FUZZY AND THE WEASEL
OF all the curious furry folk that Fuzzy saw that summer, the weasel
was the most curious looking little beast.
At first glimpse he thought it was a black snake that went gliding
through the scarlet fire-weed. The long, humped body with its flat,
almost earless head and long neck ended in a tail nearly as long.
Behind the pointed nose, the blood-thirsty villain’s red eyes glowed
cruelly.
The weasel was after a mouse, when the little bear first saw him, and
so slim was he that he could follow that unhappy victim straight down
into his hole. He emerged in two minutes licking his bloody jaws, for
he had not eaten the whole mouse, but only quenched his thirst, as is
the way with weasels.
Chuck and Chipper, and indeed the whole chipmunk horde, had hidden in
their furthest dens at first glimpse of the blood-sucker. Nor was that
all: each was prepared to flee for his life through his emergency exit,
should the killer start down their front entryway.
The clumsy-looking ground squirrels developed a speed of which Fuzzy
had not supposed them capable, as the dark, snaky form went twisting
and turning through the under-growth with his nose to the patch-work
of their trails. One old fellow took refuge in a stone pile, but the
weasel squirmed his way after him, through every chink and crevice,
till Fuzzy heard his victim utter his last unhappy squeal.
But did that stop the killer? Merely tasting the warm blood, the weasel
left his catch uneaten and started after another. Now most of the wild
folk who kill at all, kill because they must eat. But the weasel is
different: he kills for the love of killing. He is the villain of the
play. No mouse or chipmunk whose trail he starts to follow ever gets
away from him.
Now there was a big rabbit that Fuzzy had chased off and on all summer,
but always the little animal flapped its ears saucily and got away. It
was not afraid of Fuzzy, and could easily outrun him. The rabbit had
been eating every green thing that came up in the Ranger’s garden, and
Fuzzy had felt it his duty to rid the place of the fellow. Besides,
though mostly a vegetarian, he had often thought that rabbit would be
good eating.
To-day the rabbit was just settling down to demolish a head of the
Ranger’s lettuce when the weasel, running along with his nose to the
ground, crossed its trail. Sniffing eagerly at the scent of warm fur,
he raced up to the flap-eared one.
Now a rabbit has perfectly good hind legs. If its courage had been
as good, no weasel could have overtaken it in a race. At first this
particular rabbit, sniffing the air for signs of an enemy, thought it
was only the little bear, and went right on eating, waggling its ears
saucily.
Then it saw the weasel. With one great bound it was leaping away
through the woods, the little weasel after it, but losing ground.
Then the foolish rabbit leapt high to see where its enemy was. The
weasel was sneaking along in such a snake-like manner that at first it
couldn’t see him, so the foolish bunny circled back to make sure.
Now the weasel was just on the point of giving up, seeing that here
was one victim he could not hope to overtake, when the rabbit suddenly
came back, saw him still pursuing, and losing heart, squatted down,
paralyzed with fear, uttering a squeal for mercy.
Instantly the weasel was on the rabbit’s back, biting the cowardly
beggar back of the ear, where it killed it instantly. But a taste of
the hot blood and the weasel was satisfied, and ran away to chase barn
rats.
“Am I in luck?” Fuzzy asked himself, licking his jaws hungrily.
The Ranger also thought himself in luck, for inside a week the weasel
had rid the barn of rats, and betaken himself away to new hunting
grounds.