distance of five or six
feet. This seemed useless, however, as there were
no grapes within reach at that point; but he observed
at length a spot that he might jump to after
climbing as high as he could,—a spot where a
tangle of vines might afford him foothold, and
where the luscious bunches would hang all about
his head. He lost no more time in considering, but
<span class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
climbed, poised himself carefully, gathered his muscles,
and sprang out into the air.</p>
<p>The feat was well calculated and exactly accomplished,
and Red Fox alighted safely among the
grapes. But what he had not allowed for, or even
guessed at, was the yielding elasticity of the vines.
They gave way in all directions, quite eccentrically
and inconsistently. For several seconds he made
a frantic struggle to keep up, clutching with paws
and jaws. Then, squirming and baffled, he fell
through.</p>
<p>Unhappily for him, however, he did not fall
through completely. The tangle of stems that
would not sustain him seemed equally resolved not
to let him go. An obstinate twist of vine hooked
itself about one hind leg, above the joint, and held
him fast, swinging head downward.</p>
<p>The luckless adventurer writhed up against himself,
striving to loose that relentless clutch with
his teeth. But the facile yielding of the vines gave
him no purchase, and every struggle he made but
drew the snare the tighter. When he realized his
predicament, he became panic-stricken, and fell to
a violent kicking and struggling and swinging
which made loud disturbance in the leafage. This
he kept up for several minutes, till at last, utterly
exhausted, he hung motionless, swaying in the
brown-green shadow, his tongue out piteously and
his eyes half-shut.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig13">
<img src="images/p105.jpg" alt="“HE BECAME PANIC-STRICKEN, AND FELL TO A VIOLENT KICKING AND STRUGGLING.”" width="500" height="729" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE BECAME PANIC-STRICKEN, AND FELL TO A VIOLENT KICKING AND STRUGGLING.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div>
<p>Just at this moment, by chance, arrived the Boy.
His quick ear had caught from a distance the unwonted
thrashing of leafage at a time when all the
air was still. Drawing near very stealthily, in order
to miss nothing of what there might be to be seen,
he came up just as the captive seemed to be dying.
One fresh struggle of fright convulsed the young
fox’s limbs; then, realizing that the situation was
hopeless, he relaxed to apparent lifelessness, his
eyes closed to a narrow, deathlike slit.</p>
<p>The Boy, with instant commiseration, sprang forward
and loosed the coil, grieving that he had not
come in time to save the handsome creature’s life.
He had a rather special interest in foxes, admiring
their cleverness and self-possession. Now, his gray
eyes full of pity, he held up the limp form in his
arms, smoothing the brilliant, vivid, luxuriant fur.
He had never before had a chance to examine a
fox so rich in colour. Finally, deciding that he
could now have a splendid fox-skin without any
qualms of conscience, he turned his face homeward,
flinging the body carelessly over his shoulder by
the hind legs.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div>
<p>At this moment, however, just as he was leaving,
there flashed across his mind’s eye a vision
of the great purple grape-clusters, which he had
seen when quite too much preoccupied to notice
them. Could he leave those ripe grapes behind him?
No, indeed! He turned back again eagerly, flung
the dead fox down, and fell to feasting till mouth
and fingers were purple. His appetite satisfied,
satiated indeed, he then filled his hat, and at last,
with a sigh of content, faced about to pick up the
dead fox. For a moment he stared in amazement,
and rubbed his eyes. The fox he had flung down
so carelessly was the deadest looking fox he had
ever seen. But now, there was no fox there. Then,
swiftly, because he understood the wild creatures,
it flashed upon him how cunningly he had been
fooled. With a quiet little chuckle of appreciation
he went home, bearing no trophy but his hatful of
wild grapes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div>
<h2 id="c6"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER V.</span>
<br /><span class="small">MATING AND MASTERY</span></h2>
<p>Immeasurably elated by his success
in outwitting the Boy, Red Fox now ran
some risk of growing overbold and underrating
the superiority of man. Fortunately for
himself, however, he presently received a sharp
lesson. He was stealthily trailing Jabe Smith, one
crisp morning, when the latter was out with his
gun, looking for partridges. A whirr of unseen
wings chancing to make Jabe turn sharply in his
tracks, he caught sight of a bright red fox shrinking
back into the underbrush. Jabe was a quick
shot. He up with his gun and fired instantly. His
charge, however, was only in for partridges, and the
shot was a long one. A few of the small leaden
pellets struck Red Fox in the flank. They penetrated
no deeper than the skin; but the shock was
daunting, and they stung most viciously. In his
amazement and fright he sprang straight into the
<span class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</span>
air. Then, straightening himself out, belly to earth,
he fled off in a red streak among the trunks of the
young white birches. For days he was tormented
with a smarting and itching in his side, which nothing
could allay; and for weeks he kept well away
from the haunts of men.</p>
<p>About this time the young fox met with several
surprises. One morning, emerging from under his
juniper-bush in the first pale rose of dawn, he found
a curious, thin, sparkling incrustation on the dead
leaves, and the brown grasses felt stiff and brittle
under his tread. Much puzzled, he sniffed at the
hoarfrost, and tasted it, and found it had nothing
to give tongue or nose but a sensation of cold. The
air, too, had grown unwontedly cold, so that his
thoughts reverted to the burrow which he had been
digging. Both the cold and the sparkling hoarfrost
fled away as the sun got high; but Red Fox set
himself at once to work completing his burrow.
Thereafter he occupied it, and forgot all about the
lair beneath the juniper-bush.</p>
<p>Shortly after this he made his first acquaintance
with the miracle of the ice. One chilly morning in
the half-light, when the upper sky was just taking
on the first rose-stains of dawn, he stopped to drink
at a little pool. To his amazement, his muzzle came
<span class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</span>
in contact with some hard but invisible substance,
intervening between his nose and the water. At
first he backed off in wary suspicion, and glanced
all about him to see if anything else had gone wrong
in the world. Then he sniffed at the ice, and lapped
it tentatively; and finally, growing bolder, thrust
at it so hard with his nose that it broke. This
seemed to solve the mystery to his satisfaction, so
he slaked his thirst and went about his hunting.
Later in the day, however, happening to drink again
at the same pool, he was surprised to find that the
strange, hard, invisible, breakable substance had all
gone. He hunted for it anxiously, and was utterly
mystified until he found some remnants still unthawed;
whereupon he was once more content,
seeming to think the phenomenon quite adequately
explained.</p>
<p>This surprise over hoarfrost and ice, however,
was nothing to his troubled astonishment on the
coming of the first snow. One morning, after a
hard hunting expedition which had occupied the
first half of the night, he slept till after daylight.
During his sleep the snow had come, covering the
ground to the depth of about an inch. When he
poked his nose out from the burrow, the flurry was
<span class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</span>
about over, but here and there a light, belated flake
still loitered down.</p>
<p>At his first sight of a world from which all colour
had been suddenly wiped out, Red Fox started
back—shrank back, indeed, to the very bottom
of his den. The universal and inexplicable whiteness
appalled him. In a moment or two, however,
curiosity restored his courage, and he returned to
the door. But he would not venture forth. Cautiously
thrusting his head out, he stared in every
direction. What was this white stuff covering
everything but the naked hardwood branches? It
looked to him like feathers. If so, there must have
been great hunting. But no, his nose soon informed
him it was not feathers. Presently he took up a
little in his mouth, and was puzzled to find that it
vanished almost instantly. At last he stepped out,
to investigate the more fully. But, to his disgust,
he found that he got his feet wet, as well as cold.
He hated getting his feet wet, so he slipped back
at once into the den and licked them dry.</p>
<p>For an hour or more Red Fox sulked and marvelled
in his dry retreat. Then as the air grew
soft the snow dissolved away in patches, and he
came out, stepping fastidiously. But all through
the morning he was too much interested to do any
<span class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</span>
hunting. Not till late afternoon did hunger make
him forget this inexplicable thing that had so
changed the face of his world, and drive him forth
to the serious business of life. When, however,
some ten days later, on the heels of an iron frost,
the snow came in earnest, he had completely adapted
himself to it and treated storm and cold alike with
supreme unconcern.</p>
<p>In all this time Red Fox had had not a glimpse
of his mother or sister, though their trails he had
crossed from time to time, recognizing them unerringly
by the scent. At these reminiscent trails
he always sniffed with a kind of pleasure, yet he
felt no impulse to follow them up and renew old
intimacies. Other foxes, strangers, he caught sight
of in the distance once in awhile; but his impulse,
like that of his kind, was to avoid companionship,
which is apt to mean complication. Moreover, he
had no wish to encourage trespassers upon what he
now regarded as his own peculiar range. Young
as he was, he was nevertheless so vigorous and well
grown as to pass readily for a fine yearling; and
he was quite prepared to fight in defence of his preëmptions.</p>
<p>This freedom from interference could hardly be
expected to last, however, without some price being
<span class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</span>
exacted. Red Fox had a possession which many
of the wild creatures coveted—to wit, a burrow
that was secret, dry, and warm. In his absences
it had been explored by various stealthy wanderers,—weasel,
woodchuck, mink, and black snake,—but
they had all taken care to be well out of it
before the owner’s return. One surly old woodchuck,
a battle-scarred veteran of a courage to
match his ill-temper, went so far as to establish
himself in the door of the burrow with the purpose
of fighting for its possession. But Red Fox happened
to be away on a long chase in the other
valley; and, after the old woodchuck had waited
for a couple of hours in vain, his valour waned.
He remembered that there were other burrows,
if not to be stolen then to be dug; and he remembered,
too, that the issues of war are doubtful. He
wandered down to the nearest turnip-field, was
caught in his pillaging by the black and white
mongrel, and killed after a magnificent fight. And
Red Fox never guessed what a stern struggle
had been spared him. Strong and clever as he
was, he doubtless would have won; but he would
have carried scars thereafter.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig14">
<img src="images/p115.jpg" alt="“ONE SURLY OLD WOODCHUCK . . . WENT SO FAR AS TO ESTABLISH HIMSELF IN THE DOOR OF THE BURROW.”" width="500" height="671" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“ONE SURLY OLD WOODCHUCK . . . WENT SO FAR AS TO ESTABLISH HIMSELF IN THE DOOR OF THE BURROW.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</div>
<p>One day when Red Fox came trotting contentedly
home with a partridge in his jaws, he found
the fresh tracks of another fox leading ahead of
him straight to the den. Sniffing at these, he realized
that the visitor was a stranger; and instantly
a vague antagonism lifted the hair along his back.
To him any visit was intrusion at least, if not invasion.
He hurried up to the juniper-bush—and
was met by the sight of the intruder standing half-way
out of the entrance to the den, with ears back,
teeth bare, impudent defiance in the gleam of his
narrowed eyes.</p>
<p>The heart of Red Fox swelled with a hitherto
unknown passion, a mingling of injury and savage
rage. Dropping the partridge, he sprang silently
upon the intruder, who met him willingly enough
just below the juniper-bush. There was no sparring
for position, but both grappled on the instant,
each with a snap and a grip; and, locked in a red
furry ball, they rolled about three yards down the
bank. Here they brought up sharply against a
stone, Red Fox on top, and worrying fiercely at the
side of his enemy’s neck.</p>
<p>Jammed down against the stone, the trespasser
was now getting much the worst of the battle.
Blood, his own and his adversary’s, flowed into his
eyes, half-blinding him. Suddenly he decided that
he had been in the wrong—and he made a swift
<span class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</span>
repentance. With a vehement heave and wriggle
he doubled himself up, emerged between Red Fox’s
hind legs, and sprang away. Red Fox wheeled,
eyed him for a second, then rushed for him again.
The stranger did not pause to apologize or explain,
but bounded right over the nearest bush and made
off through the underbrush at a pace which showed
his sincerity. Red Fox followed for perhaps a
hundred yards, and then, greatly elated by his triumph,
returned to the den to lick his hurts.</p>
<p>It was less than a week after this encounter when
another strange fox appeared. Red Fox was just
setting out for his afternoon hunt, when he saw
the stranger halting irresolutely at the edge of a
thicket some twenty yards below the den. His hair
bristled up at once, and he advanced, stepping delicately
on his toes, savagely inhospitable and ripe
for another fight. But there seemed to be no hostility
in the stranger’s attitude.</p>
<p>It was irresolution, rather, and an impulse to
flight. So it came about that, as Red Fox advanced,
his enmity began to cool, till his motive in drawing
near was little more than a desire to find out what
the visitor wanted. The angry ridge of hair along
his neck and shoulders sank down, the dangerous
gleam faded out of his alert eyes. The stranger,
<span class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</span>
waiting on tiptoe, seemed always on the point of
running away; yet never did, but kept watching
Red Fox’s approach over her shoulder.</p>
<p>When he found himself within half a dozen yards
of the diffident stranger, Red Fox halted and sat
up, his head cocked sideways, his jaws half-open,
his tongue lightly hanging out, his face a picture
of bland but eager interest. The stranger, apparently
somewhat reassured, now permitted herself
to sit down also, turning so as to face him. In this
position they eyed each other in silence for a minute
or two, mutually benevolent. Then Red Fox
jumped up briskly, trotted over to the visitor, and
sniffed at her cordially. Both seemed highly gratified
at the encounter; and, after gamboling together
for a few minutes, and chasing each other
about, they went off side by side through the underbrush,
seemingly bent upon a partnership in the
chase.</p>
<p>Filled with pride and an exultation utterly new
to his heart, Red Fox trotted on, with eyes fixed
upon the slim companion at his side, his eyes wrinkled
and mouth open in an expression of foolish
content. The young she, however, kept her eyes
and wits about her, keen for the hunt and apparently
indifferent to her conquest. Here she pounced
<span class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</span>
upon an unwary foraging mouse. Here she captured
a maimed snowbird, as it was hopping in
panic fear toward the covert of a juniper thicket.
And at last, creeping with indescribable stealth
around the roots of a huge beech-tree, she seized
a drowsing rabbit which her skilful nose had discovered
to her. Her skill and prowess delighted
Red Fox beyond measure; and, as the twain feasted
together on the stained snow, their mating was
cemented with the blood of the long-eared victim.</p>
<p>After this capture the pair turned back homeward
by a long circle which brought them close to
the skirts of the settlement. Here, as luck would
have it, their fresh trail was picked up by the half-breed
hound as he was trotting lazily down the
road to visit the farm of his comrade, the black
and white mongrel. So fresh and so alluring was
the scent that he could not wait for company, but
broke into joyous cry and dashed into the woods
alone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig15">
<img src="images/p121.jpg" alt="“CREEPING WITH INDESCRIBABLE STEALTH AROUND THE ROOTS OF A HUGE BEECH-TREE.”" width="500" height="394" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“CREEPING WITH INDESCRIBABLE STEALTH AROUND THE ROOTS OF A HUGE BEECH-TREE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div>
<p>Red Fox and his mate were less than half a mile
from the road when that ominous sound arose on
the clear, frosty air. They stopped short, stood,
each with a foot uplifted, as motionless as statues,
and listened critically. There was but one voice
in the cry. Plainly there was but one foe in pursuit.
They looked at each other searchingly, and
seemed to come to an understanding without discussion.
Then they resumed their journey, trotting
perhaps a little faster than before, but certainly
not running away. Red Fox was in no mood to
run away; and his slim comrade seemed to have
lost that timorousness of nature which she had
displayed toward himself a few hours earlier.</p>
<p>As they were making no haste, the voice of the
pursuing enemy drew swiftly nearer. At last it
was just the other side of a line of young spruce-trees,
not two score paces behind them. Red Fox’s
heart was thumping, but there was no thought of
flight in it. He stopped and whirled about to face
the peril. As he did so, the she fox turned with
him, undaunted as he. Then, with a soft crashing
of fir-branches, the loud enemy burst into view.</p>
<p>The dog had covered half the space between
before he seemed to notice that the two foxes were
not fleeing, but awaiting him. He was surprised,
and stopped abruptly, while the high-carried feather
of his tail drooped in indecision. This but for a
second or two, however; for what were these two
slender antagonists to him? Finding voice again,
he dashed forward. And the two foxes, with a
shrill, threatening bark, ran to meet him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div>
<p>Now the half-breed’s specialty was distinctly not
fighting, but trailing; and he was taken aback by
this most unexpected and irregular attitude of the
two foxes. As he hesitated, he suddenly found himself
in the midst of a demoralizing mix-up. Frantically
he snapped his big jaws at his elusive assailants,
but got only a few mouthfuls of soft fur, so
nimble were they. In the meantime he was getting
bitten smartly on both hind legs, and slashed
on neck and dewlap till the blood ran copiously.
Those assaults upon his hind legs terrified him
particularly. He was afraid of getting hamstrung.
This fear in a moment grew into a panic. With
all his strength he shook himself free. His
proud tail tucked shamelessly between his legs, he
turned and fled for home. The two foxes ran after
him a little way, in mere pretence of pursuit, then,
extremely elated over their easy triumph, resumed
their journey toward the den on the hillside.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div>
<h2 id="c7"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER VI.</span>
<br /><span class="small">BURNING SPUR AND BLINDING CLAW</span></h2>
<p>The newcomer took to the dry, warm burrow
very kindly, and proceeded at once
to enlarge it beyond the immediate needs
of Red Fox himself. Once fairly settled, the two
adopted separate ranges, Red Fox hunting down
the valley and eastward along the lower slopes,
which was, of course, the more perilous tract; while
his mate took the safer region to westward of the
den, where there were no settlements and no dogs,
and only an occasional camp of harmless lumbermen
to beware of. Lynxes and bears, of course,
were more numerous on her range, but these she
well knew how to evade, so she troubled her head
little about them. It was man, and the ways of
man, and the allies and followers of man, that held
her shrewd spirit in awe.</p>
<p>During the first part of the winter the abundance
which had marked the preceding autumn continued.
<span class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</span>
But soon after Christmas a succession of heavy
snow-falls, followed by tremendous and unrelenting
frosts, made game very scarce. Many of the weaker
birds and animals died of cold or starvation. Others
took refuge in their securest coverts. Some of the
winter dwellers, among the birds, unwillingly drifted
south to more hospitable skies; while down from
the north came hungry flocks of crossbills and big,
stupid, rosy-headed grosbeaks, followed by those
savage and insatiable marauders, the white arctic
hawk and the great white arctic owl. These dangerous
intruders on the range played havoc among
the rabbits and squirrels, the mice and grouse and
crows, who were all unused to their mode of attack
and apt to be deceived by their colour. Scarce as
game was by reason of the cold, they speedily made
it scarcer; and the foxes hated them virulently.</p>
<p>In this lean season the thoughts of Red Fox
turned longingly to the protected and well-fed dependents
of the dangerous men creatures. Nevertheless,
he would not permit himself to visit the
hen-roosts of the neighbouring valley farms. He
was too sagacious to invite fate. But he remembered
that over toward Ringwaak, across the ridge,
on the range of a rival fox, there were other hen-roosts
and duck-pens. And one night, when there
<span class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</span>
was a late-setting moon, he started over the ridge,
while his mate set out for a rabbit hunt among the
fir thickets to the northwest of the buried and silent
brook.</p>
<p>On a certain farm, sleeping in the blue-white,
frosty moonlight, Red Fox found the little door of
the chicken-house left open in spite of the bitter
cold. There was no dog on that farm. The low-roofed,
roomy cabin was silent, and no light
gleamed from its windows. The barn was quiet,
save for the hushed munching of the cows in their
stanchions, the occasional stamping of the restless
horses in their stalls. A big gray cat, footing in
leisurely fashion across the snowy yard, caught
sight of the prowling, brush-tailed visitor, and with
a frightened <i>pfiff</i> scuttled up to the roof of the
wood-shed, yowling angrily. Red Fox eyed her
for a second, decided that she was a negligible factor
in his problem, and poked his sharp nose cautiously
into the little door of the chicken-house.
The smell within of warm, fat, well-fed, comfortable
hens was most alluring. He yielded to the delicate
temptation, and slipped in.</p>
<p>The moonlight streamed, a wide, white flood,
through a spacious window just opposite the roosts.
Red Fox saw at once that the farmer had arranged
<span class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</span>
the roosts with the utmost consideration for a fox’s
lack of skill in climbing. The hens were fat and
heavy,—mostly of mixed Brahma, Cochin, and
Plymouth Rock descent,—so their owner had
placed a long, sloping plank, with cleats across it,
to enable them to hop up to their perches without
the effort of flight. Moreover, the perches themselves
were arranged about a foot and a half above
a broad shelf, which served to protect the nests
underneath. It was altogether a most up-to-date
arrangement, in the approved design of the poultry
books. But if Red Fox had had the designing of
it himself, he could not have made it to meet his
own requirements more perfectly.</p>
<p>Pausing just inside the door, in a patch of black
shadow, he carefully and calculatingly surveyed the
perches. The hens were all asleep, but the cock,
a wary sleeper, was awake. He had heard no noise
from Red Fox’s furtive entrance, but some subtle
perception of danger had awakened him. His keen,
bold eyes detected something unusual in that patch
of shadow. Stretching out his neck and fine, snaky
head, he uttered a long-drawn <i>quee-ee-ee-ee</i> of
warning interrogation.</p>
<p>Red Fox paid no attention to this soft, unterrifying
sound. Having made up his mind, he
<span class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</span>
darted fearlessly up the sloping plank, ran along
the raised platform, and seized the fourth hen from
the end, a fat, alluring, thick-feathered Brahma.
One quick crunch of his jaws on the victim’s neck,
and the fluttering mass of feathers made no more
struggle. Red Fox jerked the prize across his
shoulders, turned, and trotted quite deliberately
down the plank. When he was about half-way
down, however, a most astonishing thing happened.
He was all at once enveloped, as it seemed, in a
cloud of buffeting wings, something sharp and apparently
burning hot drove deep into the side of
his neck, and a heavy, soft body struck him so
vehemently that he rolled completely over and fell
heavily to the floor, while the limp, sprawling mass
of his victim tumbled over his face, blinding and
confusing him.</p>
<p>The cock, who had been watching with such alert
suspicion, was not of the same breed as the hens.
He was no awkward Cochin or Brahma, but a long-spurred,
hard-feathered, clean-headed, thoroughbred,
black-red Game. This was Red Fox’s misfortune.</p>
<p>As Red Fox picked himself up, bewildered, the
cock flew again, buffeting his head again with
strong, swift wings, and again striking one of those
dagger-like spurs into his neck. The wound caused
<span class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
a burning anguish; and this time it was dangerously
near the root of the ear, which gave Red Fox a
qualm of apprehension. What if that elusive
weapon should find his eyes? Filled with rage,
he made a savage rush at his trim assailant. But
the cock was ready, cool and sagacious. Springing
lightly into the air, he evaded the animal’s rush,
sailed clean over his head, and in passing delivered
another of those daunting spur strokes. The point
went deep into the upper part of the enemy’s snout,
about an inch below the eye. The pain was intense;
but the terror of those strokes counted for more
than the pain with Red Fox. He could take punishment
with unsurpassable pluck, but the risk of
losing his eyes filled him with panic. He wanted
no more to do with this strange and terrible antagonist.
With head low down, to shun a repetition
of the stroke, he darted out through the little door.
As he went, those dread wings beat again upon his
back, and both spurs sank into his rump. Thoroughly
cowed, he fled in ignominy across the field
and into the woods: and the shrill crowing of the
victor taunted him, echoing at his heels across the
radiant snow.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig16">
<img src="images/p131.jpg" alt="“DELIVERED ANOTHER OF THOSE DAUNTING SPUR STROKES.”" width="500" height="670" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“DELIVERED ANOTHER OF THOSE DAUNTING SPUR STROKES.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div>
<p>Into the deep shadows he fled, over the snow-hidden
brook, across the little, shining glades,
through the dense fir thickets, the tangled, leafless
underbrush, the huge, silent groves of ancient trees,
and never paused till he came in view of the familiar
bank on the hillside and the juniper-bush, behind
which lay the door of his den. Here he halted for
a second. But as he did so he saw on the top of
the bank above the den a sight which drove all the
panic terror out of his heart. Forgetting his pain
and his bleeding wounds, he uttered a shrill yelp
of fury and dashed forward again at a pace which
no terror had had power to teach his feet.</p>
<p>While Red Fox was suffering his castigation at
the wings and spurs of the heroic game-cock, his
mate was trotting homeward from a fairly successful
hunt among the boulders of the upper ridge.
As she came noiselessly along the top of the bank,
her back to the glare of moonlight, she caught sight
of a weasel approaching, some distance away among
the tree-trunks. Perceiving from his manner that
she had not been detected, she slipped behind the
screen of a thin bush, crouched, and waited for the
weasel to come to his doom. Nearer, nearer he
came; and tenser, tenser grew the attitude of the
ambushed hunter as she held herself gathered for
the final spring and rush.</p>
<p>It chanced that in the meantime one of those
<span class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</span>
great, silent, white marauders from the north was
winnowing soundlessly through the spaces of the
woods, his round, bright eyes, hard like glass, glaring
into every bush and covert. He was fiercely
hungry. The weasel, approaching through the
broken shadows, he did not see; but the fox, crouching
behind the little bush, he could not help seeing.
The direction of his wide, downy-feathered wings
changed instantly, and he swept up behind the unsuspecting
fox like a drifting wraith of white
vapour. The weasel just then seemed near enough
to be rushed; so the fox sprang right through the
bush. Even while she was in mid-air, the owl
swooped, and struck, his terrible talons sinking
deep into her loins and back. With a mighty beating
of wings and yelpings of amazement and pain,
the two came down together on the snow.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig17">
<img src="images/p135.jpg" alt="“THE OWL SWOOPED, AND STRUCK.”" width="500" height="755" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE OWL SWOOPED, AND STRUCK.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div>
<p>Many a time before had the great white owl
hunted foxes, and conquered them, and devoured
them; but they had been the little arctic foxes, less
strong, less cunning, and less indomitable than their
ruddy southern kin. Now he found that he had
entered upon a difficult adventure. In spite of the
cruel pain inflicted by those gripping talons, the
dauntless little vixen writhed backward and upward,
and bit swiftly with snapping, slashing jaws.
