men and their far-reaching instrument of death and he did not stop to
argue even the question of fresh vegetables. Instead, he presented the
flag of truce and his little family lost no time in following his
example. Only Brown Brother hesitated. Between the rows of beets his
tongue had come into contact with the handle of a hoe. The Hermit had
that day been using the hoe and his hands, damp with perspiration, had
left a faint suggestion of salt upon the handle.
The taste recalled to the mind of the fawn a long forgotten impression.
His rough tongue caressed the handle, then he looked up, vaguely
troubled. The Hermit, seeing the deer and hoping that it was his old
friend, called Pal to heel and advanced slowly with outstretched hand.
Brown Brother trembled but stood his ground. It is impossible to say
whether or not the old association would have held him, for while the
Hermit was yet several yards away, a hoarse warning sounded from the
darkness beyond the fence. The sound seemed to release a spring, for
instantly the fawn bounded away, his white flag raised, and joined the
others in the safety of the wilderness.
Providence was kind to the buck and his family and in spite of their
many enemies late autumn found them still together. Through October, the
hunters' month, when the law permits the shooting of males, they all
grew exceedingly wary. The sound of a gun in the still forest would send
them fleeing swiftly and tirelessly toward the denser coverts to the
north.
Now Brown Brother heard the whining of the wind among the branches and
he would pause to look up wonderingly at their swaying tops. Woodchucks,
so fat from their summer feeding that it seemed as if their coats must
split, were locating their winter homes where they might sleep
comfortably during the cold months. Often during the night a wedge of
flying geese went honking over the forest, driven south by Arctic gales.
The first snow came drifting down like white feathers from some giant
flock of birds, falling softly among the spruce and hemlock and covering
the wilderness with a carpet that left a tell-tale record of every foot
which crossed its smooth expanse. And as the face of the wilderness
changed, its inhabitants, also, changed. Some went into hiding for the
cold months; others, fierce beasts such as the wolf and wildcat, simply
donned warmer coats; still others, notably the hare and the ptarmigan,
weaker and therefore in greater danger during the months of famine, put
on coats of white which made them almost indistinguishable against the
snowy background of the forest.
The snow found the herd of deer, under command of the big buck, heading
northward to the country of evergreens. Here, deep in a balsam swamp,
the winter "yard" was made, a labyrinth of intersecting paths leading to
the best food supplies and providing safety and shelter for the deer.
The fragrant balsam tips made excellent feeding and, by scraping away
the snow, the herd found plenty of moss and lichens for browsing. Here
they were quartered safe from all enemies, for though the deer were
familiar with the winding paths, an enemy soon became bewildered in
their many ramifications and was glad to get out alive without its
dinner.
As the cold increased, the snow grew deeper. The paths were kept trodden
to the ground and, sheltered between their warm banks, the deer did not
suffer from the cutting winds. Food was still plentiful, though the
lower branches of the hemlocks had been stripped and the tender tips had
long since been devoured.
One night in midwinter Brown Brother, in spite of the safety of his
fortress, had a narrow escape. The herd had wandered to the edge of the
yard where they stood looking out across the great lonely barrens. The
snow was deep and soft and the deer knew better than to venture forth.
With their tiny, sharp hoofs they would have floundered helplessly at
every step, and so become an easy prey to the first enemy that came
along.
The wind had died away with the setting of the sun, and the night was
very still. Across the barrens a faint tinge of green appeared upon the
horizon, spreading outward like a great fan across the sky, changing
from green to violet and from violet to pink, while great flaming
streamers spread upward to the zenith, pulsating as if with life. It was
a magnificent display of the Northern Lights and the little herd stood
like black statues in the glow.
There they remained, staring out across the vast expanse of snow, until
suddenly the buck threw up his head and stamped a warning. Immediately
the herd came to attention; then, silent as shadows, they turned and
vanished along their sheltering paths--all save Brown Brother. Alert but
curious, he paused to see for himself what had alarmed the leader. The
next moment a lean, tawny beast launched itself toward him and only his
extreme quickness saved his life. Like the wind he fled down the path in
the direction which the herd had taken, the hungry panther close behind.
