Wild Kindred
[Illustration: (snowy egret chick)]
[Frontispiece: THIS WAS A LUCKY NIGHT FOR PETER, AND HE MANAGED TO
SAVE HIS GREY PELT. (_Frontispiece_)]
[Illustration: Title page]
Wild Kindred
Jean M. Thompson
The Illustrations
by Warwick Reynolds
& Charles Copeland
Jonathan Cape
Eleven Gower Street, London
First Published, 1922
All Rights Reserved
Contents
CHAP.
I. The Narrow Escape of Velvet Wings
II. How Lhoks went back to the Forest
III. The Trials of Peter Possum
IV. The Minnow Twins
V. How Porcupine Ridge was Settled
VI. Methuselah, the Tyrant of Black Pond
VII. Mahug, the Champion Diver
VIII. Fierce Star Nose, and Burrower
IX. The Loyalty of Silver Wing, the Gull
X. How Kos-Ko-Menos, the Kingfisher, won his Belt
XI. The Wit of Clown-face, the Badger
XII. The Sugar Camp on Lone Mountain
XIII. The Peril of the Snowy Egrets
XIV. Mogul, last Buffalo of the Herd
XV. The Last Panther on Cushman Range
XVI. Nemox, the Crafty Robber of the Marshes
List of Illustrations
"This was a lucky night for Peter, and he managed to save his grey
pelt" (_Frontispiece_)
"Suddenly the ball unrolled itself, and an ugly blunt snout appeared"
"Spitting, snarling, yelling ... it charged upon the porcupines"
"Down like an avalanche he came, snatching the mink in his beak"
"He rose from the great wave, bearing aloft a glistening herring"
"Out popped the funny painted face of the badger"
"On his way to the nest, with a pouch full of fish"
"The panther crouched at the foot of the ladder ... making up its
mind to climb"
Wild Kindred
CHAPTER I
THE NARROW ESCAPE OF VELVET WINGS
"Whir, whir, whir," sounded the swish of many silken wings. The
swallows had arrived from the South; thousands of them there were,
long winged and dusky brown, with faintly russet breasts. So full of
joyous bustle they were over their arrival, "cheep, cheep, cheeping,"
making a great clamour as they separated into colonies, seeking a
home for the summer. The old red barn seemed to invite them; in
fact, two colonies had a regular pitched battle over its possession,
until at last the stronger band drove away the weaker, and took
possession of the coveted spot. They swarmed into the old barn
through small windows high in its peak, chattering together as they
selected building sites. So great a clamour did the swallows make in
the silence of the dim, old barn that they disturbed and finally
awakened many who had not aroused themselves from their winter's
torpor and sleep.
Far up in a distant peak of the barn, in a certain dim corner where a
great rafter lapped, forming a secluded sort of shelf, there hung,
stretched across the corner, an unusually large cobweb curtain. The
old grey spider who had spun the web had abandoned it when cold
weather came, and crawled down into the warm hay. Gradually thick
dust collected upon the web curtain, and well it did, because behind
it, upon the wide, dusty beam it covered, lay two torpid things,
resembling nothing so much as two round balls of brown fur.
The strident chatter of the swallows had penetrated the small round
ears of the two fur balls, perhaps, or it might have been the light
from a stray yellow sunbeam, which at a certain hour of each day had
a way of filtering through a crack and warming their retreat. At any
rate, one of the torpid things began slowly to undo itself; a small,
mouse-like head appeared, having round, delicate ears of membrane,
which seemed rather too large for its head. Its eyes, when it opened
them, were exactly like two jet-black beads, and its rather wide,
pink mouth was liberally armed with tiny, saw-like teeth, which the
fur ball showed as it yawned sleepily, stretching itself and
spreading out its wings, to which were attached by a thin membrane
its forearms and legs. Then, fully awake, it plunged straight
through the cobweb curtain, tearing it apart from end to end, and
sending back a sharp, encouraging squeak to the smaller fur ball to
follow.
Of course the two ridiculous fur balls were just the bat family. The
smaller, more timorous bat, soon followed her mate from behind the
web curtain and joined him upon the broad beam. But so clumsy and
half awake was she that the very first thing she did was to make a
misstep and go pitching off the high beam into space. She landed
upon the hay, fortunately, and then began the funniest sight. Did
you ever chance to see a bat when it attempted to walk? They seldom
use their feet, and when they do it is a droll sight.
As soon as Mrs. Bat recovered from her dizzy fall, she put forth one
wing and a hind leg and began to walk toward a beam, for strangely
enough she could not fly from so low an elevation, but must climb
some distance in order to launch herself properly into the air.
Hitching and tumbling along she finally reached a beam, and clutching
it she began to climb it head downward, exactly as a woodpecker does.
Then, having reached the desired height, she whirled away, and landed
finally beside her mate.
The barn was a very silent place. The rasping of its rusty latch
always gave ample time for all its little wild tenants to get under
cover, so usually all you heard when you entered would be the hidden,
lonely trill of a cricket or a faint, stealthy rustle in the hay.
Upon a broad beam far up over the loft where the oat straw was
stored, lived rather an exclusive family, that of the barn owl. You
would never have dreamed they were there, so well did the brown
feathers of the owls blend with the dimness of the shadows. Under
the grain bins, far down below, lived a large colony of fat rats,
while in among the dried clover raced and romped shoals of field-mice
who wintered there. But there was another, a new tenant, feared and
shunned by all the others. He came from no one knew where exactly;
still the farmer's boy might have explained, for he had lost a pet
ferret.
The ferret was an ugly creature to look upon, its body long and
snaky, and covered with yellowish-white, rather dirty-looking fur;
its movements were sly and furtive, and somehow always struck terror
to every tenant of the barn whenever they saw him steal forth. All
winter the ferret had been there, and the hay was literally
honeycombed with its secret tunnels, and woe to anything which
happened to cross its evil trail.
