Safely off the island, Frosty's main concern was something to eat. He
set his course for the little knoll upon which he had discovered the
gopher colony.
While remaining aware of everything about him, he walked more openly
than he ever had before and far more confidently. Bigger than average
from birth, he was fulfilling his early promise of becoming an unusually
large cat. Traces of the kitten remained, but his stride was almost that
of an adult and great muscles were already prominent in his neck, front
quarters and shoulders. The life he'd been forced to lead had developed
them and, in advance of full maturity, had made him tough as rawhide.
But though he had inherited his father's size, he also had his mother's
grace and balanced proportions. Frosty was big without being even
slightly awkward.
He walked more freely because, with increasing size and experience,
there had come an increasing awareness of his own powers. Having killed
a rattlesnake and put a coyote to flight, he had discovered for himself
that the best defense is often a determined offense. So when he saw a
gray fox padding toward him, instead of running or hiding, he prepared
to fight, if that were necessary.
The fox was an old and wise veteran that had been born in a corner of
the swamp, had hunted in it since he'd been old enough to hunt, and that
knew its every corner. He had a mate and cubs that had left their
hillside den a couple of weeks ago, and last night he'd gone hunting
with his family. But the cubs were still clumsy hunters who frightened
more game than they caught, and the two baby muskrats that the old fox
had finally snatched had been just enough to satisfy them. Hunting for
herself, the fox's mate had had several mice and a woodcock.
The dog fox had eaten nothing. Now, while his lazy family rested in a
thicket, he was out to find a meal for himself.
He walked openly, depending on his nose to guide him to food, because he
knew and did not fear the swamp. Since attaining full growth, the only
natural enemies that had ever challenged him were occasional coyotes,
and if the fox did not choose to run from them, or fight, he could
always climb a tree. Andy Gates was the only human being who ever
penetrated very deeply into the swamp, and Andy was confined to certain
paths and trails which the fox did not have to travel. However, his nose
had already told him that Andy was not in the swamp today.
The muskrats were new to the swamp. Yet, to the experienced fox, they
were an old story. Among any young animals, there were always a certain
number of unwise or incautious. They seldom lasted long, but after
catching the pair of youngsters, the fox had wasted no time hunting
more because all the others had stayed out of reach in the water.
He was on his way to a rabbit colony of which he knew when Frosty's
scent crossed his nostrils. He stopped at once, knowing it for an alien
scent; then followed his nose toward it. Six feet away, he stopped
again.
Frosty's jaws framed a snarl, and a warning growl rumbled in his chest.
Every hair on his body was fluffed, making him seem twice his actual
size. His tail was stiffly erect and fluffed, too, and his muscles were
ready to carry him into battle. For a moment the fox regarded him
closely, then circled and trotted on. The fox was wise enough to know
that Frosty did not merely look dangerous. He was dangerous.
Frosty resumed his own course toward the gopher colony. He remembered it
to the last detail, and he had not forgotten the rattlesnake that lived
there. The snake was still present, but it had recently fed and was
sluggish. Frosty settled himself in front of a gopher's den.
He held perfectly still, eyes fixed on the burrow's mouth, and
presently, deep in the earth, he heard a gopher moving. He remained
quiet until the little rodent emerged from its den, then pounced. He
caught his prey, devoured it and made a half-hearted pass at the snake.
But he did not continue the battle because he was anxious to see Andy,
and, now that he had eaten, he could go find his partner. Frosty made
his way toward the house.
He knew before he emerged from the swamp that Andy was not there. Though
the kitten lacked a keen sense of smell, wood smoke had a pungent odor
that lingered for a long time, and there had been no recent fire in the
stove. Frosty came out of the swamp to see the persistent doe, that had
not yet given up hope of getting into the garden, resting beside it. A
crow sat on the house's ridgepole and croaked raucous insults to the
four winds. Scurrying across the porch, a striped chipmunk dived into a
crevice. Frosty marked him down; the gopher had not filled his stomach.
As soon as he climbed onto the porch, he knew that the house had been
unoccupied for several days. It had a cold and deserted air, like a
frame from which the picture had been removed, and the odors that seeped
under the door were cold ones. Frosty cried his loneliness, but he did
not question his friend's absence. He reserved for himself the right to
go prowling and to stay for as long as it suited him. It naturally
followed that Andy had the same privilege, and sooner or later he would
come back.