Upon rounding a corner, he gave a sudden leap which carried him over the
intervening wall of snow into the next path, where after several
turnings he found the rest of the herd and knew that he was safe. The
panther paused, bewildered, at the spot where the trail ended abruptly
and the fugitive seemed to have vanished into thin air. He sniffed
hungrily about, then turned and slunk back the way he had come, his
stomach still empty and his temper boding ill for any unfortunate whose
trail he might cross.
As the long winter dragged on, food became more scarce. The ground had
been cropped clean of lichens and moss and it was necessary to reach
high for the balsam twigs. The doe and fawns would have fared ill had
not the buck helped them by bending down the higher branches which only
he could reach. As it was, their sides grew lean and their skin hung
loosely upon them. In March the big buck shed his antlers, leaving them
lying upon the snow where the fawns sniffed curiously at them.
At length the cold was broken, and when the drifts began to shrink
together and fill the streams to overflowing, the herd left the yard,
glad to be free once more. The buck, shorn of his lordly headdress,
craved solitude and wandered away by himself. Soon afterward the doe,
too, disappeared, leaving the fawns to shift for themselves. Though
lonely at first, they soon recovered their spirits and rejoiced in the
freedom of the woods after the narrow confines of the yard, and in the
abundance of food which appeared everywhere. Some weeks later the doe
reappeared, accompanied by a wobbly, long-legged fawn, its dappled coat
giving the effect of sunlight sifting through a leafy screen of
branches. At times the herd could be found together, but more often
Brown Brother and the orphan wandered off, each by himself.
That summer Brown Brother grew his first antlers. Mere prongs they were,
but the deer felt very proud of them as he carefully rubbed off the
velvet. He often visited alone the gardens of the farmers at the edge of
the wilderness. Sometimes in the dark hours before the dawn he went
close to the cabin of the Hermit, drawn, it seemed, simply by curiosity.
Occasionally at his harvesting in the forest the Hermit would look up to
find himself regarded by a pair of great brown eyes. At such times he
would assume his old position, standing perfectly still with
outstretched hand, his eyes narrowed to mere slits lest they make the
wild thing uneasy.
The animal, also, would stand immovable for a moment; then training
would conquer curiosity and, with a snort of fear, he would bound
gracefully away, his white flag gleaming occasionally between the trees
until the animal was lost to sight. One day the Hermit left a lump of
sugar upon the log beside which he had been standing and, secreting
himself at a safe distance, waited. As he had hoped, the deer returned,
eagerly licked up the sweet morsel and nosed about for more. After that
the Hermit made it a practice, upon sighting the deer, to leave a bit of
salt or sugar in a conspicuous place. The animal would invariably return
to it. And so the Hermit was content to have their friendship rest,
never attempting to force himself upon the wary but courageous animal.
The summer that Brown Brother attained his first full set of antlers a
forest fire devastated a great section of the wilderness to the
northward. The animals fled in terror before it, lynx and deer, fox and
rabbit, side by side, all personal feuds forgotten in the great common
danger. Many perished, overtaken by the flames which, fanned by a brisk
wind from the north, traveled with lightning-like rapidity. It had been
weeks since rain had fallen upon the forest and the underbrush was like
tinder. Great trees became in an instant towers of flame as the fire
roared onward like a living thing. The animals, their fur singed by
sparks and their eyes red and smarting with smoke, sought the water
holes, the strong shouldering the weak aside to get the best places,
great fierce animals, once the terror of the forest, whimpering like
frightened cubs.
For days the air about the cabin of the Hermit had been hazy and had
carried the faint scent of smoke, which grew ever thicker. By day the
sun shone red through the haze and at night the dark sky above the
forest to the north alternately glowed and dulled as with the pulsations
of the Aurora.
The farmers had dug wide fire guards about their clearings and kept
cloths saturated with water ready for instant use. The Hermit no longer
took trips far into the forest, but remained near the cabin, Pal always
trotting uneasily at his heels. Like his neighbors, the Hermit watched
and hoped for a change in the wind, which would be the only means of
saving their homes.