Three times she tried for a hold, undaunted by the
beating of the great wings which strove, but not
quite successfully, to lift her from the snow. Three
times she got only a mouthful of downy, clinging,
choking feathers. Then, her quick sagacity coming
to her aid as she felt herself being lifted, she reached
farther up and caught the base of the enemy’s wing.
With all the strength of desperation, she ground her
jaws together, and presently the strong bones went
with a crunch. Instantly she felt herself solid on
the snow again. The lifting strain ceased. The
great wing trailed nervelessly.</p>
<p>Crippled though he was, the robber from the
north was game. It was no longer hunting, but
fighting, that he found himself engaged in, and
at an unwonted, utterly unexpected disadvantage.
He now brought his powerful beak into play, and
tore furiously at his adversary’s flank. But the
fox, active and crafty, kept her hold on the broken
wing, and strove to force the owl over on his back.
The latter had to loose the grip of his talons and
flap frantically with his one effective wing to avert
this fatal catastrophe. At the same time, however,
his knife-edged, powerful beak, hooked like a sickle
for the rending of tough hides, was doing bloody
work on the slim vixen’s back and sides. It was
<span class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</span>
just at this point—while the issue of the battle
yet hung in doubt, and it would have taken a wise
onlooker to say which had the advantage—that
Red Fox burst upon the scene.</p>
<p>It was with a fighting rage, intensified by shame
at his recent defeat as well as by devotion to his
mate, that he came into the fray. In utter silence
he darted up the bank, and sprang. The great bird
saw, and met him with a blinding blow of his wing;
but Red Fox in the next instant bore him backward,
clawing wildly and vainly flapping. That formidable
beak tore once and again into Red Fox’s flesh.
Then the latter’s teeth found the enemy’s throat;
and in one heart-beat the fight came to an end.
The great bird lay motionless, sprawled upon his
back on the blood-stained snow.</p>
<p>The two foxes touched noses sympathetically,
then fell to licking each other’s wounds. This took
a good half-hour of that enduring patience in which
the wilderness kindred are so marvellously endowed.
The glass-clear moonlight bathed the two intimate
figures as they stood there painstakingly caressing
on the open crest of the bank. From a safe refuge
near by, the weasel watched them for a long time
in wonder, hating them, but rejoicing at the death
of the great owl, who was to him a far more dangerous
<span class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</span>
enemy than any fox. At length, the wounds
seeming to be all adequately doctored, Red Fox
slipped down the slope and into the den, scrupulously
ignoring the body of the owl. This was
his mate’s prey, and he would not seem to claim
any rights in it. As for her, she understood her
rights perfectly. The great, loose, floppy agglomeration
of feathers was too much for her to carry
in the usual fox fashion, so she briskly dragged it
down the slope to the mouth of the den. Pulling
one wing inside, that no passing forest thief might
be tempted to try and make off with it, she lay
down just within and rested with her fore paws
upon the prize, waiting till they both should feel
sufficiently rested to make their breakfast upon it.
A wandering mink slipped by, and paused to look
in hostile wonder at the great white marauder of
the north, terrible even in death. But he knew that
sharp eyes watched him from within the den, and
he had no mind for closer investigation. He darted
away snakily toward the brook, where he had certain
hidden runways beneath the edges of the ice.
And the bright emptiness of the cold settled down
once more upon the forest.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</div>
<h2 id="c8"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER VII.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE FOILING OF THE TRAPS</span></h2>
<p>One night soon after these painful episodes,
while the moonlight was yet bright on
the glittering wilderness, the two foxes
were playing together in the shining lane which
the snow-covered channel of the brook made
through the forest. Their wounds had given little
trouble to their hardy and healthy flesh. Their
hunting had been good in the early part of the night.
They were young, extremely well satisfied with
themselves and with each other; and the only occupation
that met their mood was to chase each other
round and round in short circles, leaping over each
other’s backs, and occasionally grappling, rising on
their hind legs, and biting at each other’s throats
with every pretence of ferocity. Unlike dogs, they
made no noise in their play, except for the hushed
rustle and patter of scurrying and pushing feet, the
occasional swish and crackle of the bushes they
disturbed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</div>
<p>Suddenly, as they met after a circling rush, they
checked themselves as they were just about to grapple,
and stood motionless, staring at a strange trail.
It was the track of a man on snow-shoes. Their
noses, anxiously inquiring, presently assured them
that the trail was many hours old. Then they subjected
it to the most wondering and searching examination.
Surely there could be no creature with
such stupendous feet as that inhabiting their wilderness.
But, if there were, it behoved them to
find out all about it, the more securely to avoid
encountering such a monster.</p>
<p>About these great tracks, and especially near
the centre of each, where the depression was deepest,
there clung the strong man scent, which puzzled
them the more as they knew that the feet of
man made no such prints. Then Red Fox identified
the scent still more exactly, recognizing it as that
of his especial antipathy, the dreaded dispenser of
fire and noise and death, Jabe Smith. Upon this
he came to realize that the gigantic tracks were
made by something attached to Jabe Smith’s feet.
For what purpose, or to what use, the man should
so enlarge his feet Red Fox could not conceive; but
he knew that men were always mysterious, and he
was content to let the question go at that. The
<span class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</span>
point that interested both the foxes now was,
Whither did the tracks lead? What was the man’s
business here in their woods?</p>
<p>All thought of play laid aside, they now took
up the trail, following cautiously, with every sense
on the alert. The trail led toward the farthest and
wildest section of the she fox’s range. At length
it came to a halt, where it crossed a well-marked
runway of her own. The snow was trampled and
disturbed at this point, and just here, where the
runway was narrowed by a thick bush on either
side, lay the frozen head and neck of a chicken.
Red Fox, for all his natural wariness, was starting
forward to investigate this prize; but his mate,
who had somehow obtained a certain knowledge
of traps, thrust him aside so brusquely that he realized
the presence of an unknown peril. Then, and
not till then, he noticed that at that point, around
and beneath the chicken head, there were no fox
tracks visible. They had evidently been covered
with snow.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig18">
<img src="images/p143.jpg" alt="“SHE REVEALED A SMALL, DARK, MENACING THING.”" width="500" height="625" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“SHE REVEALED A SMALL, DARK, MENACING THING.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
<p>While he was considering this ominous
fact, his mate moved forward with the extreme
of caution, sniffing at the snow before every step.
With intense interest he watched her, realizing that
she knew something of which he, for all his craft,
was ignorant. In a moment or two she stopped,
and began sniffing around the point at which she
had stopped. The care she displayed in this
amounted to timidity, and convinced Red Fox that
something terribly dangerous lay hidden beneath
the snow. In a moment or two the prudent investigator
began to dig, pawing away the snow with
light, delicate, surface strokes; and presently she
revealed a small, dark, menacing thing, made of
the same hard, cold substance which Red Fox had
observed that so many of man’s implements were
made of. The snow on the middle of the trap the
wise little she dared not disturb; and she flatly
discouraged any very close examination on Red
Fox’s part. But she gave him to understand that
this was one of the cunningest and most deadly
of all the devices which that incomprehensible creature,
man, was wont to employ against the wild
kindreds. And she also made him understand that
unexpected blessings, like the chicken head, or other
unusual dainties, when found scattered with seeming
generosity about the forest ways, were pretty
sure to indicate at least one trap in the immediate
neighbourhood. Leaving the treacherous thing unmasked,
so that no other of the forest dwellers
might be betrayed by it, the two foxes resumed the
<span class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</span>
trapper’s trail, to find out what more treasons he
had plotted against the wild folk.</p>
<p>They had gone but a little way farther when a
great noise of scrambling and struggling, just
ahead, brought them to a sudden stop. It was a
mysterious and daunting sound, as if some strong
creatures were fighting, voicelessly, to the death.
With the utmost stealth they crept forward, along
the snow-shoe trail, and came suddenly upon a
terrifying spectacle.</p>
<p>Here the trapper had set a strong snare of copper
wire, baiting it with a dead rabbit, which crouched
in lifelike attitude just behind it, under a bush. A
huge lynx, rash with hunger, came slinking by and
saw the rabbit. Straight through the snare he saw
the apparently heedless victim; but he did not see
the slender, bright loop faintly gleaming among
the green fir-twigs. Stealthily, noiselessly as a
shadow, crouching low, his great round eyes coldly
aflame, he crept up till within springing distance.
Then, his mighty and unerring spring! His huge
paws, all their claws extended, clutched the dead
rabbit. But at the same instant a terrible grip
clutched his own throat chokingly.</p>
<p>Forgetting his prize, the big cat sprang violently
aside, with a spitting screech of terror. At the
<span class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</span>
first jump, he saw no sign of his foe, though that
clutch was still on his throat. His natural courage
turned to water at the mystery of the attack. But
at the second leap his neck was jerked savagely,
the grip on his throat tightened so that he could
not screech again, and the enemy came into view,
jumping at him. To his horror it was only a harmless-looking
stick of white birch, such as he had
seen many and many a time lying around the camps
of the lumbermen. He could not understand the
appalling and malignant hostility which it now displayed
toward him.</p>
<p>First he tried flight, but the stick came jumping
after him, clutching the harder the harder he tried
to escape. Then in the madness of his fear he
wheeled and pounced upon it, tearing at it with
tooth and claw. The stick lay quiet enough under
this assault, making no visible resistance, but all
the while, in some awful way, managing to keep up
the pressure on his throat. The lynx sat down and
stared, his eyes starting from his head, his red jaws
open in the struggle for breath.</p>
<p>It was at this time the foxes came up, and
crouched behind a bush, their bright eyes watching
and wondering. They hated the lynx; but
this inexplicable attack upon him awed and terrified
<span class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</span>
them, as the manifestation of a hostile force which
they could not comprehend.</p>
<p>The slender noose was now drawn close, deep
in the fur behind the lynx’s jaws; and the pressure
clouded his wild cunning. A wiser animal than
the lynx would have found his wisdom fail him in
such crisis. Nevertheless, in his despair he thought
of something else to do, a pathetic device. Perhaps
the stick was like a dog, and could not climb
a tree. He ran up the nearest tree; but the stick
followed, tightening, ever tightening that strangle
grip upon his throat. He crept out on a great
branch; and saw the stick dangling below him. The
winter world, the moonlight and the snow and the
black trunks of the trees, were now reeling before
his eyes, and his swelling tongue stuck out beyond
his jaws. In the extremity of his horror he gave
one more look downward at the dancing stick, then
sprang outward, on the other side of the branch.</p>
<p>As he sprang the stick flew violently upward. It
caught under the branch, and held fast for a moment,
checking the victim’s leap and tightening the
noose to its utmost. Kicking and writhing, the
miserable animal swung widely to the other side
of the branch, and back again. At the top of that
backward swing the stick slipped over the branch;
<span class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</span>
and the two came down upon the snow together.
The stick fell on the lynx’s body; and the lynx,
after a few convulsive twitchings, lay quite still.</p>
<p>Not till the stillness had lasted a long time, and
the moon was beginning to sink among the tree-tops,
did the two foxes dare to come forward and
investigate. They satisfied themselves at once that
the lynx was dead. Then, sniffing shrewdly at the
noose and cord and stick, all with the dangerous
taint of man strong upon them, they achieved a
pretty clear understanding of the affair. This,
plainly, was another form of trap, another manifestation
of man’s tireless and inescapable enmity.
It was to both, and to the inquiring Red Fox in
particular, a priceless lesson in the need of untiring
vigilance.</p>
<p>For two or three hours more the two foxes stuck
to the trapper’s trail, Red Fox being moved the
more by his antagonism to Jabe Smith, and eager
to thwart him at as many points as possible. Whenever
they came to a point where the snow-shoe
trail had halted, there they cautiously smelt about
for a trap, whether there was any bait in view or
not. Four more traps they found, and left uncovered,
as they had the first, to the scorn of such
wild creatures as might pass. One more snare,
<span class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</span>
also, they found; but this they did not know what
to do with. They were afraid to go near it; so
they contented themselves with trampling and defiling
the snow all around it, in a way that would
serve as ample warning to any creature not hopelessly
besotted in folly.</p>
<p>By this time they were once more hungry, and
the she fox was ready to turn her hunting. But
the snow-shoe trail still led forward, ever deeper
into the wilds; and Red Fox was unwilling to
relinquish it. His will prevailed, and the two continued
their journey. But at the next trap his persistence
met its reward. The trap had been set
beside an open spring, whose bubbling waters defied
all frost. In the trap a mink was held, caught
by both front feet. The captive was still alive, and
bared its teeth at them, dauntless in the face of
doom. But the foxes were no philanthropists; and
their hostility to the trapper, their general sympathy
with the wild creatures in their contest with
the trapper, had no tendency to make them sentimental
when they found a square meal thus ready
to hand. With healthy zest they fell upon the unfortunate
mink, who was in no position to put up
a fight; and in a few minutes there was nothing
left for the trapper but the tail and feet.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig19">
<img src="images/p151.jpg" alt="“IN THE TRAP A MINK WAS HELD, CAUGHT BY BOTH FRONT FEET.”" width="500" height="689" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“IN THE TRAP A MINK WAS HELD, CAUGHT BY BOTH FRONT FEET.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div>
<p>The wild creatures, as a rule,—and even one
so intelligent as the fox,—are apt to be whimsical
and not hold long to one purpose. By this time
Red Fox had rather lost interest in following up
the trail of the snow-shoes. Having well supped,
he grew tired of investigation, and his desires
turned homeward toward the den in the bank. His
mate he neglected to consult. But she followed
his caprice promptly, with no thought of protest
or petulance.</p>
<p>By this time the moonlight was graying into the
bitter midwinter dawn; and at that coldest hour
of the twenty-four the trees were snapping sharply
under the intense frost. The two foxes retraced
their steps more rapidly and less cautiously than
they had come, carefully observing and carefully
avoiding each uncovered trap as they came to it.
But when they reached the dead lynx they stopped
abruptly, shrank back with a guilty air, and swerved
off from the trail. There beside the huddled, pathetic
body stood another of the big, gray, shadowy-looking
cats, who glared and spat savagely at them.
They had no wish to challenge the stranger, so they
made a wide, respectful détour, and struck the trail
again some hundred yards or so farther on.</p>
<p>And now they approached the first trap. They
<span class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</span>
would look at it again, with that half-scornful, half-fearful
interest which their experiences of the night
had taught them, then dash home by the shortest
path to sleep away the brightening hours of morning.
But they found that another of the woods
folk was interested in that trap. A big porcupine
was just ahead of them.</p>
<p>The porcupine glanced at them scornfully from
under his bristling defences, erected his quills as a
hint that they had better mind their own business,
and resumed his examination of the trap. The
foxes knew better than to meddle with him, though
they regarded him with some contempt as a blundering
fool, more than likely to get himself into
mischief. They sat down on their tails a dozen
feet away, and watched with dispassionate interest
to see what was going to happen.</p>
<p>The porcupine, with a little fretting grunt of
disapproving curiosity, sniffed all around the trap,
yet managed, by sheer luck, not to spring it. The
critical part of the mechanism was, of course, in
the centre, where the foxes had left a covering of
snow. Snow was not interesting to the porcupine,
so, most fortunately for himself, he did not investigate.
Had he done so, he would have been caught
by the nose in those powerful jaws of steel, and died
<span class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</span>
miserably. As it was, he sniffed only at the exposed
parts. They were not good to eat, so to
him they were useless. He turned contemptuously,
and flouted the worthless thing with a flick of his
tail.</p>
<p>Now, as it chanced, that strenuous tail of his,
a most effective weapon of defence, struck fair in
the centre of the trap, and the spring was instantly
released. The steel jaws caught the tail fairly by
the middle, crunching through fur and quills right
to the bone.</p>
<p>With a squeal of terror the porcupine jumped
into the air, but the tough tail held. In his panic
for an instant his quills all lay down flat, till he
seemed to shrink to half his size, and looked as if
he had been soaked and dragged through a knothole.
Then he bristled up again, still squealing
with pain and anger, and turned to bite furiously
at the presumptuous instrument. As to biting, however,
and things bitable, he was an authority, the
best in all the forest; so he soon realized that it
was no use trying to bite the thing that had him
by the tail. Thereupon he started to drag it away.
The trap yielded and moved a few feet; then
stopped resolutely. It was chained to the foot of
a bush.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div>
<p>The porcupine, however, is the most obstinate
of animals, and, having started, he was not lightly
to be stopped. If it was his tail that tried to stop
him, so much the worse for his tail. He dug his
powerful claws into the snow, and tugged, and
jerked, and strained; till suddenly the tail gave
up the struggle and peeled off. He went ploughing
forward on his nose with a squeal of pain, leaving
a great tuft of fur and quills sticking up in
the jaws of the trap. Thoroughly frightened, demoralized,
and humiliated, he scurried at his best
speed to the nearest hemlock, the raw stump of
his tail standing out stiffly behind him. Up the tree
he clambered in haste, with a great rattling of his
claws on the hard, scaly bark, and tried to hide
his shame in the highest crotch.</p>
<p>Interested and greatly excited over the affair,
the two foxes had sprung forward when he jerked
himself free, and followed at his heels till he ran
up the hemlock. They did not dare to touch him,
however, or even to come within two or three feet
of him, so keen was their dread of his quills.
While they stood looking up at his bleeding but
ludicrous figure as he climbed, they caught a clear
jangling of sled-bells through the trees, and whisked
behind some thick bushes to watch what was coming.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig20">
<img src="images/p157.jpg" alt="“HE DUG HIS POWERFUL CLAWS INTO THE SNOW.”" width="500" height="698" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE DUG HIS POWERFUL CLAWS INTO THE SNOW.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div>
<p>It chanced that that morning, at the very first
hint of grayness in the sky, Jabe Smith had set out
with sled and team to carry some supplies—cornmeal
and flour and salt pork and dried apples—to
one of the lumber camps at the head of the
valley. Along with him he had taken the Boy,
because he was interesting company. The Boy and
Jabe Smith had widely divergent views as to the
rights and the feelings of the wild kindreds; but
they were both keenly interested in woodcraft, and
delighted in comparing notes. The Boy called Jabe
Smith “cruel”; and Jabe Smith called the Boy
“chicken-hearted”; but they were very good friends
for all that. As a matter of fact neither accusation
was true. For Jabe was not cruel, but merely eager
and relentless in the chase when his blood was up.
His was the primitive, unthinking hunter’s lust.
And toward animals whom he did not regard as
game, he was kindly and compassionate enough.
As for the Boy, on the other hand, he was sympathetic
and hated to give pain; but he was not timid,
and there was not a stain of cowardice in his whole
make-up.</p>
<p>Suddenly the jangling sled-bells stopped, and the
<span class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</span>
listening foxes, behind their covert, peered out with
redoubled solicitude. Said Jabe Smith, as he
jumped off and hitched the team to a tree, “I’ve
got one of my traps set right about here! Let’s
go an’ hev’ a look at it!”</p>
<p>Now the Boy didn’t like traps, but his interest
overshadowed his aversion. He jumped off the
sled with alacrity, and, following Jabe’s example,
slipped on his snow-shoes. Presently the listening
foxes heard the peculiar, soft, measured <i>crunch,
crunch</i> of the snow-shoes drawing near through
the trees. When they caught sight of the two
human creatures approaching, their anxiety increased,
and they slipped back to a yet safer covert;
but, as their curiosity was no less than their anxiety,
by reason of all these new things of snow-shoes,
snares and traps, they took care not to go
so far but that they could command a clear view of
whatever the newcomers should do. As for Red
Fox, his instinctive terror of the tall woodsman was
somewhat tempered by seeing him in the company
of the Boy.</p>
<p>As soon as he came in sight of the trap, and saw
the absurd tuft of fur and quills sticking up in it,
the woodsman swore in disgust.</p>
<p>“The varmint!” he growled. “Meddlin’ round
<span class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</span>
where he wasn’t wanted! I’ll put a bullet through
his durned fool head for that! I’m wantin’ some
quills, anyways!” And he started forward to find
the wretched fugitive’s tracks.</p>
<p>But the Boy’s vivid imagination promptly pictured
the suffering of the poor beast, with the red,
denuded, smarting stump of a tail.</p>
<p>“Hold on, Jabe!” he cried. “Don’t you think
he’s punished enough, losing his tail that way?
And what’s the good of wasting time over an old
porcupine, anyway?”</p>
<p>At the same time his keen eyes, much more cunning
in discernment than Jabe’s, had caught sight
of the porcupine, crouched close in the high crotch
of the hemlock. As he spoke, he hurried forward
and tramped over the fugitive’s trail where it led
up to the tree and stopped there.</p>
<p>“I’ll teach him to monkey with my traps!” cried
Jabe, the hunter’s fever flushing hot in his veins,
so that he ached to kill something. He darted forward
eagerly on the mixed trail of the porcupine
and the two foxes, overran the indecipherable confusion
at the foot of the hemlock, and pursued the
double tangle of fox-tracks beyond. The Boy stood
and watched him, with wide, non-committal eyes
and satisfaction in his heart. He felt amiable
<span class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</span>
enough toward the foxes, but considered that they
might very well look out for themselves and take
the chances of the wild without his intervention.</p>
<p>The foxes, indeed, were not willing to take any
chances at all in their present frame of mind. When
they saw that Jabe was actually on their trail, they
had no more curiosity left. Bellies close to the
snow, their red brushes floating straight out behind
them, they flashed off with desperate speed—not
homeward, of course, but upward toward the rocky
ridges, where they knew they could best elude pursuit.
They carefully kept the bushes behind them
in line with the enemy; but Jabe saw them as they
darted off, and let fly a hurried shot after them.
The ball hummed like a hornet close over Red Fox’s
ears, and chipped a white patch on the side of a
brown-trunked maple just ahead, and the fugitives
sped more madly than ever.</p>
<p>“This doesn’t seem to be your lucky day, Jabe!”
said the Boy, gravely derisive. And Jabe, letting
slip his grudge against the unfortunate porcupine,
silently reloaded his gun and reset the trap.</p>
<p>“I’ll git one of them durn foxes yet!” he muttered,
all unaware of the part they had played in
laying bare his devices.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div>
<h2 id="c9"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER VIII.</span>
<br /><span class="small">SOME LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW</span></h2>
<p>After this experience with the traps, both
Red Fox and his mate grew deeply interested
in the work of the trappers
wherever they found it. If they came across empty
traps, they did their best to spring them, or to
make them in some way so conspicuous that none
of the wild creatures would be likely to blunder
into them. If they found victims in the traps, they
promptly fell upon and put them out of their
misery, thereby doing themselves a pleasant service
and presumably winning the posthumous gratitude
of the victims; but if the victims chanced to be
lynxes, in that case they exercised discretion and
refrained from interfering. When they found
snares, however, they were at a loss and felt terrified.
They did not understand those almost invisible
instruments of death, and were afraid to go
near enough to investigate.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div>
<p>At last, however, Red Fox himself dissolved this
spell of uncomprehending fear. It came about in
this way. One moonless night, when he was trotting
homeward noiselessly along the glimmering
aisles of the forest, he heard a faint sound of struggling,
and stopped short. Creeping aside under
the thick fir branches, he saw before him, in the
centre of a lane between low bushes, a white rabbit
hanging in the air, and kicking silently. The struggling
shape moved gently up and down, now almost
touching the snow, now a good four feet above it,
as the sapling from which the snare was suspended
lightly swung and swayed. Red Fox understood
the situation at once; and his first impulse was to
steal away. But, having satisfied himself by peering
and sniffling all about that there was no other
trap or snare near by, he let his interest master
his apprehension. Creeping nearer and nearer, in
ever narrowing circles, he watched the victim till
its struggles came to an end. When it was quite
still, a limp little figure of pathetic protest against
fate, it hung just about three feet from the snow.
Red Fox rose lightly on his hind legs, caught it
by the feet with his teeth, and pulled it down.
When he let go for a second, it sprang into the
air again, as if alive; and he, much startled, jumped
backwards about five yards. For nearly a minute
the dead rabbit kept bobbing up and down, while
Red Fox sat upon his haunches and watched it
anxiously. When it was still, he went and pulled
it down again. Again he let go; again it sprang
bobbing and gyrating into the air; and again he
jumped back in alarm. This he repeated four or
five times, patiently, till he seemed to have settled
the strange problem to his own satisfaction. Then,
with resolute deliberation, he pulled the body down
once more, and held it firmly with his forepaws
while he tried to bite the copper wire from its neck.
Finding this a task too great for his teeth, he
solved the difficulty by gnawing the head clean off
and letting it fly up into the air with the escaping
wire. Then, well satisfied with his achievement,
he swung the headless body over his back and
trotted home to the den on the hillside.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig21">
<img src="images/p165.jpg" alt="“RED FOX ROSE LIGHTLY ON HIS HIND LEGS, . . . AND PULLED IT DOWN.”" width="500" height="670" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“RED FOX ROSE LIGHTLY ON HIS HIND LEGS, . . . AND PULLED IT DOWN.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div>
<p>It did not take many such performances as these
with the traps and snares to make a lot of noise
throughout the Settlements; and though Red
Fox’s mate played no small part in the depredations,
it was Red Fox, by reason of his conspicuous
size and colour, who incurred the dangerous distinction.
