Having his freedom, Frosty accepted it. Partly because the boy had set
him free, he also accepted Andy. But there was another and very
compelling reason why he had chosen to come back into the house, rather
than escape into the swamp or the surrounding wilderness.
Perfectly capable of making his own way, entirely self-sufficient, he
recognized no superior and would bow to no inferior. But he liked Andy
and, in spite of the fact that he could do very well all by himself, he
would not choose a lonely life, providing he could ally himself with an
equal. If this fellow had kept him prisoner for a little while, he had
also set him free and he had offered no real hurt. Frosty had recognized
in Andy the same needs and urgencies that were so powerful within
himself. They were traveling similar paths and it was well that they go
together.
But it must be on a basis of strict equality, and because he was
currently busy washing his face, Frosty continued to do so after Andy
spoke to him. The young man's smile remained.
"Independent little devil, aren't you?"
His cleanup finished, Frosty sat down with his tail curled behind him
and stared at the youth with unreadable feline eyes. Not until Andy
swung out of bed and started across the floor did the kitten move. Then
he went to meet his new partner, and arched his back and purred when
Andy stooped to pet him. Thus, with a caress and a purr, their bargain
was signed and sealed and both understood its terms.
While Andy prepared his breakfast, Frosty walked back out the open door
and composed himself in the warming sun. He was not hungry, the fish
heads and offal had been more than an adequate meal. While seeming to
sleep, he inspected this new domain over which he had just become
co-ruler.
Sporting in the slough, Four-Leaf and Clover and their family attracted
his slight interest. They did not seem to be dangerous. They were
creatures of the water, and, aside from its convenience when he was
thirsty, Frosty had a violent aversion to water in all its forms. If he
were hungry and happened to find a young muskrat on land, he might very
well catch and kill one. Under no circumstances would he molest
creatures in their sloughs and ponds.
While his eyes remained on the muskrat family, his ears were attuned to
every sound. The various birdcalls he knew and because he did, he
dismissed them as of little consequence. But when he heard the doe, that
had gone to rest in some tall swamp grass, reach back to scratch an
itching flank with a moist muzzle, he became instantly alert. He did not
know the sound and he must know it.
Rising, Frosty slipped from the porch into the yard. He had marked the
doe, but though she remained the primary center of interest, he did not
concentrate on her to the exclusion of all else. His first days in the
hills had taught him that he could afford to neglect nothing on the
ground and his recent grim experience with the owl was proof enough that
he must also and at all times be aware of everything in the air. Because
he was alert, Frosty saw the rattlesnake Andy had encountered last night
before it saw him.
Still sluggish, digestion not yet complete, the snake had crawled to the
lee of a boulder for the greater protection it offered against the
night's chill. It coiled there, fearing little and scarcely interested
in anything that happened.
Frosty soft-pawed a bit nearer. The snake was interesting and he had
never before seen its like. Now was a good time to gauge its
potentialities and discover for himself what manner of creature it might
be. Guided by innate caution, the kitten halted three feet away and
stared fixedly. Becoming alert, the snake rattled a warning.
Frosty listened, and having heard the sound, it was his. Watching the
kitten with beady eyes, the snake ceased rattling. Frosty arched his
back. He still did not know what manner of creature this might be, but
whatever it was, he did not like it. Intending to discover for himself
exactly what the snake could do, he remained cautious.
His feint, when he made it, was swift as only a cat's can be. His leap
carried him to within fifteen inches of the forty-five inch snake and he
nearly met disaster. The striking fangs came within a breath of brushing
his fur! Having found out everything he wanted to know, Frosty withdrew.
The snake would strike and its swiftness equaled his own, but the
kitten's anger increased. He had been challenged in his own territory.
He would accept that challenge, but not blindly. A born warrior, he was
also a born strategist.
The snake, rattling continuously now, undulated its thick body into
coils. But though its strike was lightning fast, otherwise it was a
comparatively sluggish thing. Frosty feinted again.
He knew to the exact hundredth of an inch the length of his last feint
and this one he deliberately shortened. The snake struck, its
venom-filled fangs falling just short, and Frosty became master of the
situation. Knowing precisely how far the snake could strike, he feinted
in rapid succession and each time teased the snake into hitting at him.
Finally, recognizing an _impasse_ and rattling a warning as it did so,
the snake started crawling away. Frosty leaped. He landed exactly where
he had intended to land, just behind the head, where the snake's thick
body tapered to a thin neck, and he bit even as he landed. His teeth met
and almost in the same motion he leaped away.
For an interested moment he watched the quivering snake, now stretched
full length. There were no death throes and no writhing coils, for
Frosty had done exactly as he had planned to do and severed the spine.
The reptile had died instantly. Forgetting the snake, Frosty padded on
toward the doe.
Nearing her, he went into a stalk so stealthy and so silent that he
crouched in the grass less than three feet away before she was aware of
his presence. Her ears flicked forward and she opened alarmed eyes.
Recognizing no threat, she relaxed and again scratched her flank with
her muzzle. Satisfied because he had traced the source of this sound,
the kitten retraced, almost step for step, the path he had taken coming
into the grass and he was at the edge of the clearing when Andy emerged
from the house.
