THE ADDICT
THE sun came up, with its joyous wakening of the woods. All the Squirrel
world was bright and alert--all but one. Mother went forth to the sun-up
meal, Brownhead went rollicking forth, and Nyek-nyek went gliding, too.
But Bannertail lay still. He had no words to state his case; he did not
know that he had a case to state. He only knew that he was dull and sad,
and did not feel the early morning call of joy. The juices of his weird
feast were dried on paws and head, and the smell of them, though faint,
was nauseating to him.
He did not move that day; he had no desire to move. The sun was low when
at length he went forth and down. At the crystal spring he drank deep
and drank again. Silvergray licked his fur when he came back with the
youngsters to the nest. He was better now, and next sun-up was himself
again, the big, boisterous, rollicking Squirrel of the plumy tail, the
playmate of the young ones, the husband of his wife. And their merry
lives went on, till one morning, on the bank of the creek that flowed
from the high hill-country, he found a tiny, shiny fragment of the weird
spellbinding mushroom. A table scrap, no doubt, flood-borne from a
Redhead feast. He sniffed, as he sniffed all new, strange things. A moon
back it would have been doubtful or repellent, but he had closed his
ears to the first warning of the inner guide; so the warning now was
very low. He had yielded to the slight appetite for this weird taste,
so that appetite was stronger. He eagerly gobbled the shining, broken
bit, and, possessed of keen desire for more, went bounding and pausing
and fluffing, farther, farther off, nor stopped till once more high in
the hill-country, among the pines and the banks where the toadstools of
black magic grew.
[Illustration]
Very keen was Bannertail when he swung from the overhead highway of the
pines to the ground, to gallop over banks with nose alert. Nor had he
far to go. This was toadstool time, and a scattered band of these
embodied earth-sprites was spotting a sunlit bank with their smooth and
blushing caps.
Was there in his little soul still a warning whisper? Yes. Just a
little, a final, feeble "Beware, touch it not!"--very faint compared
with the first-time warning, and now to be silenced by counter-doings,
just as a single trail in the sand is wholly blotted out by a later
trail much used that goes counterwise across it.
[Illustration]
Just a little pause made he, when the sick smell of the nearest
toadstool was felt and measured by his nose. The lust for that strong
foody taste was overdominating. He seized and crunched and revelled in
the flowing juices and the rank nut taste, the pepper tang, the
toothsome mouthiness, and gobbled with growing unreined greed, not one,
but two or three--he gorged on them; and though stuffed and full, still
filled with lust that is to hunger what wounding is to soft caress. He
rushed from one madcap toadstool to another, driving in his teeth,
revelling in their flowing juices, like the blood of earthy gnomes, and
rushed for joy up one tall tree after another. Then, sensing the
Redsquirrels, pursued them in a sort of berserker rage, eager for fight,
desperate fight, any fight, fight without hate, that would outlet his
dangerous, boiling power, his overflow of energy. Joy and power were
possessing his small brain and lusty frame. He found another bank of
madcap cups; he was too gorged to eat them, but he tossed and chewed the
juicy cups and stems. He raced after a fearsome Water-snake on a sunny
bank, and, scared by the fury of his onslaught, the Snake slipped out of
sight. He galloped up a mighty pine-tree, on whose highest limbs were
two great Flickers, clacking. He chased them recklessly, then, clinging
to a bark flake that proved loose, he was launched into the air, a
hundred feet to fall. But his glorious tail was there to serve, and it
softly let him down to earth. It was well for him that he met no cat or
dog that day, for the little earth-born demon in his soul had cast out
fear as well as wisdom.
And Mother Carey must have wept as she saw this very dear one take into
his body and his brain a madness that would surely end his life. She
loved him, but far more she loved his race. And just a little longer she
would wait, and give him yet one chance. And if he willed not to be
strong, then must he pay the price.
Not happy was his homecoming that night. Silvergray sniffed at his
whiskers. She liked not his breath. There was no kindness in her voice,
her only sound a harsh, low "_Grrrff!_"
And the family life went on.
_THE DREGS OF THE CUP_