Frosty settled beside the crevice in which the chipmunk had disappeared.
He caught the furry little animal, ate it, and his hunger was satisfied.
Curling up in his favorite place, he settled himself for a nap. All
about were familiar things, and even while he napped, his ears brought
him their story. He heard the doe rise and begin to crop grass, birds
crying in the swamp, the murmur of the wind, muskrats swimming in the
slough, and he awakened to none of it because it was familiar. But an
hour later, when he heard a man walking, he glided silently under the
porch and waited there. He'd heard those footsteps before, and he knew
who was coming.
Five minutes later, Luke Trull passed the house and went into the swamp.
Frosty watched with anger in his eyes, knowing only that once again he
had been near his deadliest enemy. He couldn't possibly know that Luke
wouldn't have dared let himself be seen going into the swamp, or even
past the house, had Andy been home. Nor could Frosty understand, as Luke
did, that Andy was in jail and would not be back for several days.
Luke disappeared in the tall swamp grass. He knew where Andy had planted
his twenty pairs of muskrats and the safe trails to them, for Andy
himself had inadvertently pointed them out. Luke did not know how many
other colonies there were or their locations, but there would never be a
safer time to look for them. He had his own plans, and he had already
decided how and when he intended to strike. All he had to find out was
where.
Evening shadows were long when hunger forced Frosty from the house. He
left reluctantly, for he was very lonesome and ached for Andy's
presence, but he must have food. The kitten stalked down to the slough
in which Four-Leaf and Clover were making their home. Only two of the
young remained, and they had built themselves a very clumsy house at the
slough's far end. The others--partly spurred by a natural wanderlust of
youth and partly driven by irritable parents that were expecting new
babies and had no time for the old--had gone into the swamp.
Frosty flattened himself, and again anger flared in his eyes. Luke Trull
came back out of the swamp and took himself off toward the road. Waiting
until the hated man was out of hearing, Frosty went on.
He stalked a red-winged blackbird that was swaying on a reed,
sprang--and lashed his tail in anger when the bird escaped him. He
glared after the bird as it flew, knowing that he should have made a
kill and not understanding why he had not. He leaped at a mouse that was
moving through its grass-thatched tunnel and missed by a fraction of an
inch. Twenty minutes later, he missed a strike at a woodcock that
whistled away in front of him.
Chagrined by these failures, Frosty went deeper into the swamp. His
hunger grew, but so did his bad luck. For some reason, everything in
the swamp seemed to be not only unusually alert but extraordinarily
agile. Frosty missed five more strikes at mice and three at various
birds. Casting back and forth, he sought for new quarry.
Black night found him deep in the swamp and still hungry. Hearing fresh
game, he broke into a swift run. But again his luck was bad.
He'd heard a young muskrat, one of the sons of Four-Leaf and Clover,
swimming up a thin finger of water that led over a little knob and into
a slough. The kitten reached the knob a split second after the youngster
jumped into the slough and swam away. Twitching an angry tail and
glaring, Frosty watched the little drama that unfolded before him.
Another young muskrat, a daughter of the cautious pair, was already in
the slough. The two met, looked awkwardly at each other, swam in
circles, then climbed out on a half-submerged log and became better
acquainted. Finally, side by side, they dived beneath an overhanging
bank and began to enlarge a burrow that the little female had already
started. They were simply two lonely, lost youngsters who, for the
present, were happy just to have each other's company. But if both
lived, next year there would be another muskrat colony.
Frosty stalked and missed a rabbit, and made a wild spring at a grouse
that was roosting in the lower branches of a tamarack. When the grouse
rattled off in the darkness, he spat. Then he regained his self-control.
Irritated by repeated failures, he had been striking furiously but
wildly, and that was no way to hunt. He must follow a careful plan.
When he heard deer grazing, he trotted toward them. They were a little
herd of two does with three fawns that browsed together. A short
distance from them a huge buck, a craggy-horned old patriarch of the
swamp, kept to himself, but from time to time cast possessive glances at
the does. Still farther away, where he could flee into the swamp if the
bigger one chased him, a smaller buck grazed nervously. The big buck and
the small one had spent a companionable winter, spring and part of the
summer in a secluded thicket. Now, though the rutting season was still
weeks away, both were becoming interested in the does and jealousy had
come between them.