Frosty did not show himself. Despite his liking for his human companion,
he would not rush to meet him, as a dog might have, unless he felt like
it, and right now he did not feel that way. Setting out to explore this
new land, he wanted to do it in his own time and way and, for the
present, he cared for no company.
Waiting until Andy was out of sight, he skirted the swamp and stopped to
look closely at the muskrats, which were still swimming about in the
slough. The parent animals moved farther out and eleven of their young
followed. The twelfth, whose bump of curiosity was bigger than his
portion of good sense, raised in the water for a better look at this
fascinating creature, then swam eagerly toward him. Head extended,
nostrils quivering, eyes bright, he climbed out on the bank.
The kitten stared back haughtily. Bigger than the baby muskrat, he still
was not hungry enough to hunt. Besides, obviously the muskrats were
lesser creatures. Frosty considered them as belonging in almost the same
category as the rabbits that almost always ran. He went around the
slough and into the swamp.
The tall grass waved over his head, so that he could see only that which
lay directly about him. Nor could he smell very much because the
over-all dank odor of the swamp drowned slighter scents. A mink or fox
would have detected them and sought out their sources, if they were
interested enough to do so. A cat could not, but Frosty's matchless ears
took the place of both eyes and nose. He heard the flutter of a bird's
wing, marked it down and deliberated. Having fed, he'd still accept a
choice tidbit should one come his way. He stalked the bird and found it
in a patch of grass.
It was a sora. Coming here to feed on seeds, it had entangled one foot
in a slim strip of wire-tough swamp grass and, in struggling to free
itself, had succeeded only in tangling the other foot. Almost exhausted,
it was able to do little save flutter its wings.
Frosty pounced upon the bird, killed it and ate as much as he wanted.
His belly filled, he sought a warm place and curled up to rest. But he
was careful to choose a napping place roofed with interlaced tops of
swamp grass. There were enemies in the air, but it stood to reason that
they could not catch him if they were unable to see him.
In spite of the fact that he was hidden, at no time did he sleep so
soundly that he was oblivious to what went on and again his ears served
him. Something that splashed in a nearby slough had to be a leaping
fish; swimming muskrats seldom splashed or did anything else to attract
attention to themselves. From far off came a loud noise; one of the dead
swamp trees had finally toppled.
Frosty alerted himself only when he heard a sound he did not know. It
was not loud but neither was it especially muted, as though some small
creature that did not care whether or not it was seen moved through the
swamp. At length it arose near the remains of the sora. Silent as a
shadow, Frosty stalked forward. Even before he reached what was left of
the bird, he heard something eating.
He looked through an aperture in the grass to see a creature
approximately the size of a large cat, contentedly feasting on the
remains of the sora. It was lustrous-black, except for a V-shaped patch
of white on its head that became two white stripes which ran to the base
of its tail. This silky tail was heavily furred, the feet were short and
stubby. Frosty stared with vast curiosity.
Suddenly, and almost without visible motion, he flattened himself where
he was and held perfectly still. A day-cruising great horned owl, which
Frosty had seen at all only because he was wholly alert, floated in to
seize the feeding animal. The owl winged low over the swamp with his
prey.
Frosty sneezed and raced violently away, for suddenly the air was
nauseous with stink so thick that a knife might almost have cut it.
Obviously the owl didn't mind at all, but to Frosty it was a repulsive
odor. However, he had learned something else; no matter where they were
encountered or what they were doing, skunks were better left alone.
After running a hundred yards, Frosty continued at a fast walk. The air
still reeked and he wanted to get away from the stench. As soon as he
had gone far enough so that there was only faint evidence of the
unfortunate skunk's fate, he resumed prowling.
The swamp interested him greatly and he wanted to learn as much as
possible about it. Because exploration was currently more fascinating
than fighting, he detoured around another rattlesnake and continued on
his way. He mounted a little rise that was literally honeycombed with
the burrows of striped gophers and stopped to watch.
Flitting from their burrows, the gophers were feasting upon a veritable
inundation of grasshoppers that had come among them. Moving like an
animated streak, one of them would pounce upon a grasshopper and at once
dodge back to its burrow or into the shelter of some huckleberry brush
that grew upon the knoll. The wise little animals never exposed
themselves for more than a few seconds at a time, for they knew too well
the many perils that threatened.
As Frosty watched the gophers, disaster struck them.
Another rattlesnake, lying like a strip of carelessly discarded velvet
upon the little rise, struck a gopher when it paused nearby to snatch up
a grasshopper. Forgetting his grasshopper, the stricken animal bounced
toward his burrow. But he no longer moved like a streak. The injected
venom made itself felt almost at once, and instead of ducking into his
refuge, the gopher crawled down it.
After a moment, in no hurry at all and following his quarry by the scent
it left on the ground, the snake moved sluggishly on the gopher's trail,
finally disappearing down the burrow which the stricken creature had
entered.
Frosty circled the little rise and went on. He was far too well-fed even
to think of hunting the gophers, but the colony was something to
remember when he should be hungry. Any rodent at all was not only
acceptable but desirable food.
