THE BALKING OF FIRE-EYES
[Illustration]
OTHER days were much like this as the Snow-moon slowly passed. But one
there was that claimed a place in his memory for long. He had gone
farther afield to another grove of hickories, and was digging down so
deep into the snow that caution compelled him to come out and look
around at intervals. It was well he did so, for a flash of brown and
white appeared on a near log. It made toward him, and Bannertail got an
instinctive sense of fear. Small though it was, smaller than himself,
the diabolic fire in its close-set eyes gave him a thrill of terror. He
felt that his only safety lay in flight.
Now it was a race for the tall timber, and a close one, but Bannertail's
hops were six feet long; his legs went faster than the eye could see.
The deep snow was harder on him than on his ferocious enemy, but he
reached the great rugged trunk of an oak, and up that, gaining a little.
The Weasel followed close behind, up, up, to the topmost limbs, and out
on a long, level branch to leap for the next tree. Bannertail could leap
farther than Fire-eyes, but then he was heavier and had to leap from
where the twigs were thicker. So Fire-eyes, having only half as far to
go, covered the leap as well as the Squirrel did, and away they went as
before.
[Illustration: BAFFLING FIRE-EYES]
Every wise Squirrel knows all the leaps in his woods, those which he can
easily make, and those which will call for every ounce of power in
his legs. The devilish pertinacity of the Weasel, still hard after him,
compelled him to adopt a scheme. He made for a wide leap, the very limit
of his powers, where the take-off was the end of a big broken branch,
and racing six hops behind was the Brown Terror. Without a moment's
pause went Bannertail easily across the six-foot gap, to land on a
sturdy limb in the other tree. And the Weasel! He knew he could not make
it, hung back an instant, gathered his legs under him, snarled, glared
redder-eyed than ever, bobbed down a couple of times, measured the
distance with his eye, then wheeled and, racing back, went down the
tree, to cross and climb the one that sheltered the Squirrel. Bannertail
quietly hopped to a higher perch, and, when the right time came, leaped
back again to the stout oak bough. Again the Weasel, with dogged
pertinacity, raced down and up, only to see the Graysquirrel again leap
lightly across the impassable gulf. Most hunters would have given up
now, but there is no end to the dogged stick-to-itiveness of the Weasel;
besides, he was hungry. And half-a-dozen times he had made the long
circuit while his intended victim took the short leap. Then Bannertail,
gaining confidence, hit on a plan which, while it may have been meant
for mere teasing, had all the effect of a deep stratagem played with
absolute success.
When next the little red-eyed terror came racing along the oak limb,
Bannertail waited till the very last moment, then leaped, grasped the
far-side perch, and, turning, "yipped" out one derisive "_grrrf, grrrf,
grrrf_" after another, and craned forward in mockery of the little fury.
This was too much. Wild with rage, the Weasel took the leap, fell far
short, and went whirling head over heels down seventy-five feet, to land
not in the soft snow but on a hard-oak log, that knocked out his cruel
wind, and ended for the day all further wish to murder or destroy.
_REDSQUIRREL, THE SCOLD OF THE WOODS_