purged by fire of all human touch. Then he had scented the ground all
about with the carcass of a freshly killed chicken. Thus Silver Spot,
the memory of his feast still upon him, caught the alluring scent.
Swerving from his path, he was suddenly caught in the steel jaws which
closed with an ugly click. The big fox was a prisoner, the victim of a
trapper's greed.
He tore savagely at the thing which held him, straining every effort to
gain his freedom, but without avail. The trap seemed only to close more
tightly, cutting through fur and sinew, staining the ground red. At
length, exhausted, he sank down in the leaves only to rise again and
again to renew the struggle.
The hours dragged on. He was hungry and unbearably thirsty, with water
only a few yards out of reach. His brave heart almost failed him, but
as the darkness began to pale and the wilderness to waken, desperation
gave him fresh courage. He set his sharp teeth upon the imprisoned foot
and at last was free once more, two toes missing. He took a long drink
from the stream before limping off to his den where morning found him
licking his wound, thus cleansing it of all impurities and assuring a
swift recovery.
A few hours later the half-breed visited his trap where his keen eyes
read correctly the evidences of the night's struggle. Sorely
disappointed, he returned to his cabin, save for the trap as
empty-handed as he had left it.
For a time the big fox was lame, but nature soon healed the wound and he
was able once more to roam the forest as free as the air itself. He had
learned a lesson, however, and no trap could be so cleverly placed as to
lead him into its cruel jaws. He paid no more visits to the farm in the
clearing, but kept almost entirely to his own domain.
Late in the summer came a wet period when for days dark clouds hung over
the wilderness and the rain fell steadily. When the sun did appear,
scattering the clouds, the woods were soaked and dripping, and showers
still fell from the heavy branches.
It was on such a day that a hunter with a pack of trained fox hounds
entered the forest a mile to the west of Silver Spot's den. It was not
long before the dogs had found the trail of the big fox and the chase
was on, a chase destined to try the cunning and strength of the hunted
to the breaking point.
At first the fox felt no anxiety. He thoroughly enjoyed mystifying a
pursuer. Ordinarily in a straight-away run he could outdistance the
fleetest foxhound. Now, however, even Nature seemed to conspire against
him. He was soon drenched with spray. The water clung to his long fur,
and his brush, usually carried blithely aloft, drooped heavily. In spite
of all his tricks, circling and doubling, leaping from fallen trees and
taking to the water, the hounds clung to his trail like bees to honey.
Their deep baying sent the chill of fear to the staunch heart of Silver
Spot. Realizing that here was no play such as he had indulged in with
Pal, the Hermit's dog, he bent all his energies toward outstripping his
pursuers.
For a time he kept well ahead of the dogs, but at length, as his old
wound made itself felt, the pace began to tell upon him. His tail
drooped lower until it all but swept the ground, while with it the
courage of the fox seemed to fail. His breathing became labored. His
foot-pads were cut by thorns and sharp sticks, leaving now and then a
trace of blood upon the moss. He thought with longing of the home den
which he was widely circling, but to which he dared not turn. With the
pack in full cry, the hunted beast broke from cover at the edge of the
wilderness where stood the cabin of the Hermit.
At once Silver Spot realized his mistake. Here in the open there was no
means of avoiding the dogs, nor could he return to the woods. Even as he
paused in despair, the leader of the pack burst into view, eyes gleaming
savagely and cruel teeth bared. There was but one alternative and the
fox took it.
Across the clearing the door of the log cabin stood open. For some time
the Hermit had been following the course of the chase from his bench
outside the door, his first feeling of exultation at the cunning and
fleetness of his pet gradually giving place to uneasiness and then to
genuine alarm for his safety. As Silver Spot came into view so closely
pressed, the Hermit sprang to his feet, but the fox heeded him not. With
a last effort he leaped the fence, sped across the clearing and through
the door which the man closed in the very teeth of the foremost hound.
The wild creature whom he had come to love had turned to him for
sanctuary, and not in vain.
The hunt was over and, while the big fox crouched in the corner
regaining his breath, the dogs raved unavailingly without. The hunter
soon arrived upon the scene and coaxed and threatened, but the Hermit
was firm. He told of his interest in the fox since the time he had found
him, a furry cub, playing before the home den, and of how again and
again he had watched him outwit his own dog. The hunter was at length
won over and departed with his hounds, even going so far as to promise
to hunt outside of Silver Spot's domain in the future.