Each evening soon after twilight the swallows would return to the
barn from their raids, and when the shadows grew quite dusky far down
beneath them, then the bats and the barn owl family would launch
themselves out into the night.
"Squeak, squeak," ordered the big male bat; then like two shadows
they would flit silently off upon their velvety wings. All during
the early part of the night they chased gnats and moths, because they
invariably got their best pickings before midnight. Before the dim
shadows began to lift, the bats and owls had returned usually, but
the bat family did not retire again behind their cobweb curtain;
instead they hung themselves by their wing-claws head downward from
the beam, folding their wings closely over their beady eyes, and thus
they would sleep all day.
Warmer days came, and livelier times were stirring among the tenants
of the barn. Far up on her own beam Mrs. Barn Owl tended and fed two
young downy owlets faithfully. Of course the owl mother knew the
beam to be quite a safe spot for baby owls, but somehow she
distrusted the skulking old ferret, whom she occasionally caught
sight of; besides, rats sometimes climb beams, and once, before the
owl eggs had hatched, something had stolen one egg; so that is really
why there were but _two_ owlets instead of three.
The swallows were the busiest tenants, for each nest now held a
circle of gaping, hungry mouths to feed. All day long, and far into
twilight, the swallows were whirring incessantly, in and out. But up
in the secret corner, partially hidden by the torn cobweb curtain,
clung Mrs. Bat herself, and if you could only have peeped beneath one
of her wings you might have seen the dearest little mite of a bat,
with eyes of jet, clinging close to its mother's breast as she folded
it tenderly beneath her wing. There the helpless little creature
stayed, close to its mother, until it became older and stronger, for
among all the tiny, fur-bearing animals there is no little mother
more considerate of her young than the bat. And rather than leave
the furry thing all alone upon the great beam when she had to go off
for food, as she could not carry it _beneath_ her wing in flight, she
would make a kind of little basket cradle by spreading out her wing,
and thus the baby bat would ride with its mother, clinging close to
her back with its wing hooks and tiny teeth, and he never fell from
the wing basket nor was he afraid.
When the young owlets were out of the pin-feather stage they began to
go out with the old ones. But once when they were left behind,
sitting huddled together upon their beam, when the mother owl came
back only one small, chuckle-faced owlet remained. Hunt as she
might, the robber had left no clue behind. However, her suspicions
centred upon the sly old ferret and she took to watching his
movements more than ever. There she would sit, sullen and
revengeful, far up among the shadows and beams, with her one owlet.
She frequently saw the sinuous, snake like body of the ferret creep
forth, and even caught the sound of his peculiarly hateful hiss when
he encountered anything in his path. Once, in a great fury she
swooped clear down to the barn floor after her enemy, but she got
there a second too late. The sly creature had heard the swish of the
owl's wings when she left the beam, and caught a fleeting glimpse of
her blazing yellow eyes, so he hastily slid into the nearest runway,
and the owl flew back to her beam defeated; but she never forgot, she
simply waited.
More and more bold became the raids of the hateful old ferret. He
robbed the swallows' nests; frequently you might see his dirty-white,
sinuous body stealing across some high beam, creeping, creeping
warily, arching his back, holding his snaky head high, one foot
gathered up, looking for an unguarded nest; then if he found one, he
would arch his snaky neck over the edge of the nest and suck every
egg.
Velvet Wings, the young bat, grew very fast. He foraged for himself
now, for his wings were as broad and fleet as his mother's.
Sometimes, however, he made a clumsy start and so got many a fall.
So one night as he started forth he fell fluttering and squeaking and
protesting, until with a soft thud he landed far below upon the barn
floor. Completely stunned Velvet Wings lay there, his wings
outspread and helpless, his little heart beating so hard it shook his
whole body. Of course he saw nothing, so did not notice the peaked
snout of the sly old ferret as he peered inquisitively forth from his
lair in the hay to see what the soft thud might be. The next instant
the ferret had Velvet Wings in his cruel mouth, but instead of
devouring him at once he began to have some fun with the poor bat,
tossing it in the air, then pouncing upon it as it fell, mauling it
as a cat does a mouse, pinning its wings down with both fore feet. A
second more and Velvet Wings would have been lost, but that second
was not allowed the ferret; for far up among the brown rafters a pair
of great, blazing yellow eyes had been watching, and like a rocket
from above fell the old mother owl, clear to the barn floor. "Swish,
swish," went her great wings, as she buried her talons in the back of
the dirty-white fur coat. With a twist of his snaky, supple body,
the ferret managed to free himself a second from that awful clutch,
and, arching its back, it began to slip away. But the owl was too
quick; landing upon the ferret's back, she took another, firmer hold
and bore him, struggling and snarling, aloft.
Down through the centre of the old barn a broad sunbeam entered. It
left a long bar of light through the dimness of the dusky place. The
barn was strangely silent, hushed, but many bright eyes had witnessed
the tragedy and were watching to see the end, but all that they
finally saw was just a few wisps of white fur, which came floating
lazily down through the bar of light. It appeared not unlike
floating thistle-down, but it had come from the owl's nest, and was
the last they ever saw of their enemy, the sly old ferret.
Up there in the dim shadows of the old red barn you'll find them all,
and should the yellow beam of sunlight happen to dance across their
dark hiding-place, you may plainly see the bat family. There they
all hang through the day, looking for all the world like a row of
small velvet bags, their bright eyes shrouded by their soft wings as
they sleep, head downward; while off in quite another corner, perched
upon her own dusty beam drowses the brave barn owl and her one
chuckle-headed owlet.