The big buck raised his head, shook his antlers and stamped a
threatening hoof when Frosty came near. The kitten looked haughtily at
him. He'd known deer for a long while, and he could elude any charge
they made. He waited patiently near the does and fawns, and when they
disturbed a mouse that leaped in panic-stricken haste from them, he
caught and ate it. Trotting to overtake the grazing deer, he caught the
next mouse they disturbed and the one after that. His hunger satisfied,
he cleaned himself thoroughly and started back toward the house. Thus,
the first hunting trick he had ever learned again proved valuable.
The house was still cold, and the odors seeping under the door were
stale ones. Again, Frosty cried his loneliness. Then he settled himself
on the porch to wait and hope for Andy's return.
For the following three days, Luke Trull went into the swamp every
morning and stayed until evening. His trespassing enraged the kitten,
not because the man trespassed but because he was an enemy who came
near. If Frosty had known how, he would have worked some harm on Luke.
But he did not know how. It would be the sheerest folly to attack a man
unless every advantage was on his own side, so he hid when Luke
passed and again when the hillman emerged from the swamp.
Then Luke appeared no more. Frosty's concerns narrowed to keeping his
belly filled and waiting anxiously for Andy's return.
* * * * *
Andy, serving his ten days in the town jail with nothing whatever to do,
had ample time to think. And the more he thought, the more evident it
became that he had walked squarely into a cunning trap. It was none of
the young Trooper's doing. That embarrassed youngster had visited Andy
and explained that, usually, in such cases, Justice Benton levied a
small fine and a big lecture. Benton himself might be pardoned partly on
the grounds of his own ignorance and partly because of a social system
which, for political expediency, gave a man of his caliber wide and
flexible authority.
Luke Trull, and Luke alone, had set the trap, baited it, lured his
victim--and sprung his trap when the time was ripe. Andy figured out to
his own satisfaction exactly why things could have turned out no other
way.
A townsman, brought before Justice Benton on a minor assault charge,
probably would have been let off with a fine and a lecture. But in the
town's opinion, which meant majority opinion, there was a vast
difference between town and hill dwellers. The former were commonly
supposed to be law-abiding. The latter were not only generally
considered lawless, but they were also a different breed of people who
merited different treatment. A townsman could understand the law. A
hillman could better understand jail, and that was a state of affairs
which Luke Trull comprehended to perfection.
Aside from being aware that there was a very good chance of Andy's
serving a jail sentence, Luke had also known that he would be ordered to
keep the peace. If he appeared again on an assault charge, his sentence
might very well be six months instead of ten days.
Lying on his bunk and staring at the ceiling, Andy conceded that he had
been stupid as a fox cub just learning to hunt. It was, he decided, not
only possible but probable that Luke, knowing the boy would resort to
violence, had exposed himself deliberately. It was another tribute to
his cunning that he had not let himself be seen until after he
discovered where Andy put the last of his twenty pairs of muskrats.
Andy grinned ruefully and thought of Joe Wilson. He should have listened
to the game warden, but he hadn't listened and here he was. However,
there were still some puzzling aspects to the situation.
If Andy's fondest hopes were realized, and there were 200 muskrats in
the swamp by spring, they would still represent no fortune. It was hard
to believe that even Luke Trull would go to this much trouble for what
the reward might be. On the other hand, Luke knew definitely only that
Andy had planted at least the 20 pairs and some before that. He did not
know how many had been previously planted, and he might think there were
a great many more than actually had been liberated. Andy narrowed his
eyes.
Luke, nobody's fool, would not trap furs in the summer because they were
worthless then, and he was not one to exert himself for nothing. So,
except for those that fell to natural predators, the muskrats were safe
during Andy's sojourn in jail. But Luke could and probably would take
advantage of Andy's absence to explore the swamp and locate as many
other colonies as possible.
The jail's outer door opened. The waiter from a cafe across the street
brought Andy's supper and handed it through the cell bars. Ordinarily
aloof, tonight the fellow was talkative.
"Here you are, Bud."