The Hermit waited until man and dogs had vanished from sight; then he
opened the door of the cabin and stood aside. There was a flash of
reddish fur as Silver Spot bounded forth and away to the forest, his
splendid brush once more aloft and new courage in his heart.
WHEN THE MOON IS FULL
One summer night when the moon hung so low that it seemed to have become
entangled in the branches of a giant spruce, a comical furry face
wearing a black mask across the eyes appeared at an opening high up in a
tree. A moment later Ringtail, the big raccoon, scrambled to the ground
and set off in search of food. His brown fur was long and thick, and his
big tail with its seven dark rings was the pride of his heart. In the
wilderness, life is a serious business, yet the big raccoon enjoyed to
the utmost the blessings which Providence had heaped upon him.
Not far from the home tree lay a tamarack swamp to which Ringtail now
made his way, having in mind a certain still, deep pool, bordered with
rushes and lilies and teeming with fish, frogs, and tadpoles, fare
beloved of raccoons. While yet some distance from the pool he could hear
the chorus of the frogs, the shrill tenor of the smaller ones accented
at regular intervals by the deep base of bullfrogs, and at the sound
his mouth watered in anticipation.
[Illustration: The big frog was flipped out upon the bank.]
Stealthily though Ringtail advanced, sharp eyes noted his approach. The
chorus stopped abruptly and when he stood upon the edge of the pool not
a frog was to be seen. The raccoon, however, being wise in the ways of
frogs, was not discouraged. He crept out to the tip of the half
submerged log, where he crouched, prepared for the long and patient wait
which is so often the price of a meal in the wilderness. As he had
hoped, the inhabitants of the pool soon forgot the presence of the
motionless animal, taking him for a part of the log upon which he
crouched. Gradually the chorus was resumed, at first on the farther
shore, then coming nearer until, close at hand, sounded a hoarse, deep
bellow which betokened the presence of a big bullfrog. Ringtail's mouth
watered afresh, but he moved not so much as a muscle. The frog was as
yet too far away to risk a catch.
A moment later its bulging eyes appeared, almost under the nose of the
raccoon. Quick as a flash a little black, hand-like paw was thrust into
the water and the big frog was flipped out upon the bank. Having secured
it, Ringtail returned to the tip of his log where he proceeded to dip
the body of the frog into the water again and again until every speck of
leaf mold and dirt was washed away. Then he dispatched it with great
relish.
As the commotion had disturbed the rest of the inhabitants of the pool,
Ringtail now wisely turned his back upon the swamp and set out for fresh
hunting-grounds. He wandered through the forest until he came to the
bank of a clear stream which he knew of old to be well stocked with
fish. Owing to recent rains at its source the stream had risen and the
current was swift and strong. In the shallows where it had spread over
its low banks, Ringtail found an abundance of food and fed daintily.
Each morsel was thoroughly washed before he swallowed it, a habit of all
raccoons, even though the morsel may have only that moment been taken
from the water.
Ringtail's feast suffered a sudden interruption. A few paces farther on
another raccoon had been having a similar meal when Ringtail appeared.
Now the first comer believed the feast to be his by right of discovery
and therefore advanced threateningly upon the intruder. Ringtail was
surprised but not disturbed. Fighting was almost as much fun as
feasting. Accordingly, when the other animal appeared ready to quarrel,
Ringtail, although he had eaten all he desired, advanced joyously to the
fray.
The two were evenly matched and for a time they rolled about, locked in
each other's embrace, neither gaining the advantage. A porcupine
dawdling along the trail stopped to look at the belligerents with cold
little eyes; then, grunting disdainfully, he waddled to the edge of the
stream to see what prize could be worth so great an exertion. As they
fought, the raccoons drew nearer and nearer to the porcupine, who did
not offer to move. Another lurch would undoubtedly have brought them
into contact with his bristling quills had they not in the nick of time
discovered their danger. Instantly they separated and leaped back. The
leap brought them to the slippery mud at the edge of the stream and the
next moment both rolled helplessly into the flood.