Many ingenious traps were set for his
particular benefit,—and by no one more assiduously
than by Jabe Smith. But Red Fox eluded
and derided them all with easy scorn; and all who
set themselves to outwit him got not only their
failure for their pains, but also the grave and
slightly superior mockery of the Boy, who, ever
since the episode of the grape-vine, had regarded
the clever animal as being, in a sense, his own
property.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div>
<p>Severe though the winter was, a winter of
scarcity and suffering for all the kindreds of the
wild, Red Fox and his mate now got on very well.
The greater the scarcity, the more apt were the
wild folk, driven with hunger, to get into the traps;
and, consequently, the better fared the two wise
foxes. Nevertheless, they occasionally felt the
pinch of famine, sharply enough to stimulate their
wits. Under such circumstances, however, it was
always Red Fox himself whose wits originated new
stratagems or solved new problems. These things
once done, his mate was apt and wily in following
his lead.</p>
<p>Among all the wild folk, the one whom, next to
the skunk, Red Fox regarded with most resentment,
was the porcupine. The skunk filled him
with keen aversion, giving him a qualm which
tended for the moment to destroy his appetite. But
<span class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</span>
the porcupine he would have liked to eat. He was
filled with mingled fury and desire whenever he
saw one of these lazy, confident, arrogant little
beasts, well-fed and fat however fierce the frosts
that scourged the forest. But whatever his craving,
whatever his indignation, prudence came to his
rescue at the soft, dry, menacing rattle of those
uplifting and deadly quills. He knew, probably
from the warnings of his mother while he was a
cub, that one of those tiny, slender, black and white
quills stuck into his flesh might mean death. Once
fixed, it would keep working deeper and deeper in,
inexorably; and if it chanced to meet a vital spot in
its strange journey,—brain, or heart, or liver, or
delicate intestine,—then farewell to snowy forest
corridors and the pleasant light of sun and moon.</p>
<p>For all his dread, however, Red Fox would
sometimes experiment a little when he chanced to
encounter a porcupine in the open. Perceiving that
the bristly animal was quite unprotected on its
nose and throat and belly, he would make quick
feints at its face, taking care, however, not to go too
near. This form of threat always succeeded in upsetting
the porcupine’s nonchalance. It would either
tuck its nose under its belly and roll itself into a ball
of menacing spines, presenting their points in every
<span class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</span>
possible direction, or it would crouch with its face
flat down between its fore paws, close as a scallop
to a rock, and looking like a gigantic pincushion
stuck full of black and white needles.</p>
<p>One day, after a heavy snowfall, when the snow
was firm on the surface, yet not crusted, merely
packed by its own weight, Red Fox chanced to
meet a leisurely porcupine just in the middle of
the deep-buried channel of the brook. It happened
that he was very hungry, and the plump self-satisfaction
of the bristling animal was peculiarly exasperating.
At first it paid no attention whatever
to his pretended attacks. But at last, when he sprang
and snapped his long white teeth within a foot
of its nose, it crouched, and covered the threatened
nose with an impregnable defence of quills.</p>
<p>Had this particular porcupine elected to roll itself
into a ball, its story would have been different, and
Red Fox would have missed an experience. He
would have trotted off in disgust to seek an easier
adventure. But, as it was, a new idea came into
his head. Half-crouching, like a playful puppy,
three or four feet in front of the cushion of spines,
he barked shrilly several times, to let the animal
know he was still there. Then, stepping gently
around to within a couple of feet of the unconscious
<span class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</span>
beast’s flank, he began to burrow swiftly and
noiselessly into the soft snow. To his practised
paws it was a matter of but few seconds to tunnel
under those two feet of unresisting material,
and come up right beneath the soft belly of the
porcupine. With a squeal of agony, the wretched
victim strove to tighten himself into the ball which
he had been too overconfident to adopt at the first
approach of danger. But it was too late. In a
moment the victor’s teeth found his heart, and,
stiffening straight out convulsively, he rolled over
on his back. Red Fox made no attempt to carry
his trophy home to the den; but for the first time
in his life he feasted on fresh porcupine meat. He
ate all he could, then, seeing no way of burying
the remnant without danger of encountering the
quills, he reluctantly left it to whatsoever forest
marauder might come by.</p>
<p>This victory over the quills of the porcupine
turned the workings of Red Fox’s shrewd and
busy mind to other possibilities of the snow. He
remembered the fat field-mice which he used to
catch among the grass roots of the little meadow
by the brook. The meadow now lay under a full
three feet of undrifted snow, sparkling in the keen
and frosty sunlight, flecked here and there with a
<span class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</span>
wind-blown spruce-twig, and here and there patterned
with the delicate trail of mink or squirrel
or weasel. Hidden though it was, Red Fox knew
the meadow was still there,—and if the meadow,
why not also the mice? One early morning, therefore,
when he and his mate were playing on the
lilac and saffron surface among the long aerial
shadows of the pointed spruces with the half-risen
sun behind them, he suddenly stopped play and fell
to digging vehemently. His mate watched him,
first with surprise, then with some impatience, as
she could see no reason for this spasm of industry.
Presently she nipped at him, and bounced against
his haunches with her dainty fore feet, trying to
tempt him back to the game. But he paid no attention
whatever, burrowing on down, down, till
only his brush was visible, jerking absurdly above
the shining surface; while his mate sat a little to
one side, ears cocked and mouth half-open, watching
for a solution of the puzzle. At length the
brush emerged, and Red Fox himself after it. He
turned upon her a face ludicrously patched and
powdered with snow, but in his jaws was a tuft
of dry grass. She sniffed at this trophy inquiringly;
and then she understood. That bunch of grass
smelled strongly of field-mice.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div>
<p>Having assured himself that she understood, Red
Fox dived once more into the hole, and this time
disappeared completely. Among the grass roots,
where the snow was light, it was easy burrowing.
He had chanced upon one of the secret runways
which the mice make for themselves in winter,
wherein they live safely a secluded and dim-lit life.
With his nose close to the runway, he waited motionless
for two or three minutes, till a squeak and
a rustle told him that one of the little grass-dwellers
was coming. Then a snap, lightning-swift, and his
jaws closed upon a bunch of dead grass; but inside
the bunch of grass was a fat mouse. The prize
was a small one, considering the labour it had cost.
But, after all, it was a toothsome morsel, the more
appetizing for being out of season; and the digging
had been fun. Rather proudly Red Fox backed
out of the hole and laid the trophy at the feet of
his mate, who gobbled it down at once and licked
her jaws for more. Red Fox, however, showed no
inclination to repeat the venture, so she began to
dig for herself with great enthusiasm; but fortune
proving unfavourable, she failed to strike a runway,
and, after sinking no less than three shafts,
she gave up the effort in disgust.</p>
<p>It was about this time that Red Fox discovered an
<span class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</span>
interesting trick of the partridges. One afternoon,
just after sunset, when a heavy snow-storm was
followed by a clear sky of steel and buff that promised
a night of merciless cold, he caught sight of a
big cock partridge stepping daintily out to the tip
of a naked birch limb. Hidden under a fir-bush,
he watched the cunning old bird as it stretched its
neck this way and that, apparently scrutinizing the
surface of the snow. What it was looking for,
Red Fox could not guess; but suddenly, with a
mighty whirring of wings, it dived downward on a
steep slant, and disappeared in the snow. Extremely
interested, as well as excited over the prospect
of a capture, Red Fox dashed forward and
began to dig madly at the place where the bird had
vanished. It was easy digging, of course, and
speedily he, too, vanished. But the wary old cock
was wide awake, of course; and, hearing the soft
tumult of pursuit close behind him, he kept right
on, his powerful wing shoulders forcing his way
through the feathery mass almost as fast as Red
Fox could dig. A moment later, following the
fresh scent in the snow, Red Fox emerged, just in
time to see the quarry rise and go rocketing off
on triumphant wings. Disappointed, and at the
same time puzzled, he sat pondering the incident,
till he seemed to come to a conclusion as to its
meaning. Plainly, the partridge had intended to
make its bed for the night deep under the snow, for
shelter against the cold that was coming on. Having
decided this point to his satisfaction, he devoted
the next hour to prowling hither and thither, in
the hope of catching another partridge at the same
game; but fortune, having seen him fumble one
opportunity, would not offer him another that same
night.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig22">
<img src="images/p175.jpg" alt="“HE CAUGHT SIGHT OF A BIG COCK PARTRIDGE.”" width="500" height="686" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE CAUGHT SIGHT OF A BIG COCK PARTRIDGE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</div>
<p>Two or three days later, when he was returning
through the trees in the bitter dawn from an expedition
over the ridge toward Ringwaak, he came
upon a peculiar-looking depression in the snow.
Stopping to sniff at it in his customary spirit of
investigation, he detected just the faintest and most
elusive scent of partridge. Remembering his recent
experience, he understood the situation at once; and
he concluded, also, that at this hour the partridge
was likely to be not only at home, but sound asleep.
Very cautiously and noiselessly he began to dig,
pushing the snow out under his belly as softly as
the flakes themselves might fall. In a few seconds
the scent grew stronger. Then, invisible but just
before his nose, there was a sudden flutter. Quick
as thought he lunged forward through the smother,—and
<span class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</span>
his jaws met in a bunch of warm feathers.
There was a blind, fierce, scrambling tussle with
unseen, convulsive wings; and the cunning hunter
backed forth into the stinging air with his prize.
His satisfaction over this capture was more keen
than if he had made a dozen kills in the customary
way.</p>
<p>As the long winter drew toward an end, there
came one night a rain which gradually grew so
cold that it froze the instant it fell. In a little while
every bush and branch and twig was thickly crusted
with crystal, and the surface of the snow overlaid
with a coat of transparent armour. Because of
this bitter rain, which froze on their fur, the two
foxes stayed safe in their den all night. When the
weather had cleared and they poked their sharp
noses out to investigate, it was after sunrise, and
their world had undergone a miraculous transformation.
It was radiant, shimmering, rainbow-coloured
ice on every side. The open spaces flashed
a pink and saffron and lilac sheen, thin and elusive
as the tints of dew; while the trees seemed simply
to rain splendour, so bewildering were their glories
of emerald, rose, and pearl. The two foxes stared
in amazement; then, realizing that, for all its strange
disguise, this was their own old world after all,
<span class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</span>
and a world in which, no matter what queer things
happened, one must eat, they started off in opposite
directions to forage, slipping and scrambling as
they went, till their feet grew accustomed to the
treacherous glare.</p>
<p>Getting a steady foothold at last, Red Fox trotted
on alertly, scrutinizing the mysterious glitter in the
hope of seeing a rabbit or a squirrel, or some luckless
bird frozen to its perch during sleep. He
looked everywhere except directly under his feet,
where he had no reason to expect anything. A
fox, however, is always ready for the unexpected.
There is little that can escape his alert vigilance.
All at once he became aware of a kind of dark
shadow beneath the translucent surface over which
he was travelling. He stopped abruptly to investigate.
As he did so, the shadow wavered away,
and at the same time seemed to shrink down from
the surface. Step by step, to this side and to that,
he followed, much puzzled; till at length the truth
flashed upon him. The elusive shape was a partridge,
imprisoned by the icy covering spread over
her during her sleep. Of course she could see Red
Fox in the same dim, confused way in which he
could see her; and she was desperately striving to
elude the vague but terrible foe.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div>
<p>Red Fox was much elated by this discovery, and
promptly pounced upon the shadow with jaws and
fore paws together. But the ice was not only the
frightened bird’s prison, but its protection as well.
Again and again Red Fox strove to break through,
but in vain; and at length, angry and baffled, he
lay down right over the exhausted prisoner, and
tried to think of something to do. Fascinated with
fear the partridge stared upward, and panting with
eagerness Red Fox glared downward. But that
firm film of ice was inflexibly impartial, and hunter
and hunted could come no closer.</p>
<p>Glancing about in his disappointment, Red Fox
noticed a dense young fir-tree about ten feet away,
with its mat of dark but crystal-covered branches
growing down to the ground. This gave him just
the idea which his nimble wits were seeking. He
remembered that whenever there was a crust on the
snow strong enough to bear him up, he nevertheless
would break through when he passed under a thick,
low-growing tree. Here, then, was his opportunity.
Darting over to the young fir, he made a great
rattling as he squeezed under the stiff branches and
sent the brittle crystals clattering down. Sure
enough, the snow under the shelter of the branches
was quite soft, and he sank to his belly in it. Giving
<span class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</span>
one glance through the branches to note the
direction he must take, he began burrowing his best,
and speedily found himself out in the clear, diffused
light beneath the ice.</p>
<p>When he had gone about ten feet, he was surprised
to find no sight, sound, or scent of the quarry
he was pursuing. He kept on a little further, confident
that he could not have made any mistake.
Then he grew doubtful and changed his direction.
Again and again he changed it, circling this way
and that, but never a trace of scent or feather was
to be found. Reluctantly he realized that in that
strange environment his senses and his instinct
were alike at fault. He had no idea at all which
way he was going.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div>
<p>As this fact dawned upon him, he made a sudden
upward surge, thinking to break the ice and regain
the free air where his senses would no longer play
him false. But, to his amazement, the ice would
not yield. Rather, it was the soft snow beneath
him which yielded. Again and again he surged
upward with all his strength; but he could get no
purchase for his strength, and that frail-looking
sheet of milky ice was hard as steel. With a qualm
of sudden fear, he realized that, for the first time
in his life, he was lost,—and lost actually in his
own woods. Moreover, he was actually a prisoner,
caught in such a trap as he had never dreamed of.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig23">
<img src="images/p183.jpg" alt="“MUCH CHAGRINED, HE GAZED AFTER HER.”" width="500" height="670" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“MUCH CHAGRINED, HE GAZED AFTER HER.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div>
<p>There was, of course, plenty of air in his bright
prison, for the snow was full of it. Through the
ice above his head he could see vague dark shadows
amid the sheen, and knew they were the shapes of
the nearest trees. Standing quite still for a moment,
he pondered the situation carefully. Why, of
course, his way out lay wherever those shadows
were thickest and blackest. This conclusion entirely
eased his dread. Carefully considering the signs
which came to him so dimly, he decided that the
shadows were most promising straight ahead.
Straight ahead, therefore, he pushed his way, keeping
his back close against the under surface of the
crust. The friendly shadows loomed larger and
clearer. He was just at the edge of them, when he
found that his was not the only cunning intelligence
among the forest kindreds. He came upon the
scent of the partridge, which was evidently seeking
the same exit. In the trail of the fleeing bird the
snow was broken, so that he was able to dart forward
swiftly, which he did in the hope of redeeming
his discomfiture at the last moment. The scent
came strong and fresh. He heard a fluttering just
ahead. With a fierce spring he caught a single tail
feather in his teeth. Then there was a great whirr
of wings, and he burst forth into the air to see the
triumphant but badly frightened bird winnowing
off beneath the thick branches. Much chagrined,
he gazed after her for half a minute, his tongue
hanging out and his face bleared with patches of
snow. Then he turned away philosophically, and
set out to stalk a rabbit through the crystal world.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div>
<h2 id="c10"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER IX.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE FOOLING OF THE MONGRELS</span></h2>
<p>Through the early spring thaws there
was little for Red Fox but anxiety and
discomfort. He hated the wet, and the
slumping snows, and the hunt became a toil rather
than a joy. His mate, moreover, being heavy with
young, was not inclined to play and wrestle and run
races as she had been. She hunted near home, but
back among the rocks, of course, and never down
toward the valley; and Red Fox brought home to
her the larger share of his own captures. For his
own part, he now became particularly cautious,
never going down into the settlement at all. But he
got into the habit of making a long, toilsome journey
over the ridge and down into the next valley,
and compensating himself for the extra hardships
by taking easy toll of the farmyards at the foot of
Ringwaak. He calculated that these depredations
would never be laid to the charge of a fox living
so far away as he.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div>
<p>But in this, as it proved, he was reckoning without
allowance for his fame. He wronged his own
renown. When the folk under Ringwaak began to
feel the attacks of a particularly daring and clever
enemy, they immediately thought of the big fox of
the neighbouring valley, of whose exploits they had
heard such tales. Inquiry in the neighbouring valley
revealed the fact that of late nothing had been
seen or heard of the notable marauder. From this
it was readily inferred that he had shifted his field
of operations. Thereupon there were many efforts
made to trail the audacious raider back to his lair.
But the trail invariably lost itself among rocks and
ravines and tumbled thickets before it reached the
summit of the ridge. Of traps and snares, of course,
scores were set; but these were always treated with
contumelious scorn, or else given a wide berth. So
it came about at last that a message was sent over
to the next valley, asking the farmers to hunt down
their troublesome, furry outlaw, or at least keep him
at home.</p>
<p>Not without a certain pride did the settlement
accept this tribute to Red Fox’s prowess. But at
the same time it was agreed that something had to
be done. The Boy smiled wisely, and said that
whatever was done, Red Fox would not be the one
<span class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</span>
to regret it. But Jabe Smith undertook to lead a
hunt, with the two dogs, that should end in Red
Fox’s final discomfiture, or he’d know the reason
why.</p>
<p>For some inexplicable reason, just at this juncture
Red Fox’s anxiety and apprehension increased
amazingly. It was as if the stir of hostility down
in the valley were conveyed to him by some subtle
telepathic force, or as if some inquisitive blue jay,
having overheard Jabe Smith’s plans, had brought
word in an occult way to Red Fox of the mischief
brewing against him. Let the scientist, if he
will, take the one explanation, and the lover of
fairy-tale and fable the other. Or, perhaps, the
responsibility of approaching fatherhood sharpened
his memory, and he recalled the tragic events which
had forced his mother to flee from the lair in the
sunny bank. However that may be, one evening,
after a fit of aimless restlessness, he ran and sniffed
inquiringly about the entrance to the old den, under
the juniper-bush. Something which he saw there
decided him. Returning to his own lair, half by
force and half by coaxing, he succeeded in ejecting
his reluctant mate, who was now very near her time,
and much averse to quitting such snug quarters.
This feat accomplished, he resolutely led her away
<span class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</span>
up to the crest of the ridge, to a sort of rude little
cave which he had found in the side of a rocky
ravine. This done, and his mate—because she
could not help herself or make head against his
dominance—apparently reconciled, his restless
solicitude vanished. He went back alone to the
den in the bank and waited to see what was going
to happen. He was now less careful about his hunting-grounds,
and permitted himself, in his confidence,
to range once more the lower slopes and the
fringes of the settlement.</p>
<p>When Jabe Smith was ready for the grand hunt,
he bethought him of the old den on the hillside
where the fox family had been “dug out” of house
and home the previous year. He had not thought of
this place before, because he knew that the scene of
such tragic discomfiture and defeat would be the
very last one that an ordinary fox would choose to
live in. But it occurred to him now that Red Fox
was no ordinary fox, and might be cunning enough
to regard such a place as the safest retreat of all.
With the Boy as a critical and unsympathetic, but
much interested, spectator, and two young farmers
as assistant huntsmen, and the two dogs to do the
real work, Jabe Smith led the way to that secluded
hole in the bank far up the hillside.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div>
<p>“You’ll never find him there, Jabe,” jeered the
Boy, encouragingly, from time to time. And Jabe,
having his own misgivings on the subject, maintained
a strategic silence.</p>
<p>Within a hundred yards of the bank, however,
the dogs, who had been quartering the soft and
shrunken snow on every side, suddenly set up a
chorus of excited yelpings and bayings. They had
come upon a perfect tangle of fox-tracks. Jabe
Smith’s gaunt face broke into a liberal grin, and
turning to the Boy triumphantly, he cried:</p>
<p>“There, now, what did I tell you?”</p>
<p>The two young farmers ran forward in exultant
glee, expecting to find Red Fox securely cornered in
the hole, and to dig him out at their leisure. But the
Boy, though in his heart troubled and surprised,
kept an undiscouraged face, and advised the hunters
not to crow too soon.</p>
<p>As the dogs were obviously confused by the
tangle of trails, Jabe called them straight to the
mouth of the old den behind the juniper. They
thrust their noses into it eagerly, gave an inquiring
sniff, and turned away in scorn. Jabe’s face fell;
for it was obvious from their manner that no foxes
had for a long time lived in that hole. The Boy
tried to think of some sarcasm suited to the occasion.
<span class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</span>
But before anything could be said on either
side the dogs raced up the bank and set up a joyous
chorus at the mouth of another cunningly hidden
den.</p>
<p>“<i>Now</i>, what did I tell you?” cried Jabe again,
with no great variation of vocabulary; and the two
young men shouted, “We’ve got him this time!”
But the Boy, obstinately optimistic, assumed an air
of authority, and remarked:</p>
<p>“There’s <i>been</i> something there. But that doesn’t
prove it’s there now! And you needn’t think it’ll
be Red Fox, anyway!”</p>
<p>“We’ll soon find out!” said Jabe Smith, taking
some rags from his pocket and proceeding to smear
them with a mixture of gunpowder and wet snow.</p>
<p>Having constructed the “spitting devil” to his
satisfaction, he tied it securely to the tip of a
slender birch sapling, like a fishing-pole. Then,
calling the eager dogs to one side, he lighted the
rags, and thrust the blazing, sputtering mass carefully
into the hole.</p>
<p>“Ef ther’s anything in there, I don’t keer if it’s
a tiger, that’s goin’ to fetch him out!” said Jabe.
As all the onlookers fully agreed with him, there
was no reply; but every one waited with eyes fixed
intently on the hole. Slowly the sapling worked its
<span class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</span>
way, till it came to a resolute stop at a distance of
about ten feet in. Here Jabe turned and twisted it
hopefully; but there came forth nothing but volumes
of evil-smelling smoke.</p>
<p>The Boy gave a little derisive laugh; and Jabe,
dropping the end of the sapling, acknowledged regretfully
that there was no fox at home.</p>
<p>“But he was there just a minute ago,” said he,
doggedly, “or the scent wouldn’t ’a’ been so hot
an’ the dogs so worked up. An’ it’s Red Fox himself,
or he wouldn’t ’a’ got away so slick. He’s
somewhere’s ’round, an’ we’ll git him.” With this
he sent the dogs off over the bank, to pick up the
trail by which the crafty fugitive had departed.</p>
<p><a href="#fig1">Red Fox, meanwhile, had been watching the whole scene</a>
from that safe little ledge of rock
whence he had once before made note of a kindred
performance. This time, however, his feelings were
very different. He knew his own powers, and he
pretty well understood his opponents; and he realized
that as long as he took care to keep out of
Jabe Smith’s way he had the game in his own hands.
With Jabe he would take no chances, but the dogs
he would fool to the top of their bent. As for the
rest of the party, he was not greatly concerned
about them. The Boy he knew was not hostile, and
the two young men did not seem woods-wise enough
to be dangerous. But there was one thing certain,
he did not want the dogs to come sniffing about
among the rocks on top of the ridge. He slipped
down from his post of observation, and ran a
fresh trail down across his old one, toward the lowlands.
Five minutes later the dogs were in full
cry at his heels, and he could hear the men crashing
along clumsily behind.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig24">
<img src="images/p193.jpg" alt="“HE AMUSED HIMSELF FOR A MINUTE OR TWO WITH WILD, FANTASTIC LEAPS FROM TRUNK TO TRUNK.”" width="500" height="691" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE AMUSED HIMSELF FOR A MINUTE OR TWO WITH WILD, FANTASTIC LEAPS FROM TRUNK TO TRUNK.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div>
<p>The running was heavy, deep, moist snow in the
woods, and sloppy, sticky turf in the open spaces;
but Red Fox knew that these conditions told more
severely on his heavy pursuers than on himself. For
a time he ran straight on, without doublings or
tricks, in order to get the dogs well ahead of the
slow-going men. When this was accomplished to
his satisfaction, he amused himself for a minute or
two with wild, fantastic leaps from trunk to trunk
in a patch of felled timber, and then circled back to
see what Jabe Smith was doing. He felt it absolutely
necessary to know Jabe’s tactics in the contest
before finally deciding upon his own. In this
backward reconnaissance he ran at top speed, and
was back within a half-mile of his starting-point
while the puzzled dogs were still whimpering about
the patch of felled timber. Fast as he ran, however,
<span class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</span>
he kept all his wits about him, speeding through
thick underbrush, and never exposing himself to a
possible shot from that dreaded firearm of Jabe’s.
And suddenly, not fifty yards away, he caught sight
of Jabe himself, patiently watching a runway.</p>
<p>This sight gave Red Fox a pang of sharp apprehension,
so terrible seemed the cunning which led
the woodsman to keep watch at that particular spot.
And there beside him, sitting on a stump and motionless
as the stump, was the Boy. It was just the
place where Red Fox <i>would</i> have run, under ordinary
circumstances, or if he had been an ordinary
fox. It was only, indeed, his unsleeping caution that
had saved him. Instead of keeping to his runway,
he had warily parallelled it at a distance of about
fifty yards; and so his cunning had fairly outdone
that of the backwoodsman.</p>
<p>Watching his enemies with almost a touch of
contempt from his safe hiding, Red Fox lay down
for a few minutes’ rest. Then, hearing the dogs
at last in full cry on his back track, he rose up,
stretched himself, gave a yawn that seemed to nearly
split his jaws, and stole around behind Jabe and the
Boy, whose eyes were now fairly glued to the runway
in the momentary expectation of his coming.
He yawned again in scorn, ran swiftly back to the
<span class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</span>
door of his den, zigzagged for a couple of minutes
in that tangle of tracks just below it, then headed
down along the shore of the brook, whose channel
was now open wherever the current was swift.</p>
<p>As he ran, his plans took definite shape. His
object being to lead the chase far away from the
ridge, he had no motive for puzzling his pursuers
any more than enough to keep them from pressing
him too closely. The brook was too swollen and
angry to be easily fordable, except where the ice
still lingered in the stretches of dead water. But
in one place he crossed it by skilful leaps from
rock to rock amid the foam, because he knew that
the dogs were less sure-footed than he, and might
possibly have some trouble in the crossing. Half
a mile farther down, where there was firm ice, he
crossed back again, gathering from the voices of
his pursuers that they had not found the crossing as
difficult as he had hoped they would. Then he put
on a burst of speed, and made for a remote little
farm on the outskirts of the settlement, where he
thought he could give the dogs something to puzzle
over while he rested for another long run. Having
thoroughly explored every farmyard for a half-score
miles about, he knew just which ones had any
tactical advantages to offer him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div>
<p>At the farm in question the chicken-house was a
lean-to shed set against the side of the cow-barn.