Early one morning, as he was preparing his breakfast, a slight noise at
the door caused him to look up. There, framed in the doorway, stood a
noble buck, its great antlers proclaiming it a king of its kind. For a
moment the two gazed at each other; then the Hermit held out his hand.
At the movement the deer backed away, blowing out his breath gustily.
The Hermit laid a lump of sugar upon the doorsill and stepped back.
Brown Brother, for it was he, looked at the sugar a moment, then
advanced warily but with a certain dignity, and daintily accepted the
offering. The Hermit did not force his advantage, but did everything in
his power to gain the confidence of the noble beast which had been
driven by the fire to his protection.
"The forest fire brought me one blessing, anyway, didn't it, Brown
Brother?" the Hermit said softly, as he watched the buck eagerly
drinking from a pail of water which he had thought to provide. Pal,
strange to say, paid scant attention to the deer. Something in the heavy
atmosphere seemed to weigh upon his spirits, for he crowded close upon
the heels of his master. When the man seated himself the dog crept
between his knees.
Then suddenly the wind veered, blowing strongly from the west and
bringing with it the rain. The fire was checked while yet many miles
from the border of the wilderness and was soon extinguished, leaving
blackened ground and bare, charred trees to show where it had passed.
With the rain and the fresh air, once more free of smoke, new strength
seemed to flow into the veins of humans and animals alike. Pal took a
new interest in life and once more roamed about by himself. Brown
Brother returned to the forest, stepping with the dignity which befitted
the position he was soon to hold as leader of a herd.
IN THE WAKE OF THE THAW
On a day in early March, when the wilderness lay wrapped in its snowy
mantle and the winter sleepers had not yet ventured abroad, a big skunk,
curled snug and warm in his den, sighed and opened his eyes. The
sunlight streaming in at the mouth of the little cave attracted him and
he stepped forth. A warm south wind had risen during the night and the
faint sound of running water was borne to the keen ears of the animal, a
sound which reminded him pleasantly of spring.
Wide awake now, he began to feel the pangs of hunger, and accordingly he
sallied forth to see what tempting morsel might be brought his way.
Instinctively he turned south towards the nearest farm, stopping
occasionally, his head cocked on one side, to listen for mice which had
their runways beneath the snow. He paused a moment on a high ridge to
look about him and decide upon his course.
Across a snowy pasture, broken by clumps of juniper and bay and steep
upthrusts of rock, he saw the rude but substantial buildings of a
backwoods farm. The smoke rising lazily from the chimney into the clear
air was the only sign of life about the place. The prospect looked
inviting and the skunk quickly made his way down the ridge and across
the pasture to the nearest building. A delectable odour assailed his
nostrils and he paused to sniff appreciatively. It was the warm,
tempting odour of poultry.
The skunk walked around the building, the delicious odour meeting him at
every turn. As he reached the front there arose a furious barking and a
dog appeared around the farther corner. At sight of the skunk, the dog
stopped so precipitately as to skid for almost a foot in the soft snow.
The skunk stopped and regarded him in a haughty manner. Then with his
forefeet he stamped upon the ground, a warning which the dog, versed in
the ways of skunks, was quick to recognize. A moment longer they looked
into each other's eyes; then the dog turned and strolled back in the
direction of the house, his whole bearing indicating a lack of interest
in his immediate surroundings. The skunk, too, turned his back
indifferently.
At one side he found a place where the soil had been partly washed away
from beneath the building. He soon succeeded in enlarging the hole
enough to permit his entrance. A few minutes later he might have been
seen making for the ridge, a plump duck accompanying him.
When about half-way across the pasture, the skunk stopped and deposited
his limp burden upon the snow. Then he turned and looked back toward the
building which he had just left and which was so easy of access.
Possibly he reflected that if one duck were good, two ducks would be
better. At any rate he hid his prize under a convenient ledge of rock
and retraced his steps.
He had scarcely turned his back when a sleek, red-brown animal appeared
on the ridge a short distance away and with bright eyes watched the
skunk until he disappeared around the corner of the building. The fox
was acquainted with that building and its contents and at once became
interested. Deciding on a closer investigation, he crossed the pasture
jauntily, until abreast of the ledge under which the skunk had concealed
his trophy. Here he came to an abrupt halt, his nose twitching. There
could be no doubt about it. The odour was that of freshly killed fowl.