They rose gasping, but the current, which at that point set well in
toward the bank, seized and bore them struggling for some distance
before they managed to scramble upon a large branch that the stream was
carrying. There they clung, all desire for fight wiped out by the sudden
plunge.
For a time they rode, looking longingly at the banks which seemed to
glide rapidly to the rear. Then their queer craft was swept into a side
current and grounded, while the raccoons lost no time in wading to
shore. On the bank they cleaned and smoothed their bedraggled fur until
it was once more dry and fluffy; then, without a backward glance, each
hurried away, Ringtail to his home tree, where he arrived just as the
rosy fingers of dawn appeared in the east. The warmth of his snug hollow
felt very grateful after his sudden immersion and his ride in the cool
night air.
The next night found Ringtail entirely recovered from his adventure and
once more abroad. He wandered until he emerged from the forest at the
edge of a bit of cleared ground. Before him lay a moon-washed open space
and beyond that rose tall, green ranks of corn, a sight that filled the
raccoon's heart with joy. He quickly crossed the clearing and, bearing
down a stalk, stripped it of its husk and sank his teeth into the milky
kernels. Ringtail dearly loved sweet corn and he ate until his round,
furry sides were distended and he could hold no more. Then he ran up and
down through the rustling field, bearing down great quantities, merely
sampling their sweetness and leaving behind a wide swath of ruin.
The next morning when the farmer beheld the work of destruction, his
wrath was great and he vowed vengeance upon all the raccoon tribe. That
night he lay in wait at the edge of the field with his gun. No marauder
appeared, yet in the morning he found that a new section had been
visited. It looked as if a dozen raccoons had feasted. A grand hunt
followed, but Ringtail, safe in his hollow tree at the edge of the
tamarack swamp, heard the distant barking of the dogs without alarm.
The hunt swept off in another direction and quiet again fell upon the
wilderness.
Thus the summer with its long, sunny days and velvety nights sped by and
was succeeded by the moon of falling leaves. The air was tinged with
frost and the forest flamed with color. The cornfield no longer held a
lure for Ringtail, but the beech trees were dropping their little,
three-cornered nuts and the big raccoon was still fat and happy.
Late one night, when he had feasted well and was making his way slowly
homeward, he heard the barking of a dog. He paused in the trail to
listen. His sharp ears soon assured him that but a single enemy was upon
the trail and he started on again, not at all alarmed. He made good time
for so fat a fellow but it soon became apparent that he would be
overtaken before he could reach the home tree. Accordingly he sought out
a large beech tree and, backing up to its great trunk, waited for his
foe.
He did not have long to wait. A black and white dog soon burst into
view, nose to earth, and almost ran into the waiting Ringtail before he
became aware of the raccoon's presence. With a yelp of surprise Pal
halted so abruptly that he skidded in the dry leaves, while the big
raccoon hissed warningly. For a long moment the two eyed each other,
each seemingly unwilling to offer the offensive. Pal barked sharply, but
the sound produced no effect upon the raccoon. Then the dog began
circling the tree. Ringtail circled with him, always presenting a
formidable front.
Ordinarily the peace-loving canine would hardly have attacked the
raccoon, but the madness of the season was racing in the veins of the
Hermit's dog and he longed for heroic adventure. So, after slowly
circling the tree several times, he threw caution to the winds and
closed in. Ringtail was ready, and for a time there was an inextricable
tangle of raccoon and dog. Then Pal backed off, bleeding in several
places, while the big raccoon, panting and disheveled, still stood with
back against the tree.
For a moment the two glared at each other. Then Pal's look wavered. He
glanced up into the tree and thence into the forest. Then he yawned as
if he had lost all interest in the affair and, trotting off, was soon
out of sight among the dark trees. Ringtail was free to continue his way
homeward, limping slightly but proud of his victory. Before going to
sleep he spent some time cleansing his matted fur and restoring it to
its usual soft and lustrous state.
A few nights later Ringtail met with a strange adventure, one which left
him thoroughly puzzled. He had left his hollow tree early in the
evening, very hungry after his hours of fasting. Coming upon a bed of
wake-robins, which covered the forest floor with their spotted leaves,
he stopped to dig up a few of the peppery roots. Washing them in a
near-by stream, he devoured them, blinking his eyes comically over an
unusually hot one. Then he wandered on in search of beechnuts, his
appetite only made keener by this peppery salad.