The lower edge of the roof was about four feet from
the ground; and beneath it was a small hole leading
to a spacious hollow under the floor. From a thicket
just outside the farmyard Red Fox took a careful
observation to assure himself that there was no one
about the premises. The wagon was gone from the
shed over on the other side of the well, so he knew
the farmer was away. There was no face at the
kitchen window. The big gray cat dozed on the
door-step. He darted to the hole under the chicken-house,
and with some difficulty squeezed himself in.</p>
<p>This feat accomplished, he promptly squeezed
himself out again, then, standing in his trail, he
made a splendid leap straight into the air, and
landed on the sloping roof of the lean-to. From
here he ran nimbly up to the roof of the cow-barn,
and down the other side, and across the highroad,
and into a field of thick young evergreens. Here
he lay down with a sense of security to enjoy a well-earned
rest.</p>
<p>It was fully five minutes after this before the dogs
arrived, their tongues hanging out. They ran
straight to the hole under the chicken-house; and
there, in spite of their fatigue, they set up a wild
<span class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</span>
chorus of triumph. They had run the quarry to
earth. The hole, however, was so small that they
could not force a way in; and the ground all about
it was still frozen, so they could not dig an entrance
with their claws. The black and white mongrel
kept on scratching valiantly, however; while the
half-breed hound, keeping his nose close to the
foundations, made a swift but careful circuit of the
cow-barn, to assure himself that there was no other
exit. Had he ranged away from the foundations
he would, of course, have picked up the crafty
fugitive’s trail where he had made a great leap from
the roof to the haystack and thence far out into the
field. But the hound was methodical and kept close
to work; and he came back to his companion, therefore,
quite assured that the quarry was there in
hiding.</p>
<p>When, some ten minutes later, the hunters came
up panting and hot, they were as completely deceived
as the dogs. Even the Boy, when he saw
there was but one exit, and that guarded by the self-satisfied
dogs, was fain to acknowledge that poor
Red Fox’s sagacity had failed him at last. With
the fugitive at last securely cornered, there seemed
to be no need of further haste, so a leisurely council
of war was held behind the chicken-house, the Boy
<span class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</span>
sorrowfully aloof. At length it was decided that
the only thing to do was to stop the hole, then
get leave to take up some boards of the hen-house
floor.</p>
<p>This extreme measure, however, was not to be
carried out. While he was talking about it, Jabe
Smith chanced to lean upon the hen-house roof, just
at the point where Red Fox had made his cunning
leap. It chanced that Jabe’s nose, though not so
keen as the Boy’s, was, nevertheless, capable of
detecting the fresh scent of a fox on a surface so
propitious as a roof of dry shingles. He sniffed
suspiciously, smelled the roof carefully as far up
as he could reach, then turned to the Boy with an
air of humbly confessing defeat.</p>
<p>“The critter’s fooled us ag’in!” said he.</p>
<p>“How? What do you mean?” cried the Boy,
with glad incredulity; while the other two stood
bewildered.</p>
<p>“He’s not in there at all!” said Jabe, recovering
himself. “He’s gone up yonder over the roof.
We’ll find his trail all right, somewhere’s ’round behind
the barn! You watch!”</p>
<p>Ordering the reluctant dogs to follow, he led
the way around behind the barn, and then, with
shrewd discernment, around the haystack. Here
<span class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</span>
the dogs picked up the trail at once, and were off
with savage cries, furious at the way they had been
fooled. But as for Jabe, he was filled with a sense
of triumph in the very face of defeat. The Boy
had said humbly: “That beats me, Jabe. You
know more about them than I do, after all. However
did you find out where he’d gone?”</p>
<p>“Why,” said Jabe, shamelessly prevaricating,
“I just thought what would be the very smartest
kind of a trick,—an’ I knowed that was what that
red varmint would be up to!”</p>
<p>Red Fox, meanwhile, resting in his covert among
the dense young evergreens, was filled with indignant
amazement at hearing the cries of the dogs
so soon again on his trail. What had gone wrong
with his admirable stratagem? Promptly and
properly he laid the blame upon the dreaded Jabe;
and his sagacious eyes narrowed with something
like apprehension. For a moment he paused, considering
anxiously. Then, making a short circle,
he doubled back and ran along parallel with the
road, keeping himself carefully out of sight, lest
he should attract a gunshot. He was heading for
the mill-pond at the farther side of the settlement,
where a small stream, a tributary of his own brook,
had been dammed, and harnessed, and forced to
<span class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</span>
do the grinding and wool-carding of all the Ringwaak
region.</p>
<p>Though the stream, at ordinary seasons, was
small, the pond it fed was large, and just now, under
the stress of the spring thaws, a heavy volume of
water was pouring noisily through the open floodgates
of the dam. Red Fox’s mood was now an
ugly one. At no time anything approaching a humanitarian,
he now felt a trifle harassed and
crowded. If all his pursuers—the dogs, and the
men, and the harmless Boy together—had but one
neck,—a long, slender neck like that of a wild
goose,—what keen joy it would have given him
to put his fine white teeth crunching through it! He
was ready to take great risks in the hope of doing
some hurt to his persecutors.</p>
<p>The dogs, following a plain trail, with the scent
so hot that it hung in the air, were now following
close, with the hunters far behind and out of gunshot.
When Red Fox reached the edge of the mill-pond,
which was still partly frozen over, he stepped
out upon the ice, testing it shrewdly. Then, returning
to the shore, he ran on down toward the
dam.</p>
<p>For a space of thirty feet or so above the roaring
flood-gate the pond was open. The edges of the ice
<span class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</span>
were rapidly rotting away as the water surged up
beneath. On the bank above Red Fox hesitated,
lagging as if exhausted, and turned as if he were
at last brought to bay. Seeing this, the dogs broke
into fiercer clamour and rushed forward madly.
At last, it seemed, the game was in their hands, and
many an old score was to be wiped out.</p>
<p>Not till they were within a dozen paces of him
did Red Fox stir. Then, whipping about as if
defiance had given way to uncontrollable fear, he
darted straight out upon the dangerous ice. Either
instinct or a peculiarly shrewd and unerring judgment
told him that the ice-fringe above the sluice
was strong enough to bear his weight if he went
swiftly and smoothly. With the dogs a few yards
behind him he sped safely over. The next moment,
above the roar of the sluice, came a crunching
sound and a startled yelping from the black and
white mongrel. Looking over his shoulder with
narrowed eyes of triumph, Red Fox saw his enemies
in the water, pawing wildly at the rotten edges of
the ice, which kept breaking away beneath their
struggles.</p>
<p>Past the drenched stragglers the bits of broken ice
went streaming, to vanish in the loud turmoil of the
fall. Red Fox ran on to the shelter of a bush up
<span class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</span>
the shore, then turned to enjoy his revenge. The
dogs were still clutching wildly at the ice, and the
treacherous ice still yielding under their clutches.
As he watched, a larger piece, some three or four
feet square, separated itself under the attack of the
black and white mongrel, just as he succeeded in
dragging himself out upon it. The next moment it
slipped swiftly off with its exhausted passenger,
wallowed into the roaring flood-gates, plunged over
the fall, and vanished amid the rocks and smother
below. With deepest satisfaction Red Fox observed
this tragic end of one of his enemies. Then the
men came in sight once more, so he crept away
stealthily beyond gunshot, and continued his run
over toward the hills overlooking the Ottanoonsis
Valley. But there was really no need of his running
any farther. When the hunters arrived on the
bank of the pond the half-breed hound was just
dragging himself out of the water, thoroughly
cowed. The mongrel was nowhere to be seen, but
it was easy to guess what had happened to him. The
party halted and looked at each other comprehendingly.
Jabe whistled the dejected hound to his
feet, and patted his wet head sympathetically.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig25">
<img src="images/p205.jpg" alt="“IT SLIPPED SWIFTLY OFF WITH ITS EXHAUSTED PASSENGER.”" width="500" height="657" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“IT SLIPPED SWIFTLY OFF WITH ITS EXHAUSTED PASSENGER.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div>
<p>“I saw Red Fox,” said the Boy, gravely, sorry
for the black and white mongrel’s fate, “just slipping
into the woods ’way up yonder!”</p>
<p>“Reckon we might’s well be gittin’ back home!”
remarked Jabe, turning on his heels.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</div>
<h2 id="c11"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER X.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE PRESUMPTION OF BLACK MINK</span></h2>
<p>It was hours later when Red Fox, weary
but elated, got back to the den in the
bank, having lingered on the way to stalk
a rabbit and refresh his powers. One great menace
to his peace for the coming spring had been removed.
With the energetic, enthusiastic, and tireless
black and white mongrel finally out of the way,
he knew that the hound would have little pleasure
in following the trails alone. At the den in the
bank he sniffed in deep disgust, for the smell of
burnt gunpowder still clung rank within it. He
easily dragged out the intruding sapling, with the
charred remnants of the “spitting devil” attached
to it; but that heavy, choking odour was something
he could neither remedy nor endure. Leaving it
for time to deal with, he trotted on to the summit
of the ridge,—to find his small mate lying in her
lair with a contented look on her face and a litter
of blind red puppies tugging at her teats.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div>
<p>Toward these new arrivals Red Fox was indifferently
tolerant. He considered them rather a
bore than otherwise; though he knew they were
tremendously important, or his mate would not devote
herself to them as she did. He established
himself on a dry and sheltered ledge just above the
den, where he could keep an eye upon its occupants;
and if any peril had threatened them, he would have
fought to his last gasp in defence of the helpless
and apparently useless sprawlers. For several days,
however, he had little time to rest at home and
ponder the situation, because his mate devoted herself
so closely to her new duties that he had to do
the hunting for both. It was a long way down into
the neighbouring valley and the chicken-yards,
which he had come to regard as safe objects of
attack; and it chanced that at this season there was
a scarcity of rabbits about the ridge. So it came
about that Red Fox found himself more strenuously
occupied than he had ever been before at any point
in his career. At this busy time the fortune of the
wilds flung upon him one of his most unpleasant
adventures.</p>
<p>One day when he was hunting, not very successfully,
down beside the still half-frozen dead-waters,
it happened that a little way up the stream a large
<span class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</span>
mink started to trail a rabbit. The mink had been
feeding for a time altogether on frogs and fish,
and was just now smitten with a craving for red
blood. He had just missed catching the rabbit at
his first rush; and then, in an obstinate rage at his
failure, he had settled down to the chase of the fleet
quarry.</p>
<p>For a little the rabbit’s tremendous, bounding
leaps had all the advantage. But soon she began
to tire. She ran around in a circle; and, as soon
as her trail began to wheel, her cunning pursuer,
knowing just what she would do, cut across the
curve—and almost intercepted her. At this narrow
escape her poor little heart came near to stopping
with terror, as well as with astonishment at
the appearance of the dark, snaky foe, in this
unexpected quarter. She ran on down the bank
of the dead-water with the mink not ten yards
behind her. Her terrified eyes, absorbed in the
doom that followed, failed to note the form of Red
Fox darting across her path just ahead.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig26">
<img src="images/p211.jpg" alt="“HE HAD JUST MISSED CATCHING THE RABBIT AT HIS FIRST RUSH.”" width="500" height="744" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE HAD JUST MISSED CATCHING THE RABBIT AT HIS FIRST RUSH.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</div>
<p>Under ordinary circumstances, an ordinary fox
would have discreetly ignored both pursued and
pursuer, avoiding a dangerous quarrel; for the
predatory wild folks, as a rule, do not like to fight
unnecessarily. But Red Fox was utterly scornful
of any mink as an antagonist; and he was in a
hurry. His hunting was not for fun, but for business.
Precedents and vested rights were of small
concern to him. Crouching in a mass of dead
brown fern, he waited for the rabbit to come up.
Then, a straight, darting rush,—and the fugitive
was caught right in the air, in the middle of one of
her wild leaps. One despairing squeal, and her neck
was bitten through. Then, throwing her over his
shoulder, Red Fox started homeward with his easy
prize, never deigning to cast a look toward the
baffled pursuer.</p>
<p>But in this arrogant confidence, for once, he made
a mistake. The big black mink was no coward, and
his keen little eyes went red with rage at this insult
and injury combined. It was presumption, of
course, for him to think of matching himself against
the great master fox, feared all through the Ringwaak
regions for his strength and craft. But his
eyes were now like two glowing points of garnet,
and prudence had been burned out of his brain.
After a half-second’s pause, he darted like a snake
behind Red Fox, and bit him through the hind leg.</p>
<p>In wrath and amazement Red Fox dropped his
burden and turned upon this presumptuous assailant.
But the mink, with one of his lightning-like
<span class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</span>
springs, was already eight or ten feet away, crouching
and waiting. Red Fox covered the distance at
one bound,—but when he alighted the mink was
not there. The snaky black figure, belly to the
ground, was crouching eight or ten feet away, eying
him with a fixed malevolence. Again, and yet
again. Red Fox sprang at him, only to be evaded
again and again with the like ease. At last he, too,
crouched flat, eying his foe with keen curiosity for
a good half-minute. Then with great deliberation
he arose, picked up the dead rabbit, and once more
started homeward with the prize.</p>
<p>He had not gone a dozen steps, however, when
again, like a swift and deadly shadow, the mink
closed in behind him and gave him a terrible, punishing
bite in the other hind leg, above the second
joint. Had he been less heavily muscled, this attack
might have hamstrung him. This time, however,
he was on the alert. He wheeled savagely,
under the rabbit’s body as it were, so that he
seemed to throw the latter over his head. But
again he was too late. The black assailant was
beyond reach of his jaws, again crouching, and
waiting, and menacing.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig27">
<img src="images/p215.jpg" alt="“AT LAST HE, TOO, CROUCHED FLAT, EYING HIS FOE WITH KEEN CURIOSITY.”" width="500" height="368" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“AT LAST HE, TOO, CROUCHED FLAT, EYING HIS FOE WITH KEEN CURIOSITY.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div>
<p>This time Red Fox felt a sense of injury added
to his wrath. That last bite hurt him badly. He
followed up the mink in a long, steady rush; but
the latter was too quick for him, too supple in dodging,
and, after having chased him for about a
hundred yards, he gave up the vain effort. Wheeling
abruptly, he ran back to the subject of the
quarrel, where it lay sprawling and bloody on the
brown earth. And the mink followed him, not
five feet behind his heels.</p>
<p>Now Red Fox was puzzled, as he had never
before been puzzled in all his life. He could not
catch his too active foe. He could not carry off
the prize and expose himself, in so doing, to those
dangerous assaults in the rear. And he could not
acknowledge defeat by relinquishing the prey.
Placing one positive fore paw on the rabbit’s body,
he turned and glared at the mink with eyes narrowed
to a slit and a sharp, staccato snarl. He was
threatening before he knew what he threatened,
but he knew he was going to do something. The
mink, nothing daunted, crouched again, in readiness
for whatever that something might be.</p>
<p>At length Red Fox’s sagacious brain decided to
simulate defeat in the hope of luring the foe to
closer quarters. The anger died out of his eyes,
his tail and the fur of his neck drooped dejectedly;
and he became the very picture of cowed abasement
<span class="pb" id="Page_194">[194]</span>
as he slowly turned away from the prize and slunk
off. Instantly the mink, content with his victory,
darted forward and began to feast upon the rabbit’s
blood. Like lightning Red Fox whipped about, and
was back between two breaths. But the mink had
not been fooled at all. There he was, ten feet away,
glaring red, but licking his narrow jaws, with all
his wits about him. Red Fox once more had the
prize under his paws, but he was no nearer knowing
what to do with it. In a sudden outburst of
fury he rushed upon the mink to hunt him down by
tiring him out.</p>
<p>For a good five minutes the mad chase went on,
up the bank, through the bushes, over rocks and
stumps, through the deep woods,—but never more
than forty or fifty yards distant from the dead
rabbit. The mink kept always some ten or fifteen
feet ahead of his furious pursuer, and felt quite
at ease as to the outcome, because aware that he
had the brook at hand as a safe refuge in case
of need. If he should find himself getting winded,
he would take to the open water or dive under the
lingering ice, where Red Fox would be quite incapable
of following him. What the end would
have been will never be told; for while neither
showed any sign of tiring or yielding there came
a strange intervention. A black bear came lumbering
briskly out of the nearest thicket, and, without
so much as an apology to either Red Fox or the
mink, helped himself to the rabbit, which he tore
to pieces and began to devour with every evidence
of good appetite.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig28">
<img src="images/p219.jpg" alt="“HELPED HIMSELF TO THE RABBIT.”" width="500" height="777" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HELPED HIMSELF TO THE RABBIT.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div>
<p>The chase stopped short, while both the mink and
Red Fox glared indignantly at the giant intruder.
Then Red Fox, philosophically concluding that the
fight was off, as there was nothing left to fight for,
trotted quietly away through the underbrush to
seek other game. Time was too precious for him
to think of wasting it in a fruitless quarrel.</p>
<p>But the big black mink, as it chanced, was of a
different way of thinking. He had wanted that
rabbit, which he had earned by clever trailing and
persistent chase. He would have had it, had not
Red Fox insolently interfered. Now the rabbit
was beyond his reach for ever, the bear’s great jaws
making short work of it. His rage against Red
Fox blazed up with fresh heat, and he had no longer
any thought but vengeance.</p>
<p>Following cautiously and at some distance, he
waited till Red Fox had apparently dismissed him
from his mind. Then he slipped up behind once
more, and repeated the old attack, springing back,
<span class="pb" id="Page_198">[198]</span>
however, more swiftly than before, because his antagonist
was no longer hampered with a burden.
This time Red Fox was thoroughly startled. He
flashed about and made his spring; but, as he expected,
he was again too late. His vindictive and
implacable little enemy was crouching there as
before, just out of reach, his strong tail twitching,
his eyes like savage flame. Red Fox was bothered.
He sat up on his haunches and gazed at the mink
contemplatively. He wanted to hunt, not to fight.
And that last bite hurt worst of all.</p>
<p>Presently he made up his mind what to do.
Meekly, and with a frightened air, he got up and
once more trotted away. But this time he limped
painfully, as if one leg was so injured as to be
almost useless; and he kept looking backward
deprecatingly over his shoulder. Swelling with
vindictive triumph, the mink grew less wary, and
followed closer, awaiting the chance for another
attack. Upon this, Red Fox broke into a feeble
run, limping terribly. And closer still came the
mink, feeling that revenge was now close at hand.
At last, in passing through a rough, tangled thicket
of little bushes and dead weeds, Red Fox stumbled
forward, and fell. In a flash the mink was upon
him, and reached for his throat.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_199">[199]</div>
<p>At this instant, however, Red Fox’s faintness and
feebleness fell from him; and the mink’s teeth never
gained his throat. They met, indeed, savagely and
punishingly enough, near the upper joint of his
fore shoulder. But the next moment his long jaws
closed over his assailant’s slim black loins,—closed,
and crunched together inexorably. For a
second or two the mink writhed and snapped, twisting
like a snake. Then, as the long white teeth
came together through his backbone, he straightened
himself out convulsively, and fell together like a
wet rag. Red Fox shook him fiercely for a minute
or two, till assured that he was dead past all shamming;
then threw him over his shoulder, as he
had done the rabbit, and started for the den on the
ridge. Tough, stringy, hard-fibred mink-meat was
not like rabbit-meat, of course, but there was a good
lot of it, and his mate was not in a mood to be
over dainty.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div>
<h2 id="c12"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XI.</span>
<br /><span class="small">A ROYAL MARAUDER</span></h2>
<p>The new lair on the ridge, being little more
than a cleft in the rock, had been accepted
as a mere temporary affair. Near by,
however, was a deep and well-drained pocket of
dry earth, hard to come at, and surrounded by an
expanse of rocky débris where scent would not lie.
This was the place the foxes needed for security;
and here, as soon as the frost was well out, and the
mother fox ready to resume her full share of the
hunting, the two dug out a new burrow, which
ran far under an overhanging rock. Hither, with
great satisfaction, they transferred the bright-eyed,
woolly whelps. So secure was the retreat that they
were comparatively careless about hiding the entrance
or removing the evidences of their occupancy.
In a little while the ground about the hole was littered
with the skins of rabbits, woodchucks, squirrels,
with feathers, and with muskrat tails; while
about the old den in the bank below no such remnants
had been allowed to collect.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_201">[201]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig29">
<img src="images/p225.jpg" alt="“THE CROW-HAUNTED FIR-GROVES ON ITS FLANKS.”" width="500" height="694" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE CROW-HAUNTED FIR-GROVES ON ITS FLANKS.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div>
<p>In this difficult retreat Red Fox and his family
had few neighbours to intrude upon his privacy.
Over the naked ridge-crest the winds blew steadily,
sometimes humming to a gale; but they never disturbed
the quiet of that deep pocket in the rocks,
with its little plot of bright, bare soil where the
young foxes played and sunned themselves. No
matter what the direction of the wind, no matter
from what quarter the driven rain came slanting,
the hollow was perfectly protected. On the top
of the bare rock which partly overhung it from
the north Red Fox would sometimes lie and watch,
with eyes half-closed and mouth half-open, the
world of green and brown and purple and blue outspread
below and around him. Far down, on both
sides of the ridge, he would note the farmers of
both valleys getting in their crops, and the ceaseless,
monotonous toiling of the patient teams. And
far over to the eastward he would eye the bold
heights of old Ringwaak, with the crow-haunted
fir-groves on its flanks, and plan to go foraging
over there some day, for sheer restlessness of curiosity.</p>
<p>But though neighbours were few up here, there
<span class="pb" id="Page_204">[204]</span>
was one pair on whom Red Fox and his mate looked
with strong disapproval, not unmixed with anxiety.
On an inaccessible ledge, in a ravine a little way
down the other side of the ridge, toward Ringwaak,
was the nest of a white-headed eagle. It was a
great, untidy, shapeless mass, a cart-load of sticks,
as it were, apparently dropped from the skies upon
this bare ledge, but in reality so interwoven with
each point of rock, and so braced in the crevices,
that no tempest could avail to jar its strong foundations.
In a hollow in the top of this mass, on
a few wisps of dry grass mixed with feathers and
fur, huddled two half-naked, fierce-eyed nestlings,
their awkward, sprawling, reddish bodies beginning
to be sprinkled with short black pin-feathers.
All around the outer edges of this huge nest, and
on the rocks below it, were the bones of rabbits,
and young lambs, and minks, and woodchucks, with
claws, and little hoofs, and bills, and feathers, a
hideous conglomeration that attested both the appetites
of the nestlings and the hunting prowess of
the wide-winged, savage-eyed parents.</p>
<p>Of the eagle pair, the larger, who was the female,
had her aerial range over Ringwaak, and the chain
of lonely lakes the other side of Ringwaak. But
the male did all his hunting over the region of the
<span class="pb" id="Page_205">[205]</span>
settlements and on toward the Ottanoonsis Valley.
Every morning, just after sunrise, his great wings
went winnowing mightily just over the crest of
the ridge, just over the lofty hollow where Red
Fox had his lair. And as the dread shadow, with
its sinister rustling of stiff pinions, passed by, the
little foxes would shrink back into their den, well
taught by their father and mother.</p>
<p>When the weather was fine and dry, it was Red
Fox’s custom to betake himself, on his return from
the night’s hunting, to his safe “lookout” on the
rocky summit above the den, and there, resting with
his nose on his fore paws, to watch the vast and
austere dawn roll up upon the world. Sometimes
he brought his prey—when it was something
worth while, like a weasel or woodchuck or duck or
rabbit—up to this lonely place to be devoured at
leisure, beyond the solicitude of his mate and the
irrepressible whimperings of the puppies. He would
lie there in the mystic spreading of the gray transparencies
of dawn till the first long fingers of gold
light touched his face, and the thin flood of amber
and rose washed all over the bald top of the rock.
He would watch, with ceaseless interest, the mother
eagle swoop down with narrowed wings into the
misty shadows of the valley, then mount slowly,
<span class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</span>
questing, along the slopes of Ringwaak, and finally
soar high above the peak, a slowly gyrating speck
against the young blue. He would watch the male
spring into the air resolutely, beat up the near steep,
wing low over his rock, and sail majestically down
over the valley farms. Later he would see them
return to the nest, from any point of the compass
as it might chance, sometimes with a big lake trout
snatched from the industrious fish-hawks, sometimes
with a luckless mallard from the reed-beds
southward, sometimes with a long-legged, pathetic
white lamb from the rough upland pastures. With
keenest interest, and no small appreciation, he would
watch the great birds balance themselves, wings
half-uplifted, on the edge of the nest, and with
terrible beak and claws rend the victim to bloody
fragments. He marvelled at the insatiable appetites
of those two ugly nestlings, and congratulated
himself that his four playful whelps were more
comely and less greedy.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig30">
<img src="images/p231.jpg" alt="“THE EAGLE, WITH THE PRIZE DANGLING FROM HIS CLAWS, WAS ALREADY FAR OUT OF REACH.”" width="500" height="334" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE EAGLE, WITH THE PRIZE DANGLING FROM HIS CLAWS, WAS ALREADY FAR OUT OF REACH.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div>
<p>One morning when, in the gray of earliest dawn,
he climbed to his retreat with a plump woodchuck
in his jaws, it chanced he was in no hurry for his
meal. Dropping the limp body till he should feel
more relish for it, he lay down to rest and contemplate
the waking earth. As he lay, the sun rose.