Coming to a slough, Frosty slunk like a wraith along its edge and sank
down to watch a baby muskrat. Visible only from the bank upon which the
kitten crouched, hidden from every other direction by a curl of
overhanging grass, the youngster was busily engaged in digging succulent
bulbs from the mud on the bank's far side. Thus Frosty learned what even
Andy had not yet discovered.
This baby belonged to the cautious pair that knew so well how to protect
themselves, and evidently he had inherited his parents' caution. Already
anticipating another litter, the parents were separating themselves from
the first one. The muskrats were doing exactly as Andy had hoped they'd
do and spreading out.
Little interested, Frosty resumed his travels and found himself on a
point of land that jutted into the slough. He paused, looking at the six
feet of water that lay before him. He could not jump it and he would
never swim unless forced to do so, therefore he did the only thing he
could do and retraced his steps. Continuing around the slough, he came
to a blanket of tangled weeds that covered it and crossed on them.
Anything heavier, or even heavier-footed, would have fallen through.
Frosty not only proceeded in perfect safety but knew he was safe.
He came to a little stream, one of the few clear-running streams in the
swamp, and watched a mother mallard and her brood of seven swim happily
there. Frosty did not molest them. No wanton killer, he would hunt only
when he wanted to eat. But the mallard family was something else to
remember should he be hungry and in their vicinity.
When night fell, he was still in the swamp and entirely unconcerned
about it. This was, perhaps, even a little more to his liking for he was
a little more a creature of night than day.
Frosty halted suddenly. He was in an area which, being heavily browsed
by swamp deer, had comparatively short grass. Deer moved about, chewing
noisily and now and then blowing to clear their nostrils of a bit of
dust. But there was something more and the kitten strained to discover
its identity.
He saw the deer more clearly than a human being would have but not as
clearly as he himself would have seen them by day. Though his night
vision was good, he had no magic lens that pierced the darkness and made
everything easily visible. Besides the deer and the chewed-down grass,
he could see nothing. He could hear only the deer moving, chewing,
blowing, and the soft murmur of the wind that never seemed to cease. He
still knew that danger threatened.
The knowledge came to him, probably, through a very faint sound that
tickled his built-in ear antennae, without identifying itself and
without even seeming like an audible noise. Had he had any clear idea of
what he faced now, he would have known what to do about it. Lacking any
idea whatsoever, he could only be careful.
He turned away from the sound and went back into tall grass. Once there,
where he was at least partially shielded from great horned owls, he
broke into a fast run. But it was not a panicky run. He had set out to
elude something which he realized existed, and that was all he knew
about it. No instinct could possibly help him and blind flight could
lead to nothing but trouble. In a situation such as this, his only hope
lay in relying on planned intelligence.
Frosty halted after running three hundred yards and turned to face the
direction from which he had come. He had scurried into a part of the
swamp which he had not yet visited. This was an error, and almost
instantly he knew it was an error. Every tree, clump of brush and the
various kinds of grass through which he had already prowled were clearly
mapped in his brain. He should have gone back there because, in the
event of an emergency, he would have known exactly what lay around him
and precisely how he might take advantage of the terrain. But it was too
late to turn now.
He could hear nothing save the wind, a group of barred owls talking to
each other in some of the dead trees, and suddenly, far off, the death
shriek of a rabbit upon which a mink had pounced. He still knew there
was danger, and that it was on his trail. He ran on.
Suddenly he came to a slough, a thirty-foot-wide stretch of water whose
surface eerily reflected the dim light that filtered from stars. Six
feet out, a group of dead trees reared skeleton trunks and rattled their
bare bones of branches. Frosty turned again.
He was not trapped, for he could run in either direction along the
slough's bank, but that would be blind running and he did not know where
it might lead him. Now was the time for planning, and before he did
anything else, he wanted to know from exactly what he fled. Suddenly he
did know.
It was another coyote, for presently he heard it, and it was on his
trail. He could not know that it was a young beast which, catching the
scent of a cat and eager to renew the age-old cat and dog fight, had
flung itself pell-mell along that scent. Frosty made ready to fight.
He saw the coyote emerge from the grass and run headlong at him.
Crouching, prepared to spring, his nerve broke suddenly. Turning, he
leaped blindly for the trunk of the nearest tree, missed by eighteen
inches, fell into the slough and went under.
Surfacing, he knew only seething fury. Water was the most distasteful of
all places to him. Being forced ignominiously to fall into it roused all
his warrior blood, but even now he did not attack blindly.
Striking for the bank, he saw the eager coyote waiting for him and
marked its position exactly. When his paws found a footing, he sprang at
once and his body arched into the air. Again he went to the head,
scraping with all four paws, even while he sliced with his teeth. The
startled coyote--a veteran would have known exactly what to do--stood
for one brief second. Then it gave a startled yelp, unseated its
attacker with a fling of its head and streaked away.
Frosty waited long enough to assure himself that his enemy was not
coming back. Once he was positive of that, he meticulously groomed his
wet fur and started toward the house.
7