Now the skunk, unaware of the presence of this other poultry lover, had
taken no pains to conceal his booty and it was soon located by the keen
nose of the fox. He drew it forth, threw it over his shoulder and
departed for the ridge, where he paused to gloat over his find. This
pause, however, proved his undoing. Upon reaching the poultry house, the
skunk had encountered an unexpected difficulty. A man was boarding up
the hole by which the thief had so recently entered and departed.
Knowing it would be useless to proceed, the skunk had turned back
unobserved, just in time to see his first prize being carried away on
the back of the fox. His eyes turned red with anger and the hair along
his back stiffened.
The attention of the fox, meanwhile, had been attracted by a sound from
the woods on his right. So it was that the skunk reached the ridge
before the second thief was aware of his presence. A slight sound caused
the fox to turn quickly and the two stood eyeing each other
belligerently across the body of the duck.
The fox knew well enough with whom he had to deal; nevertheless he was
hungry and not inclined to relinquish easily his fat prize. He seized a
leg of the duck just as the skunk laid hold of its head. Both glared but
refused to let go. It was a comical sight but, not being blessed with a
sense of humor, neither animal was aware of this fact. Meanwhile the
duck was stretched to an alarming length between them.
[Illustration: Both glared but refused to let go.]
The skunk now believed the time had come to insist firmly upon his
rights which were being seriously threatened by this sleek brown
upstart. He possessed a weapon against which the fox would be helpless
and in this extremity he prepared to use it. Still, the skunk was a
gentleman and scorned to attack without warning.
He stamped sharply with his forefeet. This had been sufficient warning
for the farmer's dog but, though the fox looked uneasy, he clung to the
duck. Surprised, the skunk raised his plumy tail like a flag of battle.
The fox backed an inch, keeping his eyes on the enemy, but still
inclined to ignore the hint. Amazed at this defiance, the skunk glared
at him a moment. There was no need of further demonstration, however.
The courage of the fox seemed suddenly to fail, for he relinquished his
hold upon the duck and fled, not pausing until he had put the ridge
between himself and the dangerous black and white poultry thief. The
victor then calmly picked up his prize and retired to his den among the
rocks, where he feasted royally.
The next sunshiny day found the skunk abroad. Though the snow-crust had
frozen once more, and the air was biting cold, there was a feeling in
the atmosphere which stirred the blood of the skunk. He stepped blithely
forth, gobbling up a plump wood mouse that had rashly ventured forth
from its safe retreat under the snow.
High up in a sapling a fat porcupine swayed contentedly with the motion
of the branches as he uttered a peculiar sound between a grunt and a
squeal. It was his "Spring Song" and, though to sensitive ears it might
have been entirely lacking in melody, to the ears of the forest world it
was sweetest music, for it presaged the breaking up of winter. The skunk
paused a moment to gaze up at the contented little beast, then went on
his way strangely light of heart.
Meanwhile, a gaunt gray form was drifting southward through the forest,
its passing as silent as a shadow. The lone wolf, having been injured
and separated from the pack, had found it increasingly difficult to
secure food. Now, emboldened by hunger, he had thrown caution to the
winds and was about to invade the haunts of man, and that in broad
daylight.
Suddenly the wolf paused, his uplifted muzzle searching the breeze.
Then, his eyes glowing with a fierce fire, he glided forward, a sinister
shadow. Between the trees a short distance away he had glimpsed a small
black and white animal trotting down the trail. It was Pal, returning
from an excursion of his own into the woods.
For a short distance the wolf slipped along parallel to the dog, but to
leeward so that no scent betrayed his presence. Several times he could
have sprung upon his unsuspecting prey, but caution restrained him. He
had seen Pal before but always protected by a man with a heavy club or
gun. Now, though the man was not visible, the wolf was suspicious, and
not inclined to rush into danger.
It was not long, however, before he decided that the Hermit was not
about. Gradually he closed in, and Pal, for the first time scenting this
deadly enemy, gave a frightened bark, then bravely turned at bay with
his back against a tree. He was no match for the wolf and all would have
been over in a moment had not the big skunk unwittingly stepped between
them.