The female eagle sailed away toward Ringwaak.
The male beat up, and up, high above the ridge,
and Red Fox paid no more attention to him, being
engrossed in the antics of a porcupine which was
swinging in a tree-top far below.</p>
<p>Suddenly he heard a sharp, hissing rush of great
wings in the air just above him, and glanced upward
astonished. The next instant he felt a buffeting
wind, huge wings almost smote him in the
face,—and the dead woodchuck, not three feet
away, was snatched up in clutching talons, and
borne off into the air. With a furious snarl he
jumped to his feet; but the eagle, with the prize
dangling from his claws, was already far out of
reach, slanting down majestically toward his nest.</p>
<p>The insolence and daring of this robbery fixed
in Red Fox’s heart a fierce desire for vengeance.
He stole down to the ravine that held the eyrie, and
prowled about for hours, seeking a place where
he could climb to the ledge. It was quite inaccessible,
however; and the eagles, knowing this,
looked down upon the prowlings with disdainful
serenity. Then he mounted the near-by cliff and
peered down directly into the nest. But finding
himself still as far off as ever, and the eagles still
undisturbed, he gave up the hope of an immediate
<span class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</span>
settlement of his grudge and lay in wait for the
chances of the wilderness. He was frank enough,
however, in his declaration of war; for whenever
the eagle went winging low over his rocky lookout,
he would rise and snarl up at him defiantly.
The great bird would bend his flight lower, as if
to accept this challenge; but having a wise respect
for those long jaws and white fangs which the fox
displayed so liberally, he took care not to come
within their reach.</p>
<p>A few days later, while Red Fox was away hunting
down in the valley, the fox-puppies were playing
just in the mouth of the den when they saw their
slim mother among the rocks. In a puppy-like
frolic of welcome they rushed to meet her, feeling
secure in her nearness. When they were half-way
across the open in front of the den, there came a
sudden shadow above them. Like a flash they
scattered,—all but one, who crouched flat and
stared irresolutely. There was a dreadful whistling
sound in the air, a pounce of great, flapping wings
and wide-reaching talons, a strangled yelp of terror.
And before the mother fox’s leap could reach
the spot, the red puppy was snatched up and carried
away to the beaks of the eaglets.</p>
<p>When he learned about this, Red Fox felt such
<span class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</span>
fury as his philosophic spirit had never known
before. He paid another futile visit to the foot
of the eagles’ rock; and afterward, for days, wasted
much time from his hunting in the effort to devise
some means of getting at his foe. He followed the
eagle’s flight and foraging persistently, seeking to
be on the spot when the robber made a kill. But
the great bird had such a wide range that this
effort seemed likely to be a vain one. In whatever
region Red Fox lay in wait, in some other would
the eagle make his kill. With its immeasurable
superiority in power of sight, the royal marauder
had no trouble in avoiding his enemy’s path, so
that Red Fox was under surveillance when he least
suspected it.</p>
<p>It was one day when he was not thinking of
eagles or of vengeance that Red Fox’s opportunity
came. It was toward evening, and for a good half-hour
he had been quite out of sight, watching for
a wary old woodchuck to venture from its hole. As
he lay there, patient and moveless, he caught sight
of a huge black snake gliding slowly across the
open glade. He hesitated, in doubt whether to
attack the snake or keep on waiting for the woodchuck.
Just then came that whistling sound in the
air which he knew so well. The snake heard it,
<span class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</span>
too, and darted toward the nearest tree, which
chanced to be a bare young birch sapling. It had
barely reached the foot of the tree when the feathered
thunderbolt out of the sky fell upon it, clutching
it securely with both talons about a foot behind
the head.</p>
<p>Easily and effectively had the eagle made his
capture; but, when he tried to rise with his prey,
his broad wings beat the air in vain. At the instant
of attack the snake had whipped a couple of coils
of its tail around the young birch-tree, and that
desperate grip the eagle could not break. Savagely
he picked at the coils, and then at the reptile’s head,
preparing to take the prize off in sections if necessary.</p>
<p>Red Fox’s moment, long looked for and planned
for, had come. His rush from cover was straight
and low, and swift as a dart; and his jaws caught
the eagle a slashing cut on the upper leg. Fox-like,
he bit and let go; and the great bird, with a yelp
of pain and amazement, whirled about, striking at
him furiously with beak and wings. He got one
buffet from those wings which knocked him over;
and the eagle, willing to shirk the conflict, disengaged
his talons from the snake and tried to rise.
But in an instant Red Fox was upon him again,
reaching up for his neck with a lightning-like
ferocity that disconcerted the bird’s defence. At
such close quarters the bird’s wings were ineffective,
but his rending beak and steel-like talons found
their mark in Red Fox’s beautiful ruddy coat, which
was dyed with crimson in a second.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig31">
<img src="images/p237.jpg" alt="“IN AN INSTANT RED FOX WAS UPON HIM AGAIN.”" width="500" height="380" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“IN AN INSTANT RED FOX WAS UPON HIM AGAIN.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div>
<p>For most foxes the king of the air would have
proved more than a match; but the strength and
cleverness of Red Fox put the chance of battle
heavily in his favour. In a few seconds he would
have had the eagle overborne and helpless, and
would have reached his throat in spite of beak and
claw. But at this critical moment the bird found
an unexpected and undeserved ally. The snake
which he had attacked, being desperately wounded,
was thrashing about in the effort to get away to
some hiding. Red Fox happened to step upon it
in the struggle; and instantly, though blindly, it
threw a convulsive coil about his hind legs. Angrily
he turned, and bit at the constricting coil.
And while he was tearing at it, seeking to free himself,
the eagle recovered, raised himself with difficulty,
and succeeded in flopping up into the air.
Bedraggled, bloody, and abjectly humiliated, he
went beating over the forest toward home; and Red
Fox, fairly well satisfied in spite of the incompleteness
<span class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</span>
of his victory, proceeded to refresh himself
by a hearty meal of snake. He felt reasonably certain
that the big eagle would give both himself and
his family a wide berth in the future.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div>
<h2 id="c13"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XII.</span>
<br /><span class="small">A WINGED INVASION</span></h2>
<p>After this humiliating chastisement the
great eagle flew no more over Red Fox’s
lookout, but went sailing down his ravine
a good half-mile before mounting to cross the ridge.
The young foxes, relieved from the only peril that
had ever seriously threatened them, played now
with perfect freedom all about their high, secluded
demesne, and grew visibly from day to day, as the
ardent Ringwaak spring grew into summer. By
the time June came in, and all the world spread out
below the lookout had grown to a sea of vivid
greens shading off into shadowy purples toward
the sky-line, the puppies were almost able to take
care of themselves, and were making rapid progress
with their hunting lessons under the careful guidance
of their mother. They were lively and impudent
youngsters, restless, inquisitive, and given to
taking reckless liberties with their self-contained
<span class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</span>
little mother. Of one creature alone did they stand
in awe, and that was Red Fox, who hardly seemed
aware of their existence as long as no danger threatened
them.</p>
<p>One day about mid-June, however, there came a
danger against which all Red Fox’s strength and
craft were powerless. It was about eleven o’clock,
of a hot, sweet day when the only breeze that stirred
was a scented air caressing the bare summit of
the ridge. It was as if the fields, and woods,
and gardens, sleeping in the broad sun, breathed
up all their savours of balsam fir, buckwheat and
clover gratefully to the sky. About the den mouth,
in the shadow, lay the mother and the puppies,
stretched out in lax and secure abandon; while
Red Fox, just a couple of feet below the top of
his lookout, lay in a patch of tiny shade and got
all the coolness to be found this side of Ringwaak.</p>
<p>About this time, down in Jabe Smith’s garden
in the valley, there was an expectant excitement
among the bees. Jabe was the possessor of three
hives,—old-fashioned box affairs, one white, one
light blue, and one yellow, so painted with the idea
of helping the bees to recognize their respective
abodes. About the thresholds of the blue hive and
the white hive hung a few slender festoons of bees,
<span class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</span>
driven out by the heat, while in the doorways a
double line of toilers stood with heads down and
swiftly whirring wings, ventilating the waxen treasures
and the precious brood combs within. From
each of these doorways extended, slanting upward,
a diverging stream, the diligent gatherers of honey
and pollen, going and coming upon their fragrant
business.</p>
<p>But from the doorway of the yellow hive went
no stream of busy workers. Instead of that, almost
all the colony, except the faithful members who
were occupied in feeding the larvæ, or ventilating
and cleaning the combs, were gathered in glistening
dark clusters over the front of the hive. The front
was covered, to a depth of an inch or more, three-quarters
of the way up, and from the ledge before
the entrance hung a huge inverted cone of bees,
clinging firmly together. The hive was about to
swarm. It had prospered, and multiplied, and
grown overfull. There were throngs of young
workers, moreover, just ready to emerge full grown
from their cells and take up the business and duties
of the hive. It was time for a migration. It was
time that a strong colony should go forth, to leave
room for the newcomers about to appear, and to
carry the traditions of sweetness, order, and industry
<span class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</span>
to other surroundings. Meanwhile nothing
but the most necessary hive-work could go on, for
every one was athrill with expectation. Even Jabe
Smith, watching from the other side of the garden
fence, was keenly expectant. He looked for a very
fine swarm from that populous commonwealth; and
he had a nice new hive, pale pink outside and fresh
rubbed with honey-water inside, to offer to the
emigrants as their new home.</p>
<p>Presently there was a louder buzzing within the
yellow hive, and an electric shock went through the
waiting clusters outside. Among the combs might
be heard a series of tiny, angry squeaks, as the
queen bee sought to sting to death her young rivals
still imprisoned in their waxen cells, and was respectfully
but firmly restrained by her attendants.
Foiled in these amiable intentions, the long, slim,
dark queen at last rushed excitedly to the door,
darted out through the clusters, and sprang into
the air. In a moment, like foam before a great
wind, the black clusters melted away; and the air
above the bean-patch and the currant-bushes was
suddenly thick with whirling, wildly humming bees,
the migrating queen at their centre.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig32">
<img src="images/p245.jpg" alt="“A DARK CLUSTER BEGAN TO FORM.”" width="500" height="675" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“A DARK CLUSTER BEGAN TO FORM.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
<p>Attenuated to the transparency almost of a cloud,
yet held together by a strange cohesion, like a
nebula soon to condense into a world, the swarm,
revolving about its own mystic centre, moved slowly
across the garden, across the blue-flowered flax-field,
and halted, enveloping a wide-limbed apple-tree.
Jabe Smith, who had followed at a discreet
distance, was delighted at this, because an accessible,
low-growing tree like the apple made the hiving
of the swarm an easy task.</p>
<p>Yes, the swarm was settling in the apple-tree.
Near the base of one of the main limbs a dark cluster
began to form. Rapidly it grew, the encircling
cloud as rapidly shrinking. Soon it was as large
as a water-bucket. The humming, revolving nebula
had condensed, and hung, a new world, in the firmament
of apple-green shade.</p>
<p>The moment the swarm was thoroughly settled,
Jabe Smith came hurrying across the field with the
new hive, a short ladder, and some rope. Planting
the ladder carefully against the trunk, he climbed
into the tree with the hive, lowered it just over the
cluster of bees, and roped it securely in that position.
All his movements were firm, slow, gentle,
and confident—such movements as the bees seem
to understand and trust. When he had the hive
fixed to his satisfaction, so that the swarm could
not fail to perceive what a convenient and attractive
<span class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</span>
home it would make, he descended. A few bees
had hummed about his head inquiringly. Several
had alighted on his bare hands and face. But not
one had offered to sting. The gaunt backwoodsman
was <i>persona grata</i> to the bees.</p>
<p>In at least nine cases out of ten, Jabe Smith’s just
expectations would have been realized. The bees
would soon have moved up from the apple-tree limb
to the cool, sweet, dark cavity above them, and taken
possession. Then, Jabe would have covered the hive
with a sheet, for further privacy, and left the swarm
alone till evening. After dark he would have undone
the rope, softly lowered the hive, fitted it to
its floor,—a square of smoothed board with hooks
at the sides,—and carried the swarm to its waiting
stand beside the other hives, where it would
have settled down to its business of making honey
and increasing its population.</p>
<p>But this swarm, as it chanced, was one with a
prearranged plan which it would not be seduced
from carrying out. Every now and then the keeper
of bees comes across such a swarm, obstinate explorers
and pioneers, determined to throw off the ancient
domination of man. A few bees did, indeed,
crawl up into the empty hive and taste the sweets
with which it had been flavoured. But all at once
<span class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</span>
the swarm rose. The cluster melted,—and the
swarm was again revolving in the air. With bitter
disappointment, but knowing himself helpless to
prevent, Jabe leaned on the snake fence, and
watched the whirling cloud drift off, higher and
higher, toward the woods and the ragged slope.
Long before it was half-way up the hillside he had
lost sight of it, and had turned back regretfully
to his hoeing. He knew very well it was useless
to pursue that high-flying swarm, which had evidently
sent out explorers some days ahead and
chosen itself a new dwelling-place in the deep of
the wilds.</p>
<p>The day being such a windless one, and clear,
with no menace of storm, it was safe for the migrating
bees to undertake a long journey. In a
little while Red Fox, from his post of vantage,
saw the strange cloud moving slowly up the slopes,
well above the tree-tops. He knew it was a swarm
of bees; for more than once, from a secure covert,
he had watched such a swarm with keen interest
and curiosity. But he had no apprehensions as he
gazed down on the strange flight. He had never
seen any bees about these high regions of the ridge,
and he felt sure the swarm was bound for some
hollow tree or crevice below him. Had he known,
<span class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</span>
however, that during the past few days a few straggling
bees had visited the ridge top, exploring the
dry recesses, he might have viewed the approaching
flight with a certain anxiety to emphasize his interest.
But had he known that these tiny, solitary,
insignificant explorers had even visited his own
den, and found it a marvel of security alike from
wet and frost and foes, his philosophic confidence
would have vanished. Nearer and nearer came the
whirling cloud, larger and larger, blacker and
blacker, till now its humming thrilled Red Fox’s
ears. Before he realized how rapid was its flight,
the skirmishers of the vanguard were buzzing about
his ears. He concluded that they were going to
cross the ridge. For a second or two he crouched
flat. Then he felt a hot sting on his ear. Too wise
to retaliate, he shook his head, slipped nervously
down the rock, and dodged into the burrow. The
little hollow before the entrance was already humming
with the fringes of the swarm; so the mother
fox and the young ones understood at once that
there was trouble afoot and that it was time to
run to earth. The young ones, however, as they
followed their mother, obeyed their natural impulse
to snap at these impertinent flies that were buzzing
about their ears. They promptly got stung, of
course, and darted in with a chorus of yelps, their
pretty brushes drooping in consternation.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig33">
<img src="images/p251.jpg" alt="“NEARER AND NEARER CAME THE WHIRLING CLOUD.”" width="500" height="368" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“NEARER AND NEARER CAME THE WHIRLING CLOUD.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div>
<p>Once inside, the whole family crouched down behind
Red Fox, wondering apprehensively what was
going to happen. They were not left long in suspense.
Red Fox saw the entrance darken, as the
bees gathered thickly down to it. He felt the first
intruders crawling in his fur. He felt two or three
stings. The puppies began to yelp again. With
a sharp bark, which was a signal to his mate to
follow with the young ones, he darted out into the
daylight, his red coat literally black with the invaders.
Still, he was too wise to fight back; and,
as the bees were mostly full of honey, and not in
particularly warlike mood, he got but two or three
more stings.</p>
<p>Close at his heels came the puppies; and he was
careful not to run so fast as to leave them behind.
At the tail of the procession came the slim mother,
so covered with the crawling black invaders as to
be almost unrecognizable for a fox. Quick to learn,
she was copying her mate’s self-restraint, and making
no fight; and few of the bees, therefore, were
attacking her. She had some stings, to be sure;
but most of the bees that were crawling over her
were perfectly good-natured, and treated her merely
<span class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</span>
as something convenient to light upon. The puppies,
however, were not faring so well. True to
their fighting pedigree, they snapped and bit at
their assailants as they ran, yelping with pain and
astonishment, but not cowed even in this moment
of disastrous retreat.</p>
<p>At a few paces from the mouth of the den the
majority of the bees that blackened the fur of Red
Fox and his mate arose into the air and hummed
off eagerly to rejoin their queen in the hole. But
those upon the rash puppies, thoroughly stirred up,
stuck to the battle. Red Fox understood the situation;
and, fortunately for the youngsters, knew
just what to do. Darting among the rocks, he led
the unhappy procession to the nearest juniper
thicket, and plunged straight into it. When the
family emerged on the other side of the thicket,
their coats had all resumed their proper colour;
for few indeed were the bees that succeeded in
resisting the firm and harsh brushes of the juniper.
Many of them were killed, and many more maimed;
while for some minutes the thicket was all a-buzz
with those who had escaped injury in the unceremonious
brushing.</p>
<p>From the juniper thicket Red Fox led down
through a thick blueberry scrub, and thence through
<span class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</span>
every kind of brushy bush he saw, till there was
not a bee left in the fur of any member of the
family. All the while he was heading for the little
hillside meadow by the brook, where he was wont
to catch mice. Along the edges of the brook, between
grass and water, was a space of moist and
naked earth. Here he taught the unhappy young
ones to nose and wallow and roll themselves, till
the cooling and healing soil was plastered all over
them and rubbed deep into the very roots of their
fur. Assuaging the fiery anguish and drawing the
acrid poison from every tiny wound, the wet earth
did its work, and after a time the sufferers felt
better. Then they spent hours rolling in the sweet
grass to clean and dry their fur; and when this
was accomplished, there was the meadow, with all
the mice, to afford them an easy meal. Just above
the meadow, where the earth sloped upward and
became dry and sandy, they found an old woodchuck
burrow; and here, for the moment, they took
up their abode till a more satisfactory dwelling
might be found.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div>
<h2 id="c14"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XIII.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE YELLOW THIRST</span></h2>
<p>The old woodchuck hole—it was one
whose owner had been killed by Red Fox
himself earlier in the season—served
very well, when enlarged, for the rest of the summer.
Red Fox did not occupy it, objecting as he
did to the restlessness of the puppies, and preferring
the spicy air beneath some thick spruce or fir
near at hand. The puppies, with their increasing
size and independence of spirit, were by this time
growing troublesome to their mother, who had a
busy time keeping them out of scrapes. The reputation
of their father had secured them against
many of the perils which beset young foxdom;
and, except for the one little victim snatched away
by the eagle, their number was not diminished.
Never meddling, never teaching, never disciplining,
apparently unaware, indeed, of their existence, Red
Fox stood behind the little family and watched
that it came to no hurt. Why he did this it would
have puzzled him to decide, had the question in
any way occurred to him. He would have concluded,
probably, that it was all for the sake of the
slim red mate; though back of this motive; without
any doubt, the deeper instinct of fatherhood was
at work.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig34">
<img src="images/p257.jpg" alt="“HE SAW A BIG RACCOON GO RUNNING BY.”" width="500" height="701" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE SAW A BIG RACCOON GO RUNNING BY.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div>
<p>The little foxes were now given to stealing off
at twilight, or by moonlight, studying for themselves
the mysteries of the trails; and sometimes,
though not always, unknown to the young adventurers,
Red Fox would manage to conduct his own
hunting in the near neighbourhood. More than
once his wisdom was justified by the event.</p>
<p>One day, as he was lying in wait in a clump of
weeds for a rabbit which he had some reason to
expect in the runway before him, he saw a big
raccoon go running by on her toes, her big, dark,
inquisitive eyes peering into every shadowy place.
They detected Red Fox at once, hidden though he
thought himself; and Red Fox knew himself discovered,
by the change of expression, the sudden
narrowing of the pupils, of those strange, restless
eyes. The raccoon ran on, however, as if she had
seen nothing, and Red Fox never moved. Each
knew the other very well, and each had the highest
<span class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</span>
respect for the other’s prowess in battle. There
was no desire to interfere on either side. Had a
fight been forced upon them, Red Fox would unquestionably
have come out conqueror, but not without
rememberable scars; for all his quick intelligence
would have been needed, in addition to his
strength and courage, to assure him the victory
over so redoubtable an adversary as the big raccoon.</p>
<p>Some ten paces behind their mother ran three
little raccoons, evidently in haste to catch up. They
did not see Red Fox; and Red Fox, on his part,
eyed them quite casually. He allowed himself no
thought of how appetizing a morsel one of those
fat little coons would be. Out of the corner of
one eye, however, he cast a keen glance up along
the runway, and noted that the mother raccoon
had turned, and was looking backwards, to make
quite sure that the great fox would respect the
tacit truce that stood between her and him.</p>
<p>No sooner had the group of young coons gone,
and disappeared with their mother down the runway,
than another of the bright-eyed, bar-faced,
ring-tailed little ones came along. He was in no
hurry whatever, and seemed to care not a jot how
far the rest of his family might get ahead of him.
<span class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</span>
He went loafing along, nosing here and there, and
apparently took no thought of all the perils of the
wilderness. It may have been mere rash folly on
his part, or it may have been the extreme of confidence
in his mother’s ability to protect him even
at long range; but he certainly showed himself
lacking in that wholesome apprehensiveness which
so helps a wilderness youngster to grow up. Red
Fox wrinkled his black nose at the sight of such
heedlessness, but had no thought of molesting the
unwary traveller.</p>
<p>The little raccoon, however, had hardly got by,
when Red Fox caught sight of one of his own irrepressible
litter stealing up swiftly on the trail. It
was the biggest of the whelps, this one, a particularly
sturdy and well-grown youngster, who bid
fair to one day rival his father in size and strength.
He had none of his father’s wisdom, however, or
he would not have been following the trail of the
whole raccoon family. Red Fox was exasperated
at this exhibition of blind, headlong rashness. He
saw himself, in a moment more, being drawn into
a bloody and altogether unprofitable contention with
the big raccoon,—perhaps with her mate also.
This was not to be endured. Darting from his
hiding-place he stood across the runway, and turned
<span class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</span>
a face of censure upon the foolish puppy. The look
and attitude, together with a faint murmur of a
growl, conveyed plainly enough to the youngster
all that was necessary for him to know. Sullen and
unconvinced, the youngster shrank back, turned,
and went trotting reluctantly homeward, probably
telling himself that his father had some hidden
motive for his interference. When he had disappeared
up the runway, Red Fox turned his head,
and saw the big raccoon just vanishing in the other
direction. She had been back to look after her
dilatory offspring.</p>
<p>A few days later another of the ambitious puppies,
starting out about sunset to follow the trails
alone, got himself engaged in an enterprise too
great for him. Under a rock on the edge of a
little grassy, steeply sloping glade, where the red-gold
light fell richly through the thin tree-tops
along the lower edge, the youngster had found a
woodchuck hole. Very proud and aspiring, he
crouched beside it like a cat and waited for the
occupant to come out. In a few minutes the occupant
did come out,—grumpy woodchuck with a
good appetite, starting out to forage for his bloodless
evening meal of herbs and roots. The moment
he emerged, the rash young fox pounced upon him,
<span class="pb" id="Page_239">[239]</span>
expecting an easy and speedy victory. But the
woodchuck was no whit dismayed. His squat,
brown body, rather fat and flabby-looking, was in
reality a mass of vigorous muscles. His long,
gnawing teeth, keen-edged as chisels, were very
potent weapons. And there was not a drop of
craven blood in his sturdy little heart. With an
angry, whistling sort of squeak, he turned savagely
upon his assailant and set a deep, punishing grip
into his neck.</p>
<p>The young fox was startled, and let go his hold
with a short yelp at the unaccustomed pain. He
was game, however, and reached straightway for
another and more effective hold. He bit and bit,
slashing his antagonist severely; while the woodchuck,
satisfied with the grip he had gained, held
on like a bulldog, worrying, worrying, worrying.
For perhaps three or four minutes the two thrashed
around in the rose-lit grass before the hole,—the
inexperienced puppy working desperately and rapidly
tiring himself out, while the crafty old woodchuck
held on and saved his breath, biding his opportunity.
A minute or two more and he would
have had the little fox at his mercy, bewildered and
exhausted. But just at this critical point in the
fight, when victory was already within his reach,
<span class="pb" id="Page_240">[240]</span>
he relaxed his hold, violently shook himself free,
and darted like a brown streak into his hole.</p>
<p>The old fighter’s cool and watchful eyes had
caught sight of Red Fox, slipping swiftly and
secretly up along the grassy edge of the glade to
his offspring’s rescue. Very well did Red Fox
know the woodchuck’s prowess, and he was not dissatisfied
with the fight that the youngster had put
up. He licked the youngster’s wound approvingly,
and then settled himself down by the hole to watch
for the woodchuck to come out again. He was
willing enough to avenge the youngster’s wound and
at the same time dine on plump woodchuck. But
he waited in vain. This was a woodchuck of experience
and craft. Some eight or ten feet away,
behind a thick clump of weeds that grew against a
log, he had another doorway to his dwelling. Here,
with just his nose stuck out, he himself kept watch
upon Red Fox, moveless and patient. For a good
half-hour Red Fox watched the first hole, while
the woodchuck peered forth from the other; and
the coloured sunset faded into the grayness of the
dewy forest twilight. Then Red Fox, growing
tired of inaction, went off on another and less
monotonous quest. The woodchuck stayed indoors
for a good hour more, then came forth confidently
and went about his harmless business, an enemy to
none but grass and leaves.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_241">[241]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig35">
<img src="images/p265.jpg" alt="“SETTLED HIMSELF DOWN BY THE HOLE TO WATCH FOR THE WOODCHUCK TO COME OUT.”" width="500" height="346" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“SETTLED HIMSELF DOWN BY THE HOLE TO WATCH FOR THE WOODCHUCK TO COME OUT.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_243">[243]</div>
<p>As the summer drew past its full, there crept
over all the Ringwaak country a severe and altogether
phenomenal drought. For weeks there was
no rain, and all day the inexorable sun sucked up
the moisture. The streams shrank, the wells in
the settlement grew scant and roiled, the forest pools
dried up, leaving tangles of coarse, prostrate weeds
and ugly spaces of scum-encrusted mud. Under
this mud, before it dried, the water insects and
larvæ and small crustaceans buried themselves in
despairing disgust. Many of the frogs followed
this wisely temporizing example; while others, more
venturesome and impatient, set out on difficult migrations,
questing for springs that the drought
could not exhaust. The fields down in the valley,
but yesterday so richly green with crops, became
patched and streaked with sickly grayish yellows.
