THE BURNING WOODS
One fine day the Mother uncurled herself and sat up in the nest to sniff
the air. The young ones awoke one by one, and sniffed too, that is, all
except Striped Coat whose four black paws still pointed at the sky as he
lay on his back sleeping off the effects of his last stuffing. There was
a smell of smoke. Farmer Slown, true to his threat, was burning the
brush piles.
Soon the smoke drifted past in masses, driven by a brisk breeze blowing
towards Goose Creek. There was a crackling and snapping noise, with now
and then a roar when the flames leaped high. Even the sun lost its
brilliancy and could only glow dully like a red hot ball in the smoke.
The mother wood pussy walked about uneasily, looking out at the smoke
from each peep hole in the brush pile. Some of the woods folk were
running by in a stupid panicky way, looking this way and that, and often
turning back when they should have gone only forward. Bun, the woods
rabbit, actually came into the den and crouched there a moment before
rushing on. Possum, his long mouth open and dripping saliva, shuffled in
a moment later. Ignoring the skunks he curled up on a log and watched in
sour silence.
Mice and little sharp nosed shrews were hopping about like big
grasshoppers with apparently no idea of the right direction. At first
the Farmer had chased these with his rake. Now, however, the smoke was
too thick, the fire had spread far beyond his control and was
threatening to sweep the whole wood. The Farmer's one idea was to stop
the flames before they reached his buildings. He worked frantically,
digging and raking, stamping and beating until the fire in a great wave
had swept with the wind all the way to Goose Creek and there had been
checked by the water.
Meanwhile its fiery breath reached one brush pile after another, licking
them up and sweeping on. The mother wood pussy waited as long as she
dared, then panicky from the roar, the stifling smoke and the heat, she
seized one of the young ones and tried to carry it out. It was heavy and
slippery, she lost her hold and blinded by the smoke could not find it.
Returning she seized first one, then another and then in her excitement
tried to carry two out together. This failed. But her efforts and fear
aroused the young ones, they understood that they had to flee from their
home. So when the mother was forced by the smoke to move out, the young
ones trooped after her on their own legs, making a long line of black
and white stripes as each followed the tail of the one ahead.
Last of all came the smallest and in front of him came Striped Coat with
every hair of his body on end and his tail straight up in the danger
signal. Through the smoke they wandered towards the field, then along
the fence, away from the path of the roaring flames.
It was a queer little company. Each stumbling along as best he could,
bristling up whenever strange objects like roots or stumps loomed
suddenly out of the smoke, sneezing and choking when the tricky wind
blew the fire towards them. Well it was that each had showy white
stripes which those behind could plainly see and follow, just as men in
the dark follow a lantern. For in that way the mother was able to lead
them the whole length of the fence and then around the corner to the
edge of Farmer Slown's barn where, as if she had been aiming for it all
the time, the mother found the hole under the floor and slipped in.
After her solemnly trooped the little ones.
And it was a strange thing that between them and the fire, their enemy,
the Farmer, was working for all he was worth to save his home and at the
same time to do what would also save their lives. He did not know that a
skunk family was under his precious barn, but he had found out for
himself that a fire in the woods was a terribly dangerous thing.
When, thanks to the help of Goose Creek, the Farmer had put out the last
flame, he was nearly exhausted and in much worse condition than most of
the little woods folk he had tried to destroy. To be sure many of them
were homeless, but they could find or make new homes. Indeed, when that
night the mother wood pussy slipped from under the barn and wandered
across the field to the stretch of burned woods beyond, she found the
mice already in new holes along the edge of the field and Possum
carrying, in a bundle held by his tail, a lot of straw for a new bed he
was making in a hollow oak.
Where the brush piles had stood, and beyond, all the way to the creek,
every living thing was blackened and dying. Trees thirty feet high were
scorched. The ground was almost bare. Many years would go by before the
forest could cover the ugly scars.
Wandering about in an uncertain, awed way were several meat eaters
besides the wood pussy. Gray Fox and his mate were slipping from shadow
to shadow examining everything, a mother coon and her three young ones
passed along the edge of the creek, and overhead Screech Owl and several
of his kind were talking it all over in gentle crooning voices.
The wood pussy could find no trace of her old home, the brush pile. It
was gone. So after a little while she left the gloomy place.
Near the field she picked up a small toad and a yellow and brown garter
snake, both killed by the fire. These and a number of wild strawberries
were food enough, and she was too tired to hunt more. Back then to
Farmer Slown's barn she wandered. It was not quite the kind of a place
she would have selected for a den, but there seemed no other to which to
take the young ones. Stealthily she circled the farm yard and slipped
into the hole. It was smelly and damp and cold under the barn floor, but
what she thought of most was whether it was safe. Several times she
looked out and wandered about uneasily, each time returning to the young
ones to lick and mother them. They seemed utterly tired out; so she
began gathering together leaves for a bed in the farthest corner; she
had decided to stay.
[Illustration: Several times she looked out and wandered about uneasily]