Ordinarily the skunk did not court trouble; on the other hand, he did
not run away from it. Thus, when he beheld the wolf apparently bearing
down upon him, he was startled, but not to the point of losing his head.
Immediately he assumed the defensive. He noticed Pal backed up to the
tree, but of dogs he had no fear. It was the wolf upon whom his battery
was turned. Pal, at sight of the newcomer, backed discreetly away and
then fled for his life. The wolf, however, was not so fortunate, for,
before he saw his mistake, he had leaped. In his effort to save himself
he turned a complete backward somersault and wallowed upon the snow, his
eyes smarting and blinded and his lungs gasping for breath. A moment
later he was racing away in a vain endeavor to escape from himself,
while the skunk returned to his den quite unshaken by the encounter.
A few nights after the skunk's little affair with the timber wolf he
returned to the clearing from which he had purloined the fat duck. Much
to his disappointment he found the building protected against
four-footed marauders and, though the same enticing odour drifted to his
nostrils, he was unable to gratify his appetite. In the course of his
wanderings he discovered a small structure with latticed front, in which
was a good-sized opening. The skunk walked up indifferently and looked
within; then his eyes brightened and he stepped quickly inside to
procure the chicken's head lying in a corner. As he did so, he heard a
click behind him and jumped back, only to find his retreat cut off by a
board which had fallen into place across the opening. The big skunk was
a prisoner.
Vainly he sought a loophole. There was none. Having assured himself of
this fact, he turned to the chicken head which had been his undoing, and
calmly devoured it. Then he settled himself at the front of the box to
wait, manifesting little of the anxiety usually shown by a trapped wild
animal.
Early the next morning the farmer's boy, on his way to feed the poultry,
discovered the captive. "My, he's a beauty!" the boy said aloud, gazing
in admiration at the skunk's thick, glossy fur. "That pelt ought to
bring a good price, but I believe I'll see if I can tame him."
Thus the life of the big skunk was saved, at least for the time being.
Although the boy made many friendly advances, the animal told him in
plain language, "Hands off!" With an air of condescension he would
accept the choice morsels brought to him, but if a hand were thrust
through the bars, at once would come his warning. And the farm boy, who
understood skunks, never forced his attentions.
It was thus that matters stood when one day the skunk had a new visitor.
The animal had just finished his dinner and was busy cleaning his fur
when a small hand was thrust between the bars of his prison and a voice
said, coaxingly, "Pretty kitty!"
The skunk paused to stare at this person who was unquestionably a human
being, yet who was so very small. Surely here was no enemy. The big
skunk sniffed daintily at the hand. It was a very small hand and, as it
stroked his soft fur, the animal crowded closer. The baby laughed
delightedly and thrust her hand through the bars as far as possible.
Then she worked at the fastening of the cage door until she succeeded in
wriggling her small body through. There she was, inside the cage with
her new playmate.
Thus her mother found her when, a half hour later, she rounded a corner
of the house in a search for the runaway. The woman turned pale and with
a cry snatched the child away, never stopping until what she considered
a safe distance had been placed between them and the skunk. She sniffed
suspiciously and was astonished to find that not the slightest odour
adhered to the child's garments, for the skunk, as is the way of his
kind, was scrupulously clean about his person.
The baby refused to be separated from her pet and, when it was found
that the skunk meant no harm, but seemed, on the contrary, quite happy
in her company, she was permitted to play with him to her heart's
content. Sometimes with a string around his neck she led him about the
clearing and, though the big animal could easily have broken away, he
made no effort to do so. He was fed with good things until his gait
became an undignified waddle. Moreover he loved the petting which was
lavished upon him by this small backwoods maiden.
One day after a week of intense cold, during which the baby was confined
to the house and the skunk to the warmest corner of his box, the two
companions were again abroad, the skunk as usual being led happily
along. The baby's wanderings took her farther and farther from the house
until, upon rounding the corner of the poultry house which overlooked
the lonely pasture, she suddenly found herself face to face with a
gaunt, gray timber wolf.