The maples, and poplars, and birches all over the
wooded uplands began to take on autumn tints
long before their time,—but with a dull lack-lustre,
instead of the thrilling and transparent autumn
brilliancy. Only the great balsam poplars,
and elms, and water-ash, growing along the little
chain of lakes far down the valley and striking
<span class="pb" id="Page_244">[244]</span>
roots far down into the damp, kept their green and
defied the parching skies.</p>
<p>With this travail of inanimate nature all the
furred and feathered life of the wild suffered in
sympathy. The stifling and devitalized air set their
nerves on edge, as it were. They were harassed
with a continual vague discomfort, and could not
tell what ailed them. Their old occupations and
affairs lost interest. They grew peevish, resentful,
quarrelsome. Instead of minding each his own
business, and quietly getting out of one another’s
way, they would choose rather to go out of their
own way to assert their rights; and so there were
frequent unnecessary battles, and bloody feuds
sprang up where there had of old been a prudent
tolerance and respecting of claims. With certain
of the animals, indeed, this state of overtense
nerves went the length of a kind of madness, till
they would run amuck, and blindly attack creatures
whose wrath they could not hope to withstand for a
moment. For example, a bear, shuffling sulkily
down to seek a wallowing-place in some shrunken
pool of the brook, was met by a red-eyed, open-jawed
mink, which darted at his nose in a paroxysm
of insane fury. The little maniac clung to the
big beast’s tender snout till he was battered and
torn to pieces. Then the bear, injured and furious,
hurried on to the brook to bury his bleeding muzzle
in the wet mud, for the drawing out of the poison
and the assuagement of the pain. The blood of a
bear not being very susceptible to such poisons, he
was soon none the worse for the strange assault;
but some other animals, in a like case, would have
probably found themselves inoculated with the assailant’s
madness.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_245">[245]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig36">
<img src="images/p269.jpg" alt="“THE LITTLE MANIAC CLUNG TO THE BIG BEAST’S TENDER SNOUT.”" width="500" height="695" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE LITTLE MANIAC CLUNG TO THE BIG BEAST’S TENDER SNOUT.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_247">[247]</div>
<p>Another instance of the sinister influences at
work throughout the wilds occurred about this time
to the Boy. He was moving in his noiseless fashion
along an old, mossy wood-road, his bright eyes
taking in every detail of the shadowy world, when
he saw a small yellow weasel running directly
toward him. Instantly he stopped, stiffened himself
to the stillness of a stump, and waited in keen curiosity
to see what the weasel was up to. He was
not left long in doubt. Almost before he could
realize what was happening, the snaky little beast
reached his feet, and with gnashing teeth and blazing
eyes darted straight up his leg. It had almost
gained his throat—its evident object—before he
regained his wits enough to strike it to the ground
with a blow of his hand. In a flash, however, it
was back at him again, with a virulence of malice
<span class="pb" id="Page_248">[248]</span>
that filled the Boy’s ordinarily gentle soul with rage.
As he again dashed it down, this time with all his
strength, he sprang forward simultaneously and
caught it under his foot as it touched the earth.
Then, with a savage satisfaction that amazed himself,
he ground the mad beast’s life out under his
heel. The experience, however, had something
fearsome and uncanny about it, which for a few
days spoiled his interest in the wilderness. Under
the malign spell of the drought, the woods had lost
for him their sweet, familiar influence.</p>
<p>One scorching morning somewhat later, when
the curse of the yellow thirst had lain upon the
land for weeks, Red Fox, looking down from the
shade of the juniper-bush, saw a big muskrat climb
the bank of the dwindling brook and start straight
across the meadow toward the deep woods, where
no muskrat in its senses had any business. Red
Fox eyed its erratic progress suspiciously. He did
not like these beasts that lost their heads and acted
as nature never intended them to act. Suddenly,
to his angry alarm, he saw the big, headstrong, foolhardy
member of his litter creep out from the den
and steal warily down to intercept the approaching
muskrat. The young fox, of course, took every
precaution to conceal himself, keeping behind the
<span class="pb" id="Page_249">[249]</span>
grass tufts and crawling belly to earth. But the
muskrat detected him; and at once, instead of darting,
panic-stricken, back to the brook, came straight
at him fiercely. Red Fox saw that the muskrat
had gone mad, and that a single one of its venomous
bites might be fatal to its ignorant young antagonist.
Like a red streak he left his lair, and was
out across the meadow, coming upon the muskrat
a little behind and to one side. So intent were
the two as they approached each other that they
never saw Red Fox’s coming. Another second and
they would have been at each other’s throats, and
nothing but a miracle could have saved the youngster,
though he would undoubtedly have killed the
muskrat in half a minute. But at this instant Red
Fox arrived with an arrowy, straight spring, and
his invincible jaws caught the muskrat’s neck close
behind the ears. There was no chance for the mad
little animal to bite, or even squeal. One jerk and
its neck was broken. Red Fox left the sprawling
victim on the ground, and trotted back to his lair
under the bush, willing to leave the prize to the
youngster who had started out to win it. But the
latter, sullenly enraged at what he considered his
father’s wanton interference, would have nothing
<span class="pb" id="Page_250">[250]</span>
more to do with it. He turned off sulkily into the
woods, and the body was left neglected in the sun,
an object of immediate interest to the ants and
flies.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_251">[251]</div>
<h2 id="c15"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XIV.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE RED SCOURGE OF THE FOREST</span></h2>
<p>When the drought had grown almost unbearable,
and man and beast, herb and
tree, all seemed to hold up hands of appeal
together to the brazen sky, crying out, “How
long? How long?” there came at last a faint,
acrid pungency on the air which made the dry
woods shudder with fear. Close on the heels of
this fierce, menacing smell came a veil of thinnest
vapour, lilac-toned, delicate, magical, and indescribably
sinister. Sky and trees, hills and fields, they
took on a new beauty under this light, transfiguring
touch. But the touch was one that made all
the forest folk, and the settlement folk as well, scan
the horizon anxiously and calculate the direction
of the wind.</p>
<p>Miles away, far down the wooded ridges and
beyond the farthest of the little lakes to southward,
some irresponsible and misbegotten idiot had gone
<span class="pb" id="Page_252">[252]</span>
away and left his camp-fire burning. Eating its
way furtively through the punk-dry turf, and moss,
and dead-leaf débris, the fire had spread undiscovered
over an area of considerable width, and had
at last begun to lay hold upon the trees. On an
almost imperceptible wind, one morning, the threatening
pungency stole up over the settlement and
the ridge. Later in the day the thinnest of the
smoke-veil arrived. And that night, had any one
been on watch on the top of the ridge, where Red
Fox had had his lookout two months earlier, he
might have discerned a thread of red light, cut
here and there with slender, sharp tongues of flame,
along a section of the southward sky. Only the
eagles, however, saw this beautiful, ominous sight.
In the last of the twilight they rose and led off their
two nestlings—now clothed with loose black feathers,
and looking nearly as large as their parents—to
the top of a naked cliff far up the flank of old
Ringwaak. Here they all four huddled together
on a safe ledge, and watched the disastrous red light
with fascinated eyes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_253">[253]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig37">
<img src="images/p277.jpg" alt="“A DOE AND TWO FAWNS . . . WENT BOUNDING PAST.”" width="500" height="336" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“A DOE AND TWO FAWNS . . . WENT BOUNDING PAST.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_255">[255]</div>
<p>Red Fox, meanwhile, was in his lair, too troubled
and apprehensive to go hunting. He had had no
experience of that scourge of the drought-stricken
woods, the forest fire. His instinct gave him no
sufficient information on the subject, at least at
this early stage of the emergency. And for once
his keen sagacity found itself at fault. He could
do nothing but wait.</p>
<p>As the night deepened a wind arose, and the
red line across the southern horizon became a fierce
glow that mounted into the sky, with leaping spires
of flame along its lower edge. The wind quickly
grew into a gale, driving the smoke and flame
before it. Soon a doe and two fawns, their eyes
wide with terror, went bounding past Red Fox.
Still he made no stir, for he wanted to know more
about the peril that threatened him before he decided
which way to flee to escape it. As he pondered,—no
longer resting under his bush, but
standing erect behind his den mouth, his mate and
the youngsters crouching near and trembling,—a
clumsy porcupine rattled past, at a pace of which
Red Fox would never have believed a porcupine
capable. Then a weasel,—and four or five rabbits
immediately at its heels, all unmindful of its
insatiable ferocity. By this time the roar and savage
crackle of the flames came clearly down the
wind, with puffs of choking smoke. It was plainly
time to do something. Red Fox decided that it
was hopeless to flee straight ahead of the flames,
<span class="pb" id="Page_256">[256]</span>
which would be sure to outrace and outwind his
family in a short time. He thought it best to run
at a slant across the path of the conflagration, and
so, if possible, get beyond the skirts of it. He
thought of the open fields adjoining the settlement,
and made up his mind that there lay the best chance
of safety. With a sharp signal to his mate, he
started on a long diagonal across the meadow, over
the brook, and down the hill, the whole family keeping
close behind him. No sooner had they crossed
it than the meadow was suddenly alive with fleeing
shapes,—deer, and a bear, woodchucks, squirrels,
and rabbits, two wildcats, and mice, weasels, and
porcupines. There were no muskrats or mink, because
these latter were keeping close to the watercourses,
however shrunken, and putting their trust
in these for final escape.</p>
<p>As Red Fox ran on his cunning cross line, he
suddenly saw the red tongues licking through the
trees ahead of him, while blazing brands and huge
sparks began to drop about him. The air was full
of appalling sights and sounds. Seeing that the
fire had cut him off, he turned and ran on another
diagonal, hoping to escape over the ridge. For a
little while he sped thus, cutting across the stream
of wild-eyed fugitives; but presently found that
<span class="pb" id="Page_257">[257]</span>
in this direction also the flames had headed him.
Checked straight behind his den by a long stretch
of hardwood growth, the flames had gone far ahead
on either flank, tearing through the dry balsamy
fir and spruce groves. Not understanding the properties
of that appalling element, fire, nor guessing
that it preferred some kinds of woods to others,
Red Fox had been misled in his calculations. There
was nothing now for him to do but join the ordinary,
panic-stricken throng of fugitives, and flee
straight ahead.</p>
<p>In this frightful and uncomprehended situation,
however, Red Fox kept his wits about him. He
remembered that about a mile ahead, a little lower
down, there was a swamp on a kind of hillside
plateau, and a fair-sized beaver pond at the farther
end of it. Swerving somewhat to the left, he led
the way toward this possible refuge, at the utmost
speed of which his family were capable. This speed,
of course, was regulated by the pace of the weakest
members; and for the big, headstrong whelp, whom
his father had had to save from the old raccoon
and from the mad muskrat, it was by no means
fast enough. Terrified, but at the same time independent
and self-confident, he darted ahead, neck
and neck with a bunch of rabbits and a weasel, none
<span class="pb" id="Page_258">[258]</span>
of whom appeared to have the slightest objection
to his company. To his mother’s urgent calls he
paid no heed whatever, and in a moment he had
vanished. Whether his strength and blind luck
pulled him through, or whether he perished miserably,
overtaken by the flames, Red Fox never
knew.</p>
<p>Keeping very close together, the diminished family
sped on, bellies to earth, through the strange,
hushed rustle of the silently fleeing wild creatures.
Behind them the crackling roar of the fire deepened
rapidly, while the dreadful glow of the sky
seemed to lean forward as if to topple upon them.
From time to time the smoke volleyed thicker about
them, as if to strangle and engulf them. Over
their heads flew hundreds of panic-blinded birds,—grouse,
and woodpeckers, and the smaller sparrow
and warbler tribes. But the wiser crows, with
the hawks and owls, knew enough to fly high into
the air beyond the clutch of the flames.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_259">[259]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig38">
<img src="images/p283.jpg" alt="“THE DIMINISHED FAMILY SPED ON.”" width="500" height="727" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE DIMINISHED FAMILY SPED ON.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_261">[261]</div>
<p>Comparing the speed of his own flight with that
of the flames behind him, Red Fox felt that he
would make the beaver pond in time, though with
nothing to spare. His compact little party was
now joined by two raccoons, whose pace seemed
to just equal that of the young foxes. For some
reason they seemed to recognize a confident leadership
in Red Fox, and felt safer in following him
than in trusting to their own resources. Yet, unlike
most of the fugitives, they appeared to be in
no sense panic-stricken. Their big, keen, restless
eyes took note of everything, and wore a look of
brave self-possession. They were not going to lose
in this race of life and death through any failure of
theirs to grasp opportunity. Had Red Fox lost
his head and done anything to discredit his leadership,
they would have promptly parted company
with him.</p>
<p>The swift procession of fear surrounding Red
Fox and his family was continually changing,
though always the same in its headlong, bewildering
confusion. Some of the creatures, as the deer
and the rabbits, were swifter than the fox family,
and soon left them behind. Once, indeed, a wildly
bounding doe, belated somehow, going through the
thickets with great leaps of thirty feet from hoof-mark
to hoof-mark, brought her sharp hooves down
within a hair’s breadth of Red Fox’s nose, so that
he felt himself lucky to have escaped with a whole
hide. Others of the animals, on the other hand,
were slower than the fox family, and were soon
outstripped, to fall back into the galloping vortex
<span class="pb" id="Page_262">[262]</span>
whose heat was already searching hungrily under
the thickets far ahead. The porcupines, for instance,
and the woodchucks, and the skunks,—hopeless
but self-possessed in the face of fate,—could
not long keep up the terrible pace, and soon
went under. All this tragedy, however, was no
concern of Red Fox, who troubled himself not a
jot about any one’s business but that of his own
family, where his interest, in such a moment as
this, began and ended.</p>
<p>Suddenly, to his intense astonishment, he ran
plump into a big black bear, who stood motionless
in a hollow under a thick-leaved beech-tree. Red
Fox could not understand why she was not fleeing
like the rest of the world. But, as he swerved aside,
he saw behind her, stretched out in utter exhaustion,
her two cubs. Then he understood. She had evidently
brought her cubs a long way, the little animals
running till they could not stumble forward
one step more; and now, having exhausted every
effort to arouse them and urge them farther, she
was awaiting her doom quietly, holding her great
black body to shield them as long as possible from
the onrush of the flame. The fugitives streamed
past her on either side, but she saw none of them,
as her eyes, strained with despair, wandered back
<span class="pb" id="Page_263">[263]</span>
and forth between the roaring blaze and the prostrate
bodies of her cubs.</p>
<p>Red Fox noted with anxiety that his own youngsters
were beginning to slacken speed and stumble
as they ran, requiring all their watchful mother’s
efforts to keep them spurred on. But a moment
later he caught a red gleam reflected from water
just ahead. He smelled the water, too; and the
wearying puppies, as they smelled it, were encouraged
to a fresh burst of speed. A few seconds more
and they were up to their necks in the saving coolness,
the two raccoons close beside them, and every
kind of forest dweller panting and splashing around
them.</p>
<p>Much as they hated the water, the fox family
could swim in such an emergency as this; and Red
Fox led the way out to the biggest beaver-house,
which stood, a ragged dome of sticks and mud,
near the centre of the pond. There was trampling
and splashing and swimming everywhere, most of
the larger animals, the bears and deer, gathering
at the farther side of the pond. On several overhanging
limbs crouched wildcats and a couple of
lynxes, afraid to take to the water, which they
abhorred. Amid all the confusion and terrifying
sounds, the beavers, usually the shyest of wild creatures,
<span class="pb" id="Page_264">[264]</span>
were working imperturbably, paying no heed
whatever to the motley throngs scurrying around
them. They knew that the long drought had baked
the roofs of their houses to a tinder, and now, in
a desperate but well-ordered haste, they were covering
them with wet mud from the bottom of the
pond. They, at least, were going to be safe.</p>
<p>By this time the heat was extreme, and the crackling
roar of the flames was almost upon them. Red
Fox led his family around to the farther side of
the big beaver-house, but himself kept watch where
he could see everything. The smoke was now volleying
down upon the surface of the pond in great
bursts, the water was smitten here and there with
red brands that hissed as they fell, and the tongues
of flame that ran up the tall trunks of pine and
fir seemed to leap bodily into the air in order to
set fire to the trees ahead of them. The whole
southeastern sky was now like a wall of molten
and blazing copper, stretching to the zenith and
about to topple down upon the world. Against
it, a last despairing barrier already beginning to
crumble, stood black and defiant the water-side
fringe of trees.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_265">[265]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig39">
<img src="images/p289.jpg" alt="“HIMSELF KEPT WATCH WHERE HE COULD SEE EVERYTHING.”" width="500" height="740" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HIMSELF KEPT WATCH WHERE HE COULD SEE EVERYTHING.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_267">[267]</div>
<p>At last the too frail barrier went down, and the
roaring storm of fire broke full upon the pond. In
their pain and panic, many of the creatures trampled
one another under water. Others, afraid of
drowning, were slain by the implacable heat. The
fox family, however, well away from the densest
and maddest of the crowd, sank their bodies quite
under water, just lifting their noses every other
second to breathe. Red Fox himself, resolutely
curious no matter what the emergency, kept his
head above water as long as possible and dipped it
under as briefly as possible, enduring the heat till
his eyes felt scorched and his nostrils almost blistered,
in order that he might be aware of all that
happened. He saw one great lynx, his fur so
singed that he looked hardly half his usual size,
spring far out into the water with a screech, and
never rise again. He saw the other great cats
swimming frantically, and clambering out of the
unaccustomed element upon the backs of deer and
bears, who paid no attention to their strangely unhostile
burdens. One huge wildcat, badly scorched,
succeeded in reaching the top of a beaver-house,
where he crouched snarling and spitting at the
flames, while squirrels and chipmunks crowded
about him unheeded. Drenched from his plunge,
his thick, wet fur seemed to withstand the heat for
a time. Then his wits came to his help, and he
<span class="pb" id="Page_268">[268]</span>
slunk down into the water again, his eyes staring
wide with the very madness of terror.</p>
<p>In a minute or two the flames had raced around
both sides of the pond and met again, enclosing
the water with a spouting and roaring wall of fire.
The rabble of beasts gathered at the farther side now
surged frantically back toward the centre of the
pond; and Red Fox anxiously made ready to lead
his family away from the path of the bedlam mob.
But the unhappy creatures, too crushed together
to swim, merely trod one another down, and most
of them were drowned long before they reached the
centre. The bigger and stronger ones, of course,
survived the struggle, but of these many presently
went down, burned inwardly by the flames they had
inhaled; and the assault which Red Fox had
dreaded was utterly broken. Only a few stragglers
reached the beaver-houses in the centre, where the
wet mud was sending up clouds of steam.</p>
<p>The pond was no longer crowded, but looked
almost deserted in the furious crimson glow, for
all the survivors were either swimming about the
centre, diving every other moment to keep their
heads from scorching, or else crouched like Red
Fox beneath the sheltering element. Only the wise
beavers were perfectly content within their water-houses,
<span class="pb" id="Page_269">[269]</span>
and the muskrats in their deep holes, and
the mink lurking under the swampy overhanging
banks.</p>
<p>In a few minutes more the heat palpably diminished,
as the underbrush, branches, and smaller
trees along the windward shore of the pond burned
themselves out in the fierce wind, leaving only the
taller trunks to flare and flicker like half-spent
torches. The heat from the roaring underbrush
of the leeward side, of course, was partly carried
away by the wind. Little by little the centre of
the conflagration shifted ahead, and the leaping
spires of flame moved forward, leaving behind them
thick smoke, and red glowing spikes and pillars
of hot coal to illuminate the dark. The remnants
of the bushes along the shore still snapped with
vivid and spiteful sparks, and the thick moss and
leaf-mould that matted the forest floor smouldered
like glowing peat. As the heat still further moderated
many of the animals still left alive tried to
go ashore, but only succeeded in burning their
feet. Red Fox, too sagacious for such a vain
attempt, led his family out upon the top of the
beaver-house, and waited philosophically for the
awful night to wear away. At last, after hours
that seemed like months, the savage glow in the
<span class="pb" id="Page_270">[270]</span>
northwestern sky began to pale in the approach of
dawn, and pure streamers of saffron and tender
pink stole out across the dreadful desolation. By
noon, though the fire still ate its way in the moss,
and the smarting smoke still rose thickly on every
side, and here and there the blackened rampikes
still flickered fitfully, the ruined woods were cool
enough for Red Fox to lead his family through
them by picking his way very carefully. Working
over toward his right, he came at last, footsore
and singed and choked with thirst, to the first of
the lower pastures, which had proved too wide
for the flames to cross. On the other side of the
pasture were woods, still green, shadowy, unscarred.
In a sort of ecstasy the foxes sped across
the hillocky pasture and plunged into blessed cool.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_271">[271]</div>
<h2 id="c16"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XV.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE WORRYING OF RED BUCK</span></h2>
<p>On the heels of the fire came long, drenching
rains, which quenched the smouldering
moss and stumps, filled the brooks and
ponds, and brought back hope and the joy of life
to the Ringwaak country. But there remained a
cruel black scar across the landscape, along the
upper slopes of the ridge, stretching from the
region of the lower lakes all the way over into the
wild Ottanoonsis Valley. It was a scar which
succeeding springs would soften with the balm
of bush and weed and leafage, though two generations
would hardly avail to efface it. To Red Fox
it was a hateful thing because it represented a
vast and rich hunting range spoiled. The little
meadow, however, had suffered no irreparable
damage, because, there being no growth of bushes
upon it to feed the fire, the roots of the grass had
<span class="pb" id="Page_272">[272]</span>
not been burned out of the soil. Immediately after
the rains a fresh young herbage sprang up all
over it, from the brook’s edge back to the woods,
and it lay like a jewel in its brilliancy, the one spot
of green young life in the blackened expanses of
ruin. Red Fox and his family went back to the
den above the meadow, and found it, of course,
none the worse. In fact, the desolation surrounding
it made it all the more secure from intrusion or
discovery. In the course of the next few weeks
the young ones, now as large as their mother, and
with much of their father’s independence of spirit,
scattered off to shift for themselves; and Red
Fox dropped back with a sense of relief into the
pleasant routine of his life before their coming.
He visited the farms in the settlement more frequently
now than of old, because he knew that the
half-breed hound had lost all interest in hunting
since the death of his comrade, the black and white
mongrel. He kept, of course, a wary lookout
to avoid stumbling across Jabe Smith; but with
the rest of the settlement and their possessions he
did not hesitate to take liberties. Once, indeed,
the half-breed hound picked up his hot trail and
followed him with some of the old eagerness; but
when, tiring of the game, Red Fox turned with
bared teeth and stood at bay, the dog remembered
urgent business back at the farm, and hurried off
to see to it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_273">[273]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig40">
<img src="images/p297.jpg" alt="“RED FOX WAS ENJOYING A GOOD STRETCH.”" width="500" height="672" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“RED FOX WAS ENJOYING A GOOD STRETCH.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_275">[275]</div>
<p>For a season now the big fox’s daily life, though
to himself filled with inexhaustible interest, was
not adventurous. His mastery, where mastery was
possible, was so assured and recognized, and his
few enemies were so well comprehended, that
ordinary caution held him secure. He needed,
to be sure, at this stage in his career, all the sagacity
with which nature and his excellent ancestors had
so liberally endowed him; for his unfailing triumphs
over circumstances had given him that self-confident
pride which so often proves a snare to its
possessor.</p>
<p>Along in the last week of September, one evening
about sunset, Red Fox was enjoying a good
stretch after a nap beneath his juniper-bush, when
he saw a tall, high-antlered red buck standing about
ten feet away and eying him with a kind of hostile
curiosity. It was rutting season, when, as Red
Fox knew, the bucks were always looking for
trouble. But he also knew that the handsome,
arrogant-looking beast could have no possible excuse
for a quarrel with him. He finished his stretching
unconcernedly, therefore, then sat up on his
<span class="pb" id="Page_276">[276]</span>
haunches and stared, good-naturedly enough, at the
visitor. What was his surprise, then, when the
latter, apparently enraged because the small red
animal by the juniper-bush did not seem afraid,
suddenly bounded at him with a beautiful, graceful
ferocity, and struck at him with his keen fore
hooves.</p>
<p>Had one of the big black stumps on the hillside
pounced upon him, Red Fox could not have been
more astonished. His astonishment, however, did
not make him lose his wits. He was out of the way
like a flash before that murderous hoof descended.
But the angry buck followed him up, bounding
like a great ball, and striking again and again
at the small, brush-tailed creature who so easily
eluded him. With each failure he grew more and
more irate; but at last, half-winded with the
violence of his efforts, he stopped, his great red sides
panting. For half a minute he stared at Red Fox
irresolutely; while Red Fox sat up on his haunches
ten yards off and stared back with an unruffled,
indifferent air. Then, apparently concluding that
he had made a mistake, the hot-headed animal
wheeled daintily and moved off across the meadow.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_277">[277]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig41">
<img src="images/p301.jpg" alt="“MOVED AWAY GRANDLY ABOUT HIS BUSINESS.”" width="500" height="354" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“MOVED AWAY GRANDLY ABOUT HIS BUSINESS.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_279">[279]</div>
<p>But he was not to get away so easily. Red
Fox’s blood was up. The attack had been unprovoked,
and altogether senseless. Between the
foxes and the deer there had always been a kind
of informal peace, their interests in no way conflicting.