Not far from the rail fence which guarded the clearing of the Hermit, he
came upon a little open glade carpeted with moss and surrounded by great
trees. From the side opposite Ringtail a strange yellow radiance
streamed out over the glade. In its brightness a number of rabbits were
disporting themselves, jumping about as if in some queer dance, pausing
occasionally to stare into the center of that fascinating glow. Now and
then one would vanish into the darkness to right or left, but another
was sure to take its place.
Ringtail stared, the light reflected from his bright little eyes. Slowly
he crept nearer, lured by that strange radiance, fearful, yet unable to
resist. The rabbits vanished at his approach, while a tiny wood-mouse
which had stolen up, fled with a squeak of panic. But for once Ringtail
had no eyes for plump wood-mice. He stared a moment, then moved aside
into the darkness where his eyes were not so blinded, and looked about
him.
The light came from a small object set upon the ground. Ringtail walked
all around it, passing within a few feet of a spot where the Hermit sat
concealed in a thicket of wild cherry. The man had secreted himself
behind his dark-lantern in such a way that the wind would blow toward
him, so no scent of human presence reached the inquisitive raccoon, who
continued his cautious circling until he emerged again into the radiance
of the lantern. His fur bristled and the rings upon his tail stood out
sharply, while his queer little masked face held such a puzzled look
that the Hermit chuckled to himself.
"You would make a fine pet, old Ringtail, but I suppose it would be a
shame to deprive you of your liberty," thought he, as he looked
admiringly at the big animal. His experiment with the light was proving
even more successful than he had hoped.
For some time Ringtail remained in the vicinity of the light, generally
just out of its glow. Several times he circled the lantern, regarding it
curiously but keeping at a respectful distance, for it much resembled a
trap. At length, however, the pangs of hunger asserted themselves and he
went on his way reluctantly, looking back often until the strange glow
was hidden from sight. Beechnuts were forgotten, but he made a
satisfying meal on fresh-water clams and several big, juicy tadpoles
before he turned his face toward the home tree.
By going some distance out of his way he came again to the little open
glade. This time it was illumined only by the radiance of the harvest
moon, a radiance very familiar and therefore not particularly
interesting to the big raccoon. The night was far spent when he reached
his hollow tree and climbed to his doorway. There he was sharply
silhouetted for a moment against the low-hanging moon before he vanished
into the friendly darkness. The bottom of the hole was made soft with a
thick covering of leaves into whose warmth Ringtail sank with a sigh of
content, and at once fell asleep.
The first dull cold days, heavy with their hint of coming snow, found
the big raccoon fat and sleepy, ready to go into winter quarters.
Ringtail seldom braved the gales of winter. He was an indolent,
peace-loving fellow, who would not have been able to cope with the
hunger and cold of the snowy months. The home hollow was not quite deep
enough to suit his fancy, so for one whole day he wandered about,
investigating tree after tree before he found one to his liking.
Occasionally he would enter a hole to find it occupied by another
raccoon who only looked at him sleepily and went on with his comfortable
doze.
All day dark clouds had hung over the wilderness. Late in the afternoon
a few big flakes, harbingers of the coming storm, drifted slowly to
earth. The sight caused Ringtail to hasten his investigations and at
last he discovered a place quite to his liking. It was a warm deep
hollow, well up from the ground in a big beech tree, its doorway opening
toward the south.
When Ringtail poked in his furry face, he found another raccoon already
in possession of the snug hollow, but this fact did not trouble him at
all. He slid down into the hole, which was carpeted almost a foot deep
with beech leaves, and, instead of resenting the intrusion, the other
raccoon only sighed comfortably and went back to sleep. Ringtail
squeezed his big body into the warm bed of leaves, cuddling his nose
into the thick fur of his bedfellow and protecting his feet with his own
bushy tail. And there the two slept contentedly, a furry brown ball,
until the warm spring sun peeping in at their doorway called them
forth.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF RINGTAIL, THE RACCOON
Late one summer afternoon a hush lay over the wilderness. The air was so
still that even the poplar leaves, which move at the slightest breath,
hung motionless. The swamp steamed in the heat, and even in the more
open forest the air was sultry and oppressive. Birds and wild creatures
waited panting for the relief of darkness, seeming to move more silently
and furtively than usual. The sun sank behind a bank of angry-looking
clouds, but even after dusk had shrouded the trails there was only
slight relief from the heat.