Red Fox was minded to make the haughty
animal suffer for his rashness. Departing from
the custom of his kind, he now slipped forward
swiftly,—as a dog might, or a solitary wolf in
dealing with a moose,—and nipped the buck
smartly on the hind leg.</p>
<p>Deeply insulted, the buck wheeled about and
struck at his presumptuous assailant. But Red
Fox was already beyond his reach. After a couple of
futile rushes he gave up the effort and again moved
away grandly about his business, with an air that
seemed to say that foxes, if there were such things,
were quite beneath his notice. No sooner had he
fairly turned, however, than he felt again Red
Fox’s long, avenging teeth in his hind leg.</p>
<p>With a little worry mingled in his rage, the
buck turned once more. But this time he made but
one effort to catch his nimble assailant. Then he
stood and eyed Red Fox, shaking his proud antlers
and stamping with his fine-edged fore hooves.
Thereupon Red Fox ran around him half a dozen
times, this way and that in dazzlingly swift circles,
which kept the tall animal wheeling nervously in
<span class="pb" id="Page_280">[280]</span>
the effort to face him. At last he darted in so
cleverly that he got another nip at the buck’s hind
leg; and the buck, now quite demoralized, made
a wild leap into the air, and started away in great
leaps, across the meadow, over the brook, and
through the burnt woods beyond.</p>
<p>This was a victory to swell even Red Fox’s heart
with pride,—and his mate had been watching it
all from the door of her den. The natural and
fox-like thing for the victor to have done, now,
was to be content with such a triumph. But Red
Fox wanted to inflict punishment. Moreover, he
had learned a great deal from the persistent trailing
of the dogs in the days when the hound and
the mongrel had persecuted him. Like a hunting
dog, therefore, he set out in pursuit of the fleeing
buck, following him by sight through the naked
ruins of the woods.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_281">[281]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig42">
<img src="images/p305.jpg" alt="“RESUMED HIS FLIGHT THROUGH THE TRUNKS AND RAMPIKES.”" width="500" height="331" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“RESUMED HIS FLIGHT THROUGH THE TRUNKS AND RAMPIKES.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_283">[283]</div>
<p>In a very few minutes the buck, somewhat short-winded
from his earlier efforts, paused and looked
back. In a moment he caught sight of the low,
red figure, belly to earth and stretched straight
out, coming up upon him swiftly through the
blackened stumps. In a panic he ran on again till
the pursuer was out of sight. Then again he
stopped to take breath, running back a little way,
after the custom of his kind, and lying down with
his face toward the danger. But he had no more
than settled himself, his flanks heaving and his
fine nostrils wide, when again the red pursuer came
in sight, following implacably. With heart almost
bursting, the harassed buck sprang to his feet, and
resumed his flight through the trunks and rampikes.</p>
<p>After this had been repeated two or three times,
at ever shortening intervals as the fugitive’s distress
increased, the chase led out of the burnt woods
and into the unscarred forest. Here, owing to
Red Fox’s comparatively indifferent powers of
trailing, the buck would have had a great advantage
had he been fresh. But instead of that he was now
on the verge of utter collapse. Once fairly inside
the leafy coverts, he stopped, unable to run a step
farther. His legs were trembling so that they
could hardly support him, but he turned and stood
at bay, ready to make a last fight against the mysterious
enemy whom he had so rashly challenged.</p>
<p>A moment more and Red Fox came up. The
buck struck at him frantically, but he kept out of
reach, circling, and considering the situation. Then
he sat up, about twenty feet away, and coolly eyed
the unhappy buck. He noted the starting eyes, the
<span class="pb" id="Page_284">[284]</span>
flaring nostrils, the labouring flanks, the quivering
knees. The victory was certainly complete, the
vengeance surely effective. He did not see exactly
what else to do. Though beaten, the big beast was
not killed; and Red Fox had no desire to hazard a
final mix-up with those desperate hooves. In this
novel chase there had been no thought of hunting,
but only of wiping out an affront. At last, though
with a certain hesitation of manner, Red Fox got
up, licked his lips, took a last triumphant look at
his discomfited enemy, and trotted away through the
underbrush to hunt for a mouse or a rabbit. The
buck stared after him for a half a minute, then
lay down in his tracks to recover.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_285">[285]</div>
<h2 id="c17"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XVI.</span>
<br /><span class="small">IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY</span></h2>
<p>In the meantime, ever since the worsting
of the hunters and the death of the black
and white mongrel, the fame of Red Fox
had been growing throughout the settlements.
Few, of course, had seen him; but all had heard of
him, and were ready to tell more or less inaccurate
stories of his feats of cunning and daring, as well
as of his unusual size and remarkable beauty of
colour. Innumerable were the tales that were told
of vain efforts to shoot or ensnare him. And
gradually it had come about that every successful
raid of hawk or owl, weasel or wildcat, was laid to
the credit of the redoubtable red adventurer. A
good story gained tenfold interest if Red Fox
was made the hero of it. Active and untiring
though he was, he would have needed the faculty
of being in ten places at once, to have accomplished
half that he was credited with.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_286">[286]</div>
<p>As it happened, however, there were perhaps not
half a dozen people in the settlement who could
boast of having actually seen the famous fox; and
there were but two who really knew much about
him. These two, of course, by that caprice of fate
or affinity which amuses itself by drawing certain
creatures often into one another’s paths, were Jabe
Smith and the Boy. It was interest drew Red Fox
to the Boy. Fear drew him to Jabe Smith. If
he came upon Jabe Smith’s trail, a fascinated uneasiness
usually impelled him to follow it, in order to
make sure the mysterious man was not following
him. Three or four times had the backwoodsman
turned suddenly, feeling that keen eyes were upon
him, and been just in time to catch sight of a red
shape fading into the thickets. He began at last to
feel that there was something uncanny in this
elusive surveillance, some inexplicable enmity that
was biding its time. The fear in Red Fox’s heart
seemed to call up an answering emotion, almost
akin, in the heart of his human enemy.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_287">[287]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig43">
<img src="images/p311.jpg" alt="“STIFFENING HIMSELF ON THE INSTANT.”" width="500" height="713" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“STIFFENING HIMSELF ON THE INSTANT.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_289">[289]</div>
<p>If Red Fox was following the Boy, however,
he was likely to meet with a very different experience,
one which never failed to puzzle him deeply
and pique his curiosity beyond measure. After
craftily following the Boy’s trail for half an hour,
perhaps, through the silent, sun-dappled woods,
he would come suddenly upon a moveless gray shape,
to his eyes not altogether unlike a stump, sitting
beside a stump or against the trunk of a tree. Stiffening
himself on the instant into a like immobility,
he would eye this mysterious figure with anxious
suspicion and the most searching scrutiny. As
his gaze adjusted itself, and separated detail from
detail (a process which the animals seem to find
difficult in the case of objects not in motion), the
shape would grow more and more to resemble the
Boy. But what he knew so well was the Boy in
motion, and there was always, to him, something
mysterious and daunting in this utterly moveless
figure, of the stillness of stone. Its immobility
always, in the end, outwore his own. Then he
would move a few steps, always eying the gray
shape, and trying to understand it better by studying
it from a new angle. Little by little circling
about, and ever drawing closer and closer, he would
presently get around into the wind and catch the
scent of the strange, unstirring object. That would
end the little drama. The testimony of his nose
always seemed to him more intelligible and conclusive
than that of his eyes. He would slowly
edge away, with dignity and perfect coolness, till
<span class="pb" id="Page_290">[290]</span>
some convenient stump or bush intervened to hide
him from the view of the gray object. Then he
would whisk about and vanish in an eye-wink,
dignity all discarded; and for a week or two the
Boy’s trail would have no attractions for him.
But in a vague way he realized that the Boy had
held his life in his hands many times, and therefore,
manifestly, was not really his foe like Jabe
Smith. It was far from his shrewd, considering
brain, nevertheless, to trust any human creature,
however apparently harmless.</p>
<p>Along in the autumn Jabe Smith took it into his
head that it was inconsistent with his reputation
as a woodsman to let the wily and audacious fox
go any longer triumphant over gun and dog and
trap. Having his crops all garnered, and some
leisure on his hands, he decided to pit his wits in
earnest against the craft of the animal, and call
no halt this side of victory.</p>
<p>This resolution the grim backwoodsman, one blue
and golden morning, confided half-derisively to
the Boy, knowing that the latter would strenuously
disapprove. Jabe had made up his mind, however;
and all the Boy’s arguments and pleas left him
unmoved. The subject, in its general aspects, had
been well thrashed out between them many times,
<span class="pb" id="Page_291">[291]</span>
leaving both firm in their own views; but in the
particular instance of Red Fox the backwoodsman
felt his position unusually secure. He declared that
the more strong and clever the big fox was, the
more damage he could do, and therefore the greater
the need of catching him. For once, the Boy acknowledged
himself vanquished. But the picture
which formed itself in his mind, of the splendid,
sagacious fox mangled in trap or snare, or torn
with shot-wounds, was one he could not contemplate.
Though worsted in the discussion, he was
not shaken in his resolve to save, at least, the animal’s
life. He would spar for a compromise. And,
indeed, Jabe was so elated at having got the better
of his skilful and usually invincible young opponent
that he was not far off from the mood to
make concessions.</p>
<p>Having yielded the main point, that Red Fox
must be captured, the Boy took what backwoods
ethics would count fair revenge by casting doubts
upon the backwoodsman’s ability to carry out the
enterprise.</p>
<p>“You think yourself very clever, Jabe!” said he,
gravely derisive. “But <i>you</i> can’t fool that fox,
if you take all winter to it!”</p>
<p>Now it was just on this point that Jabe had his
<span class="pb" id="Page_292">[292]</span>
own misgivings. And he was too honest to deny
it.</p>
<p>“I kin <i>shoot</i> him, for sure,” he answered, unruffled,
“if I take time enough, waitin’ and hangin’
’round! Any fool could do that, in the long run,
if he hadn’t nothin’ else to do <i>but</i> hang ’round.
What I lay out to do, is <i>trap</i> the critter, if I kin. If
I can’t, <i>you</i> can’t!”</p>
<p>“Oh, you go along, Jabe!” jeered the Boy.
“You can’t do it; and you know you can’t. But
I could, if I would!”</p>
<p>Jabe Smith’s long face wrinkled sarcastically,
and he bit off a chew of “black Jack” before replying.</p>
<p>“If you’re so blame smart,” said he, at last,
“let’s see you do it. It’s easy enough to talk.”</p>
<p>This was the very invitation he had been wanting,
and the Boy instantly dropped his air of
banter.</p>
<p>“I will do it,” he said, seriously. The backwoodsman
paused in his chewing, spat over the sawhorse,—the
two were sitting on the wood-pile
in Jabe’s yard,—and eyed the lad doubtfully. He
could not believe that his eloquence had triumphed
so overwhelmingly as this speech seemed to imply.</p>
<p>“It’s this way, Jabe,” went on the Boy after a
<span class="pb" id="Page_293">[293]</span>
few moments of silence. “I know that fox a sight
better than you do! I’ve watched and studied him;
and I’ve got so that I like him. I could have shot
him a dozen times. I know all his kinks. I’ve
lugged him by the hind legs, hanging over my
shoulder—”</p>
<p>“The hell you have!” ejaculated the backwoodsman,
looking at the Boy with astonishment and
growing respect. The two knew each other too
well to be incredulous of each other’s statements.</p>
<p>“Yes! and even then he fooled me! But I
know, now, how to best him if I wanted to. I don’t
want to. But if you’re bound you’re a-going to,
then I’ll chip in with and show you how, on condition
that you spare his life. You’ll get the glory,
Jabe; and I’ll get the fox.”</p>
<p>The backwoodsman spat contemplatively, and
rolled the question over in his mind. What he called
the Boy’s “durn foolishness” about killing things
naturally made him impatient at times, and he was
unwilling to seem to humour it. But in this the
Boy was certainly meeting him half-way; and he
wanted to gratify him.</p>
<p>“What’d you want to do with the critter, after
we’d got him?” he inquired at last, suspicious of
some strategy.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_294">[294]</div>
<p>The Boy smiled comprehendingly.</p>
<p>“Well, I wouldn’t let him go again, to give you
your trouble all over, Jabe! Don’t be scared of
that!”</p>
<p>“I ain’t skeered of <i>that</i>!” protested Jabe,
ashamed of having his suspicions penetrated.</p>
<p>“Well,” went on the Boy, “I’d keep the fox a
little while myself, I think, if father didn’t mind, and
see if I could tame him. He’s so clever, maybe he’d
not be so hard to tame as other foxes. But I don’t
expect I could do much with him that way. Foxes
all think too much of themselves to let any one
brag of having tamed them. But he’s such a
beauty that any show or ‘zoo’ would be mighty
proud to get him, and would take care to treat him
well. I’ll sell him, and get a big price for him,
Jabe. And we’ll divide. He’d better be in a show,
Jabe, than dead,—whatever some people might
say.”</p>
<p>“Don’t know about that!” said the woodsman,
looking around upon the familiar fields and the
old woods glowing in the sunshine. “I’d ruther
be dead than shet up—never to see all this no
more!” And he made a sweep with his hand that
seemed to caress the sweet and lonely landscape.</p>
<p>“Tut! Jabe!” said the Boy, bluntly. “Then
<span class="pb" id="Page_295">[295]</span>
you’ve got no imagination. I’ll bet Red Fox has
lots. I know which he’d choose, anyway, if it was
put up to him. So I’m going to choose for him, if
you’ll agree. Death’s the only thing that can’t be
reconsidered. Why, suppose you were shut up for
life, there might come an earthquake some day, and
split open your stone walls, and let you walk right
out! Speaking for Red Fox, I take the circus.
What do you say?”</p>
<p>“All right,” assented the backwoodsman, slowly.
“Only, let’s git him, quick! He’s fooled us all
too long.”</p>
<p>“Do you know,” said the Boy, “he’s a queer
beast, that! I’ve found his tracks about your farm—the
most dangerous place in the whole settlement
for him—oftener than anywhere else. Haven’t
you?”</p>
<p>“Of course I hev’!” answered the backwoodsman.
“And he’s took to follerin’ me, in the woods,
too. Looks like he had it in for me special. What
do you s’pose he’s up to?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps he’s just particularly scared of you, and
so wants to keep an eye on you. Or, maybe, knowing
you are already his enemy, he thinks it safer
to steal <i>your</i> chickens than to risk making other
enemies by stealing somebody else’s!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_296">[296]</div>
<p>“He ain’t got none of mine <i>yet</i>!” declared the
woodsman with emphasis.</p>
<p>“Then I’ll bet it’s because he hasn’t wanted to,”
said the Boy. “I’ve seen him looking around your
place, and lying in the bushes watching, while the
hens caught grasshoppers out in the stubble not ten
feet away, where he could grab them without any
trouble at all. And I’ve seen him on his hind legs
behind the hen-house looking in through a crack,—at
some hen on the nest, most likely. If he has
spared you, Jabe, it’s been just because he chose
to. You may be sure of that. He’s had some good
reason in his wise red noddle.”</p>
<p>“He’d better hurry up, then!” growled Jabe.
“He ain’t got much more time to spare. What do
you reckon we’d better do, now, to circumvent the
varmint?”</p>
<p>“Come along and I’ll show you!” said the Boy,
leading the way to Jabe’s chicken-house.</p>
<p>It happened that the tall backwoodsman had a
fancy for good fowls. He had several times sent
away for settings of thoroughbred eggs; and having
had good luck with them, he had now a very handsome
and unusual flock to brag of. To be sure,
Buff Cochins and Plymouth Rocks and White Leghorns
and Black Minorcas all ran together, and the
<span class="pb" id="Page_297">[297]</span>
free mixture of breeds wrought strangely diversified
results. But it was a great flock, for all its commingling,
and accomplished wonders of egg-laying;
and Jabe Smith took pride in having it well housed.
The fowl-house was simple, but quite up to date in
its pattern, which had been carefully copied from
cuts in the <i>Colonial Farmer</i>. At each end of the
long sunny front was a little entrance cut for the
use of the “biddies,” and closed at night by a
sliding drop door.</p>
<p>“Here, Jabe,” said the Boy, kicking one of these
little doors with his toe, “is your trap!”</p>
<p>A gleam of instant comprehension flashed into
the woodsman’s eyes, but he maintained a strategic
silence.</p>
<p>“And yonder,” continued the speaker, with a
wave of his hand toward the scattered flock, feeding,
or scratching, or dusting feathers in the sun,—“is
your bait.”</p>
<p>“How’s the bait goin’ to like it?” asked Jabe.</p>
<p>“Oh, the bait’s not going to mind!” said the
Boy, cheerfully. “You just wait and see!”</p>
<p>The problem now was a simple one. The Boy
knew that Red Fox had explored the premises
thoroughly by night, outside, and would undoubtedly
have explored them inside as well but for the fact
<span class="pb" id="Page_298">[298]</span>
that nightfall found the doors all closed. He
argued that the shrewd animal was expecting to
sometime find a door left open by mistake. Now
was the time for that mistake to occur. In its
simplicity and effectiveness the Boy’s plan commanded
the backwoodsman’s instant acceptance.</p>
<p>Knocking together a little platform of light boards
about three feet square, the Boy laid it on the
floor just inside one of the small doors. From it
he ran a cord up each side of the door, over two
nails at the top, and joined them in the centre. Here
he rigged a sensitive trigger catch connecting with
the loop that held up the sliding door. The edge
of the platform he raised about an inch from the
floor, attaching it to the trigger in such a way that
the slightest additional weight would spring the
catch and let the door drop down. This accomplished,
with the skilful aid of Jabe Smith and his
tools, the Boy placed some tiny blocks under the
platform to brace it up and prevent it being sprung
prematurely by the hens as they passed out and in.</p>
<p>“Now, Jabe,” said the proud strategist as the
two stood off and eyed their handiwork, “all you’ve
got to do is wait till all the hens have gone to roost.
Then shut the other door, and take out the props
from under the platform. When Red Fox comes,
<span class="pb" id="Page_299">[299]</span>
as he’s likely to do just about moonrise, he’ll be
much pleased to find that for once his enemy has
forgotten and left a door open. He’ll slip right in
to see what the hen-house is like inside. The door
will drop,—and then you have him!”</p>
<p>“But what about the hens?” queried their owner,
doubtfully.</p>
<p>“When he finds he’s caught, he won’t be bothering
about hens!” laughed the Boy. Now that he
was fairly committed to the venture, the natural,
primitive boy within him, which is always something
of a wild animal, was beginning to wake up and
assert itself. He was growing keen for the event.</p>
<p>That evening the Boy stayed at Jabe Smith’s
farm for supper. After sundown, when the chickens
were all at roost, and high in the pale greenish
sky the latest crows were winging homeward to
the spruce groves, the trap was set and the other
door of the hen-house securely closed. Then in a
hay-loft opposite, behind the big open window
through which the hay was pitched, the Boy and
Jabe hid themselves comfortably where they could
command a perfect view of whatever might happen.
Slowly the light faded out over the farmyard, and
the roofs, and the spiky tree-tops along the ridges
of the hills. With the cool-smelling twilight came
<span class="pb" id="Page_300">[300]</span>
a sort of expectant silence, a hush that seemed to
listen consciously; and the two hidden in the hay-loft
spoke only in a whisper. Up from the stanchions
below the loft came startlingly loud the
munching of the cattle’s jaws on the dry hay and the
occasional windy sighs which their great flanks
heaved forth from time to time. When a mouse
rustled the hay softly at the other side of the loft, the
sound seemed abrupt and conspicuous. Then, at last,
a change came over the quality of the shadows in
the yard below. They grew more liquid and transparent.
A silvery glow caught the tree-tops along
the opposite ridge, crept down, and bathed the rich
fir masses of the woods in wonder. Then the roof
of the hen-house turned silver, and a mysterious,
transfiguring illumination seemed to tip down into
the yard, making lovely, spectral things of the sawhorse,
and the well-sweep, and the cart. Both Jabe
and the Boy watched the transformation with wordless
delight. The moon was floating up behind the
barn.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_301">[301]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig44">
<img src="images/p325.jpg" alt="“A SHADOWY SHAPE CAME FLITTING SOUNDLESSLY AROUND THE CORNER OF THE HEN-HOUSE.”" width="500" height="757" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“A SHADOWY SHAPE CAME FLITTING SOUNDLESSLY AROUND THE CORNER OF THE HEN-HOUSE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_303">[303]</div>
<p>The radiance had no more than fairly occupied
the farmyard, when a shadowy shape came flitting
soundlessly around the corner of the hen-house.
From the crack in the boarding behind Red Fox
had seen that one of the little doors was open. His
opportunity—not necessarily to kill chickens, but
to explore the inside of the chicken-house—had
come at last. He peered in cautiously. There were
all the fowls on their perches, sleeping soundly.
There was no game-cock among them. He knew
these tall, handsome Cochins and Minorcas, haughty
but not dangerous. He darted confidently through
the opening. The next moment the door dropped,
with a sharp rap, behind him, catching and pinching
smartly the tip of his beautiful brush.</p>
<p>Like lightning he wheeled about, jerking his tail
free. But the door fitted securely in its grooves, so
that his furiously scratching claws and desperate
teeth could not budge it. In a silent frenzy he
darted to the other door. It, too, refused to budge.
Then he jumped up, scramblingly, toward the window,
snubbing his nose against the glass and the
sashes. But there was no way out. He stopped,
crouched down close beside the treacherous door,
and set his shrewd wits working desperately.</p>
<p>The hens, meanwhile, aroused by the dropping
of the door, and greatly excited by the prisoner’s
antics, had set up a wild commotion of squawking
and cackling. The cocks were particularly noisy;
but unlike the valorous game, they made no move
to come down and give battle to the intruder. Their
<span class="pb" id="Page_304">[304]</span>
outcry, however, was by no means ineffectual. At
the first sound of it the two hiders in the loft swung
themselves down, and rushed eagerly to the hen-house.</p>
<p>The main door of the hen-house was at one end.
The Boy opened it cautiously, keeping his feet and
legs in the opening, while Jabe Smith peered over
his head. What they saw brought an exclamation
of astonishment from Jabe, and a knowing laugh
from the Boy. There on the floor, half in moonlight
and half in shadow, lay the great fox, stretched
out lifeless in front of the perches, with the cackling
fowls all craning long necks down to look at
him. The two conspirators stepped inside and shut
the door behind them. And the hens moderated
their clamour, satisfied that help had come.</p>
<p>The Boy, smiling wisely, waited. But Jabe, after
stirring the long, limp body with his toe, picked it
up by the tail and examined it critically.</p>
<p>“I swan!” he exclaimed at length, in the voice
which one accredits a miracle. “If he hain’t gone
an’ fell an’ plumb broke his neck!”</p>
<p>“Well,” said the Boy, taking from his pocket
the small dog-collar and chain which Jabe had
lent him, “I guess I’ll take no risks.” And he proceeded
to affix the chain and collar. Then he tied
<span class="pb" id="Page_305">[305]</span>
the animal’s slack, unresisting legs together with
a stout cord.</p>
<p>Jabe jeered at him in a dry drawl, but the Boy
kept his counsel.</p>
<p>“You never can tell, Jabe!” said he, enigmatically.
“Red Fox dead is cleverer than most other
beasts alive, and something might happen on the
way home. He might mend this broken neck of his,
you know, suddenly,—and then—whizz!—and
no more Red Fox!”</p>
<p>“If that ’ere beast ain’t a dead one,” averred the
backwoodsman, “I’ll eat my old shoe-packs.”</p>
<p>“Don’t undertake too much, Jabe,” mocked the
Boy. “You may need those shoe-packs, with winter
coming on! If you’ll just give me an old oat-sack,
now, to wrap this unfortunate victim in, I’ll
start for home ’fore it gets any later. And maybe
if you’ll come ’round to-morrow morning you’ll
find Red Fox holding a soirée in our back yard!”</p>
<p>“Reckon I’ll go along with you now,” said Jabe.
“The beast’s too queer to let you go alone with
him.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_306">[306]</div>
<h2 id="c18"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XVII.</span>
<br /><span class="small">UNDER ALIEN SKIES</span></h2>
<p>Securely wrapped up in the oat-sack,
with just the black tip of his nose sticking
out, Red Fox showed never a sign
of life during that interminable journey to the
home of the Boy. Tucked under the Boy’s sturdy
young arm he endured the painful grip with unwavering
heroism, and never stiffened or twitched
a muscle. But if the elated victors had taken it
into their heads to peer suddenly into the end of
the roll of sacking, past the black nose-tip, they
would have caught a shrewd and watchful eye wide
open. The captive was not going to lose any point
unnecessarily; and peering out into the flooding
moonlight he marked well where his captors were
carrying him. Bitterness was in his heart as he
watched the silvered trees and fields and fences go
by,—bitterness, and humiliation, and rage, and
fear, but by no manner of means despair. Helpless
<span class="pb" id="Page_307">[307]</span>
as he was for the moment, he knew that he
could not be carried in that way for ever. There
must come some change. He was full of devices.
And he had no idea of counting the great game
lost.</p>
<p>When the Boy had unrolled him, and chained him
to a staple in the corner of a spacious box-stall in
the barn, and undone the bonds that fettered his
legs, Red Fox still lay limp, so utterly slack in
every sinew that the backwoodsman was more than
ever assured that he was dead. To all jibes, however,
the Boy answered, merely, “Come back in
the morning and see!” And soon, after having
wearied of admiring the rich fur and congratulating
themselves on their speedy triumph, the victors went
away, fastening the barn door behind them.</p>
<p>From a small window the moonlight came pouring
in, lighting the centre of the stall brilliantly and
leaving the corners in deep shadow. The moment
he knew he was alone the limp shape on the floor
awoke to eager life, with a sharp leap that tested
the soundness of the chain. Red Fox felt himself
violently jerked backwards and thrown off his feet,
which sufficed to convince him that the chain was
strong. Having assured himself as to its strength,
and also as to its length (which was about six
<span class="pb" id="Page_308">[308]</span>
feet), he now began to test it minutely with nose
and teeth, holding it down between his fore paws
and going over every link right up to the staple in
the wall. Finding no flaw or weakness anywhere in
the cold steel which hurt his teeth, he next set himself
to the task of pulling the collar over his head. Backing
away he strained and tugged with all his mind,
but only succeeded in choking himself till his eyes
and tongue stuck out. Upon this a memory of the
great lynx strangling in the snare came over him,
and he stopped abruptly, panting and gasping. As
soon as he had recovered from this touch of panic
and fully regained his breath, he was seized with a
new idea. In the corner of the stall was a heap of
chaff and fine straw with a wisp or two of hay.
In this he carefully buried a slack section of the
chain; and when the work was done he crept away
furtively, trusting to leave his obstinate tormentor
behind. But when he saw the snaky thing emerge
inexorably from its hiding, and felt it once more
tug peremptorily at his neck, he seemed to realize
the folly of his choice. For a few minutes he sat
up on his haunches, and pondered. Then, seeing
that for the time there was nothing else to be done,
he curled himself up in a corner and resolutely went
to sleep.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_309">[309]</div>
<p>When, somewhat early in the morning, the Boy
came to the stall with a dish of water and a tempting
piece of ruddy fresh meat, Red Fox gave him
one long look of implacable disdain, retreated with
dignity to his corner, and ignored the visit resolutely.
He was hungry, and very thirsty; but in the visitor’s
hated presence he scorned to show either of these
needs. When the Boy approached him too closely
he would show his white teeth, and a deep, lambent
green colour would come into his eyes, almost
opaque and seeming like a film drawn over the whole
iris. This was a signal meaning “keep off!” and
the Boy, understanding it very well, obeyed. As
soon as he was gone, Red Fox lapped up the water
greedily, and fell upon the raw beef. He had no
intention of starving himself, but he was not going
to give the Boy the satisfaction of watching him
eat.</p>
<p>And now began for the unhappy captive four
weeks of monotonous vain longing. Twice a day,
in the early morning and in the first of the twilight,
he would go through his efforts to escape, testing
the chain link by link, and then hopefully burying it
in the chaff. Only the attempt to pull the collar over
his head he never repeated, so great was his horror
of strangling. Meanwhile the Boy was unremitting
<span class="pb" id="Page_310">[310]</span>
in his efforts to win the confidence of the splendid
captive. Dainties to eat, fresh water twice a day,
gentle conversation, quiet, gradual advances, all
were faithfully and discreetly tried, but all in vain.
At the end of the month the scorn in Red Fox’s eyes
was as clear and uncompromising as ever, his glare
as greenly menacing and his teeth as implacably
displayed, whenever his gaoler came too near.
Then, reluctantly, but on his father’s advice, the
Boy made up his mind that the tameless captive must
be sold.</p>
<p>About this time—for the fame of Red Fox and
the story of his capture had spread far beyond
the Ringwaak neighbourhoods—a well-dressed
stranger appeared at the settlement and asked to
see the illustrious fox. The Boy proudly did the
honours, and with regret acknowledged his failure
to tame the beautiful and sagacious beast. The
visitor presently made an offer to buy.</p>
<p>“What do you want him for?” asked the Boy,
doubtfully.</p>
<p>The stranger eyed him with care before replying,
and understood something of his attitude.</p>
<p>“To sell to some big zoological gardens,” he
replied, easily, “where he’ll be thoroughly appreciated.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_311">[311]</div>
<p>Much relieved, the Boy agreed at once, and pocketed
a price beyond his wildest hopes. Had he
known, however, the purchaser’s real purpose, he
would have rejected any price with indignation, and
even counted upon Jabe Smith’s backing in the matter.
Red Fox was destined, not for a brilliant
“zoo,” where he would be a prisoner, indeed, but
pampered and admired, but for the depleted coverts
of a Hunt Club in one of the great States farther
south, where his strength and cunning might be expected
to give phenomenal sport before the hounds
should finally tear him to pieces. The backwoodsman
as well as the Boy had a kind of primitive horror
of the formal sport of fox-hunting, which
seemed to them a regulated and long-drawn cruelty.
It is probable, however, that if they had consulted
the wishes of Red Fox himself, that self-confident
and indomitable animal would have elected to go
with the stranger, choosing the alien coverts with all
their loud and appalling perils rather than the hopeless
security of the “zoo.”</p>
<p>As it was, however, every one was pleased. The
Boy and Jabe had their money; and Red Fox, in
his openwork, strong-barred crate, was glad of any
change that meant getting away from the gloomy
box-stall in the barn. Where there was change there
<span class="pb" id="Page_312">[312]</span>
might come opportunity; and at least he was once
more moving in the moving sun and air.</p>
<p>The journey from Ringwaak settlements to the
nearest railway station was some fifteen miles of
rough going in an open express wagon which carried
the mails. The crate containing Red Fox and his
misfortunes was lashed securely on the top of some
heavy boxes, so he could command a view of the
bright-coloured, russet and crimson world which he
was leaving. Curled up on the bottom of the crate,
his watchful eyes stared forth intelligently through
the bars, missing nothing, but revealing nothing of
the emotions astir behind their clear depths. For a
little while the road led through familiar woods
and fields. Then these grew strange, but the rampiked,
ridgy summit of old Ringwaak, his landmark
all his life, remained in view. Then the wagon
topped a range of steep uplands and dipped into the
rugged wilderness valley of the Ottanoonsis, and
Ringwaak was hidden from view. Now, for the
first time, Red Fox felt himself an alien and an
exile utterly. As the granite rocks, and scraggy
white birches, and black patches of hemlock, and
naked, bleak, dead trunks closed in about the narrow
road, the captive felt for the first time that the
old range, and the den on the hillside, and his slim
<span class="pb" id="Page_313">[313]</span>
red mate, were lost. For a time his faith in his
own wits failed him, and he sank his nose between
his paws in despair.</p>
<p>After what seemed to the captive, and hardly less
to the well-dressed stranger on the seat beside the
driver, an interminable age of jolting, the lonely
little backwoods station, a mere red-washed shanty,
with a tall water-tank near by, was reached. Here
the stranger gave Red Fox a drink, and a liberal
chunk of fresh meat to amuse himself with, but
made no attempt to cultivate his good-will. Unlike
the Boy, he had no wish to conciliate or subdue the
captive’s wildness. At last, after an hour’s wait,
the train came roaring and clattering down the rails;
and Red Fox, in his crate on the platform, shrank
back against the bars with starting eyeballs, imagining
that the end of all things had come upon the
world. When the loud monster had passed him
and come to a stop, and he found himself still alive,
he was trembling so that he could scarcely stand up;
and it seemed a matter of small importance when
his crate was thrust into what was evidently a part
of the monster, and he was whirled away with sickening
motion and bewildering tumult. Not till
he had been travelling for nearly a day could he
bring himself to eat or drink. Then, little by
<span class="pb" id="Page_314">[314]</span>
little, seeing that men lived and were content about
him, seeming to have no dread whatever of the
monster, he recovered his equanimity and resumed
his wonted courage. The process, however, took
him another good twenty-four hours, and then, just
as he was finding himself master of the situation,
the train came to a long stop, and his crate was
lifted from the car. Once more he was put into a
wagon, and taken for a drive,—first through a
wilderness of crowding houses set thick together
like trees, then through a pleasant country of gardens
diffusing into farms, and at last into a rougher
region of pasture fields, and swamps, and thick-wooded
knolls. Presently the wagon stopped in
front of a low, wide-winged, imposing red structure,
where men lounged on the spacious porch, and
saddled horses stood before the steps. Here the
crate was lifted down, and the stranger began
enthusiastically pointing out Red Fox’s beauties and
distinctions to a knot of men who had come forward
to inspect the heralded prize. Their admiration
was unstinted.</p>
<p>“If he’s got bottom to match his beauty,” said
one, “he’ll give us the neatest run the ‘Merrybrooks’
have ever had.”</p>
<p>“Look at that cool and cunning eye!” said another.
<span class="pb" id="Page_315">[315]</span>
“He’s got brains. He’ll give us more than
one run, I’m thinking, before that mighty brush
hangs on the wall!”</p>
<p>“I could find it in my heart to wish he might
fool us altogether!” cried a third. But this foolishly
amiable sentiment aroused such a chorus
of protest that he hastened to add: “I mean, of
course, that it would be a great thing for our
strain of foxes, and therefore for the club, and
therefore for sport in general, if this husky Kanuck
could have a fair chance to disseminate his breed.”</p>
<p>The suggestion caught several supporters, who
proposed that Red Fox should be kept for breeding;
but there being a great meet planned for the following
Tuesday, just four days ahead, the majority
were determined to let the future take care of itself.
The last run of the Merrybrook hounds had
been something of a fizzle, and now they were not
sure there was a fox left in their coverts. They
wanted one good run, anyway; and plainly this was
the beast to give it to them.</p>
<p>In the middle of the lawn before the club-house
the crate was set on its side and the cover removed.
On the very instant, as if shot out by a spring,
Red Fox leaped forth. Straight before him was
a stretch of smooth meadow, leading to a grove
<span class="pb" id="Page_316">[316]</span>
of maples and chestnuts. But on the way up the
road, on the other side of the club-house, Red Fox
had noted a stretch of wild land, wooded and
brushy. In the too obvious path to freedom he
suspected a snare. The moment his feet touched
solid earth he doubled straight back toward the
spectators, darted fairly between the legs of one,
under the belly of the nearest horse, behind a massive
clump of rhododendrons across the road,—and
vanished before any one had time to more than look
around.</p>
<p>The stranger, who had brought Red Fox so far,
glowed with pride.</p>
<p>“Did you ever see such speed?” cried one.</p>
<p>“And such nerve?” cried another.</p>
<p>“He’s all right, Mack!” exclaimed several at
once.</p>
<p>“If he has any sort of luck,” remarked his first
champion, dryly, “our breed of foxes may get improved,
after all!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_317">[317]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig45">
<img src="images/p341.jpg" alt="“BEHIND A MASSIVE CLUMP OF RHODODENDRONS.”" width="500" height="679" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“BEHIND A MASSIVE CLUMP OF RHODODENDRONS.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_319">[319]</div>
<h2 id="c19"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XVIII.</span>
<br /><span class="small">THE BELL-MOUTHED PACK</span></h2>
<p>The new land in which Red Fox now
found himself established was greatly to
his taste, and his blood ran wildly in the
sweetness of recovered freedom. He had little
time to pine for his grimmer north and the vast
woods of Ringwaak. Here were dense coverts,
patches of swamp, long, though narrow, stretches
of woodland wherein a kind of stiff, primly upright
cedar took the place of his well-loved spruce and
fir, bright green meadows enclosed with stone walls,
and rocky, neglected pastures with snake fences that
reminded him of home. Here and there a steep,
rocky knoll, set thick with trees which were many
of them unfamiliar to him, arose out of the levels;
and here and there a much-meandering brook,
narrow but deepish, spread out into a pond which
suggested to him a plenitude of wild ducks.
From a rock on the crest of the highest knoll he
<span class="pb" id="Page_320">[320]</span>
saw that this pleasant new range of his was almost
completely surrounded by settlements and smoky
villages; but beyond these, to the north and west,
ran a purple barrier of mountains, as wild-looking
as his own Ringwaak. He had half a mind to
set out for these mountains at once, not quite liking
the girdle of civilization which he saw drawn about
him. But that was only a passing whim. He
had no other fault to find with his present domain.
Game was abundant, and the more he explored these
diversified coverts the more content with them he became.
Before he had been three days in possession
he knew them thoroughly. There seemed to be no
active enemies about, and the men whom he saw
lounging on the club-house porches, on the outskirts
of his domain, appeared unlikely to give
him any annoyance.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_321">[321]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig46">
<img src="images/p345.jpg" alt="“THE CENTRE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT PATCH OF SWAMP.”" width="496" height="780" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“THE CENTRE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT PATCH OF SWAMP.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_323">[323]</div>
<p>On the morning of the fourth day, however, he
was surprised to note a great bustle and stir before
the club-house. From the top of his knoll he
wondered at the scarlet-coated riders who were
gathering quickly, with here and there among them
a slenderer, dark figure, which seemed to stick
mysteriously upon one side of her horse. His
interest, however, turned speedily to apprehension
when he saw a pack of dogs, perhaps ten or twelve
in number (he did not know how to count), coming
up over a rise beyond the club-house. These dogs
looked very much like the tan-coloured half-breed
at the settlement, whom he had so often outwitted
and outrun. He understood now certain
ominous, baying voices, which he had heard several
times in the distance; and he realized in a second
that now was an old game about to be played in
a new way. He himself it was, and none other,
that all this fuss was about. There was so much of
it; and the colour looked so impressive. For a
moment his heart sank, and his brush dropped.
Then confidence returned. He sat up with sprightly
cocked ears and head to one side as was his ancient
custom, and eyed with shrewd semi-disdain the
elaborate preparations which were being made
against him. Then he slipped down from his watch-tower
and betook himself to the centre of the most
difficult patch of swamp.</p>
<p>There was one thing, however, which Red Fox,
shrewd as he was, did not realize; and that was
that the master of the hounds knew a lot about
foxes. He knew that that rock on the top of the
knoll was just the sort of place which a strange fox,
if a cunning one, would be likely to choose as a lookout
when anything unusual was afoot. He led the
<span class="pb" id="Page_324">[324]</span>
way thither, therefore, and put the pack straight
at it, rather expecting an immediate find. The
steaming scent, of course, was picked up almost at
once; and away went the splendid pack in loud
chorus, heads up and sterns down, taking the scent
in the air, straight for the swamp, and the whole
field following.</p>
<p>What Red Fox had heard before was the voice of
one hound mingled with the yelping of an excitable
mongrel. The deep, bell-like chorus that now fell
upon his ears warned him that the emergency
confronting him was something quite new and altogether
trying. In order to deal with it he felt that
he must know more about it than he did. Without
waiting to leave any tangles in the swamp for the
hounds to unravel, he slipped out on the farther side,
ran hard for about a mile and a half straight away
through the roughest kind of a country, then doubled
back on a spacious loop and mounted another knoll
to take observations.</p>
<p>So remarkable had been his speed that he was
in time to see, below him and across a stretch of
meadow, the pack just emerging from the swamp,
and the gay-coloured field just closing upon them
around the swamp’s edges. With the intensest interest
he watched it all. He marvelled, not without
<span class="pb" id="Page_325">[325]</span>
a pang, at the speed of those black and tan dogs,
who ran so close together and seemed to know so
well what they were about. He marvelled still
more at the man-creatures on horseback who followed
the pack so wildly. He had taken pains to
put every possible obstacle in the path,—every
high stone wall, every crooked fence, every ditch
and bog, every coil of the erratic brook. These,
to his light and tough agility, were nothing. But
it filled him with amazement to see the way in which
the man-creatures—those slim, dark ones on the
sides of their horses as well as the red ones that rode
in the usual fashion—went boldly over the obstacles.
Some, to be sure, went down in disaster;
and some turned aside to rejoin the hunt later on;
but most kept straight ahead with the pack, “buck-jumping”
their way over certain awkward obstructions,
and clearing others with magnificent, soaring
leaps. Red Fox thought to himself that these man-creatures
were curiously different from those he
used to know,—Jabe Smith, and the Boy, and
the long-legged, slouching, indifferent backwoods
farmers. He got so absorbed in satisfying his curiosity
that he almost forgot the important part which
he himself was playing in the drama; and before
he knew it the baying pack was almost back upon
<span class="pb" id="Page_326">[326]</span>
him. He darted down the densest side of the knoll
and ran with all his might across the open,—but he
was not quite in time to escape being sighted. A
great shout of triumph went up from the field; and
the pack was sent at a tangent across the field,
cutting into the trail and saving a vast expenditure
of time and wind. The burst of speed which
Red Fox now put on was a revelation to all who
were so fortunate as to see it; but, softened as he
was from his long weeks of captivity, it cost him too
much. He kept right on through the next covert,
and across the next open, and through a wide belt
of alder-swamp; but when next he showed himself,
had there been any one near to see, it would have
been observed that his brush drooped in dejection,
and his bright, dapper coat was dark with wet. He
halted for a moment or two, to recover his wind
a little; then he set himself to try some of his old
tricks.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_327">[327]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig47">
<img src="images/p351.jpg" alt="“ON A FALLEN SAPLING HE CROSSED THE BROOK.”" width="500" height="720" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“ON A FALLEN SAPLING HE CROSSED THE BROOK.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_329">[329]</div>
<p>On a fallen sapling he crossed the brook, and ran
some twenty yards up-stream. Then, though he
hated wetting his feet, he retraced his steps in the
water, close alongshore, to a distance of perhaps
fifty yards down-stream. This, he calculated,
should give him plenty of time to recover his wind
and begin the game again as good as new. But
that bell-mouthed baying was once more close behind
him. He trotted to the farthest point of the alder
swamp, saving himself shrewdly for a quick and
secret dart across the meadows to the next covert,
and slipped out boldly. To his terror, there stood
a group of the scarlet-coated men on horseback,
apparently awaiting him. As their terrible shout
arose he knew all those elaborate tactics of his
had gone for nought,—had been so much precious
time wasted. For an instant he hesitated, thinking
to turn back. But the baying of his pursuers was
already in the alder-swamp. Taking a grip on his
nerve, he dashed straight through the group of
horsemen,—who applauded with a volley of terrifying
sounds,—and ran for the next patch of
woods.</p>
<p>When he got there, and the kindly shadows once
more shielded him for a little, he knew he must not
stop, though his heart was threatening to burst.
He feared to try any more of his old devices
against these new and too numerous foes. He
simply ran straight on, trusting to find some novel
way out of his trouble. The hounds were less noisy
now, having no breath to spare for music; and
this encouraged him a little. Through the thickets
he raced, and through a little pasture which offered
<span class="pb" id="Page_330">[330]</span>
no suggestion of escape. The pasture was bounded
on the further side by a massive stone wall, extending
as far as he could see in either direction. What
there might be on the other side of that wall
he had no least idea; but assuredly, whatever there
was, it could not be worse than what there was on
this side. With hardly strength enough left for the
leap, he sprang to the top of the wall,—and
dropped instantly down the other side.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_331">[331]</div>
<h2 id="c20"><span class="fontnorm">CHAPTER XIX.</span>
<br /><span class="small">TRIUMPH</span></h2>
<p>It was in a dusty road winding between
stone walls on either hand and stiff rows
of Lombardy poplars that Red Fox now
found himself. For perhaps twenty yards he ran
on, down the middle of the road, where he knew
the dry, hard earth would not hold his scent. Then
the jog-trot and jangle of leisurely team approaching
caught his ear, and he hid himself in a clump
of tall woods to let it go by. His tongue was
hanging far out. He was all but spent. And he
heard the voices of the pack in the woods just
across the pasture.</p>
<p>The approaching team, as it came around a turn
of the road, proved to be a big, lumbering farm-wagon,
drawn by two horses, with the driver half-asleep
on the seat. The roomy body of the wagon
was filled with boxes and a barrel, a winnowing
machine, several bags of feed, a bundle of dry
<span class="pb" id="Page_332">[332]</span>
salt codfish, and a bale of some kind of coarse cloth.
The sight reminded Red Fox of the things which
had accompanied his crate on the journey from the
settlement to the station. In that wagon he had
been safe. Why not so in this one? There was no
time for indecision. The voices of the pack were
already loud in the open pasture. One noiseless
leap as the wagon passed,—and he had climbed in
softly over the tail-board, and curled himself down
out of sight under the winnowing machine, behind
a bag of feed.</p>
<p>Not two minutes later the pack arrived, and came
tumbling over the wall into the lane. Fifty yards
away in his hiding-place, Red Fox heard the sudden
change in their voices as they found themselves
at fault. Around and around, up and down, and
over the wall on the other side, they quested for the
lost trail, whimpering in bewildered disappointment.
Here was the trail, faint but unmistakable,
right in the middle of the road. And here it ended,
as if Red Fox had grown wings and sprung into the
air. The pack, being very wise in the wiles of
foxes, now scattered, some running in one direction,
and some in the other, along the tops of both
walls, and also parallel with the farther one. In
this way they made sure of ultimately picking up
the trail,—and failing in this they were overwhelmed
with confusion. Presently the field came
hurrying up, all excitement. Some praised the
craft of the quarry, some cursed the stupidity of the
pack; and the babble and wonder grew. But Red
Fox, meanwhile, curled up small beneath the
winnowing machine, was being carried farther and
farther away from the fate that had so nearly
clutched him; and at last the baleful voices died
upon his ears. Once more his destiny and his wits
had worked together to save him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_333">[333]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig48">
<img src="images/p357.jpg" alt="“CAME TUMBLING OVER THE WALL INTO THE LANE.”" width="500" height="701" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“CAME TUMBLING OVER THE WALL INTO THE LANE.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_335">[335]</div>
<p>For hours the big wagon rumbled and jolted on,
in no haste; and all the time Red Fox lay quite
still, recovering his strength. He wanted to be
carried as far as possible from that skilled pack
and those terrible scarlet hunters. At last, however,
the wagon stopped, and the driver heavily
dismounted. Hearing him begin to unhitch the
horses,—a process which he had often watched
in the settlement from a hiding-place in some overlooking
field,—Red Fox peered warily forth.
He found the wagon standing in the middle of a
spacious, well-kept barn-yard. About twenty paces
away, however, was a garden thick with shrubbery
and tall, half-withered plants,—and beyond the
garden he saw a patch of woods. There was covert,
<span class="pb" id="Page_336">[336]</span>
within his easy reach. Noiselessly he dropped from
the cart-tail. The driver, a sandy-bearded, big
fellow, with a wide straw hat, happening to turn
his head at the moment, saw what passenger he had
been carrying, and rapped out a sharp oath of
astonishment. In the next instant Red Fox had
disappeared.</p>
<p>Darting through the currant-bushes and tall
hollyhock clumps of the garden, he presently gained
the trees, which proved to be but a narrow belt of
woodland. Beyond the woodland was an open pasture
field, full of hillocks and knolls, and dotted
with red cattle feeding peacefully. Very near, however,
and straight ahead across the pasture, he saw
the mountains. They were rough with rocky
shoulders, and dark with pine,—very dark and
safe-looking; and there, said his heart, was where
he must be. But between them and the pasture lay
a scattered village, full of dangers.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_337">[337]</div>
<div class="img" id="fig49">
<img src="images/p361.jpg" alt="“HE CAME OUT UPON A JUTTING CAPE OF ROCK.”" width="500" height="754" />
<p class="center"><span class="small">“HE CAME OUT UPON A JUTTING CAPE OF ROCK.”</span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_339">[339]</div>
<p>Very cautiously he skirted the field, fearing to
show himself in the open. One of the red cattle
caught sight of him, however, and stared at him
resentfully, till all the rest turned and followed
him, with lowered horns and hostile mutterings.
This attention was anything but what Red Fox
wanted, so presently, in disgust, he shrank back
into the woods, and so out-flanked the pasture.
Then he came to a deep, ragged ravine, filled with
a tangle of young trees and weeds and wild vines.
Immediately beyond was the first house of the
village. So here he hid himself, and lay quiet until
well past nightfall.</p>
<p>At last, when the village had grown quiet and
most of its windows had been darkened, he ventured
forth, bold but wary. Reaching a highway
leading straight through the village, in the direction
which he wished to go, he followed it, keeping
in the middle of the track, where his scent would
not lie. Once a cur, catching the musky odour on
the still night air, rushed out upon him, barking
wildly. In silent bitterness he punished his assailant
so sharply that the latter fled back to his doorstep,
yelping. But all the dogs of the village were
now giving tongue; so Red Fox darted indignantly
up a lane, through a garden, and out across the back
fields, still keeping his face toward those dark
shapes of mountain towering against the western
sky. In a very few minutes the clamour of the
village curs was left behind. At last he crossed
a noisy, shallow brook; and then the ground began
to rise. Wild underbrush was all about him, and
ancient trees; and soon he was climbing among
<span class="pb" id="Page_340">[340]</span>
rocks more harsh and hugely tumbled than those
of his native Ringwaak. Once only he stopped—having
heard some tiny squeaks among the tree-roots—long
enough to catch a woodmouse, which
eased his long hunger. Then he pressed on, ever
climbing; till, in the first gray-saffron transparency
of dawn, he came out upon a jutting cape of rock,
and found himself in a wilderness to his heart’s
desire, a rugged turbulence of hills and ravines
where the pack and the scarlet hunters could not
come.</p>
<p class="tbcenter"><span class="sc">THE END.</span></p>
<div class="img" id="fig50">
<img src="images/p366367.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="393" />
<p class="center"><span class="small"></span></p>
</div>
<h2 id="c21">Transcriber’s Notes</h2>
<ul><li>Retained publisher information from the printed copy (the electronic edition is in the public domain in the country of publication).</li>
<li>Corrected some obvious typos.</li>
<li>In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by _underscores_.</li></ul>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46005 ***</div>
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