Ringtail climbed from the home tree to which he had returned in the
spring, and set out for the swamp, eager for a meal of frogs and fish in
spite of the strange, oppressive feeling in the air. About midnight,
while he was still abroad, the storm broke and swept over the
wilderness, leaving its path strewn with a tangled mass of brush and
fallen trees. Fortunate it was for Ringtail that he was not at home,
for the great beech crashed to the earth, where it lay upon the forest
floor, the entrance to the raccoon's house buried from sight. Thus
Ringtail found it when he returned from his fishing, having safely
weathered the storm under a ledge of rock.
His comfortable home was gone, but Ringtail was not one to complain. The
next night found him abroad in search of a new dwelling, moving being no
trouble at all for him. In the course of his wanderings he came to the
rail fence which protected the clearing of the Hermit. Standing with his
front feet on the lower rail, Ringtail surveyed the house and the
cleared ground flooded with moonlight. A dark object at the top of a
tall pole caught his attention and he decided to investigate.
Ringtail was a skillful climber and he soon stood on a stout platform at
the top of the pole. Before him was a rude, though inviting-looking
cabin of sticks; but, alas for poor Ringtail's hopes, the doorway was
much too small for him to enter. He poked in his inquisitive, pointed
nose, thereby causing a great commotion among the sparrows who had made
the place their home. Aroused by their noisy chirping, the Hermit
appeared in his doorway and in the moonlight discovered the dark bulk
before his birdhouse.
Wondering what it could be, he approached noiselessly and turned his
flashlight upon the visitor. The light revealed a pair of bright little
eyes set in a comical, black-masked face peering down at him over the
edge of the platform.
"Old Ringtail, as sure as I am standing here, and by the looks of
things, trying his best to roost in my birdhouse!" The Hermit chuckled
as he looked up into the eyes of the animal, who did not seem at all
alarmed.
After the two had gazed sociably at each other for a few moments the
Hermit bade Ringtail a cheery good-night and withdrew to his own cabin,
calling to Pal, who had been arousing the echoes with his excited
barking. The next morning Ringtail had disappeared, but, deciding that
the raccoon would make a far more interesting neighbor than a colony of
noisy sparrows, the Hermit tore out the nests and enlarged the doorway
enough to permit the animal to enter. Then he awaited developments,
trusting to the raccoon's curiosity to bring him back.
He was not disappointed. The following night Ringtail again visited the
birdhouse. To his joy he discovered that it could now be entered, even
though the doorway was a tight fit. The sparrows, who, in spite of the
destruction of their nests, had returned to the cabin to roost, he
evicted without a qualm of conscience. The first streaks of dawn found
him curled up snugly, sound asleep in his new home.
From that time on, the big raccoon made himself very much at home about
the clearing. At night he investigated everything on the place and
nearly drove Pal to a frenzy until the dog's master gave him to
understand that the raccoon was to be one of the family. Pal was
surprised and disgusted, but from that time on he tried to ignore his
old enemy. This was not an easy matter. Ringtail, who had grown
extremely bold with the protection accorded him, seemed to take delight
in making Pal's life miserable. He would tag the dog around the clearing
until Pal, in desperation, would turn upon him with a savage growl. Then
his tormentor would take to a tree, or his pole, or even the roof of the
cabin, there to wait until the dog's anger had cooled.
Ringtail had, also, another habit which annoyed Pal greatly. In the
shade just outside the cabin door was the dog's drinking-pan which the
Hermit always kept filled with fresh water from the spring. This pan the
raccoon always used for washing his food. Poor Pal, coming up hot and
thirsty, was sure to find it full of leaves, twigs and earth. He bore
this affront for some time but at last his patience was exhausted.
There-after he did his drinking at the spring, approaching it always by
a round-about way lest the raccoon discover it and pollute its clear
water. The Hermit watched the two animals with amusement, but he did not
interfere. Gradually the feud was forgotten. Indeed, before many weeks
had passed, the two had become firm friends, though Ringtail still
delighted in teasing the dog.