MATING AND MASTERY
Immeasurably elated by his success in outwitting the Boy, Red Fox now ran
some risk of growing overbold and underrating the superiority of man.
Fortunately for himself, however, he presently received a sharp lesson.
He was stealthily trailing Jabe Smith, one crisp morning, when the latter
was out with his gun, looking for partridges. A whirr of unseen wings
chancing to make Jabe turn sharply in his tracks, he caught sight of a
bright red fox shrinking back into the underbrush. Jabe was a quick shot.
He up with his gun and fired instantly. His charge, however, was only in
for partridges, and the shot was a long one. A few of the small leaden
pellets struck Red Fox in the flank. They penetrated no deeper than the
skin; but the shock was daunting, and they stung most viciously. In his
amazement and fright he sprang straight into the air. Then, straightening
himself out, belly to earth, he fled off in a red streak among the trunks
of the young white birches. For days he was tormented with a smarting and
itching in his side, which nothing could allay; and for weeks he kept
well away from the haunts of men.
About this time the young fox met with several surprises. One morning,
emerging from under his juniper-bush in the first pale rose of dawn, he
found a curious, thin, sparkling incrustation on the dead leaves, and the
brown grasses felt stiff and brittle under his tread. Much puzzled, he
sniffed at the hoarfrost, and tasted it, and found it had nothing to give
tongue or nose but a sensation of cold. The air, too, had grown
unwontedly cold, so that his thoughts reverted to the burrow which he had
been digging. Both the cold and the sparkling hoarfrost fled away as the
sun got high; but Red Fox set himself at once to work completing his
burrow. Thereafter he occupied it, and forgot all about the lair beneath
the juniper-bush.
Shortly after this he made his first acquaintance with the miracle of the
ice. One chilly morning in the half-light, when the upper sky was just
taking on the first rose-stains of dawn, he stopped to drink at a little
pool. To his amazement, his muzzle came in contact with some hard but
invisible substance, intervening between his nose and the water. At first
he backed off in wary suspicion, and glanced all about him to see if
anything else had gone wrong in the world. Then he sniffed at the ice,
and lapped it tentatively; and finally, growing bolder, thrust at it so
hard with his nose that it broke. This seemed to solve the mystery to his
satisfaction, so he slaked his thirst and went about his hunting. Later
in the day, however, happening to drink again at the same pool, he was
surprised to find that the strange, hard, invisible, breakable substance
had all gone. He hunted for it anxiously, and was utterly mystified until
he found some remnants still unthawed; whereupon he was once more
content, seeming to think the phenomenon quite adequately explained.
This surprise over hoarfrost and ice, however, was nothing to his
troubled astonishment on the coming of the first snow. One morning, after
a hard hunting expedition which had occupied the first half of the night,
he slept till after daylight. During his sleep the snow had come,
covering the ground to the depth of about an inch. When he poked his nose
out from the burrow, the flurry was about over, but here and there a
light, belated flake still loitered down.
At his first sight of a world from which all colour had been suddenly
wiped out, Red Fox started back—shrank back, indeed, to the very bottom
of his den. The universal and inexplicable whiteness appalled him. In a
moment or two, however, curiosity restored his courage, and he returned
to the door. But he would not venture forth. Cautiously thrusting his
head out, he stared in every direction. What was this white stuff
covering everything but the naked hardwood branches? It looked to him
like feathers. If so, there must have been great hunting. But no, his
nose soon informed him it was not feathers. Presently he took up a little
in his mouth, and was puzzled to find that it vanished almost instantly.
At last he stepped out, to investigate the more fully. But, to his
disgust, he found that he got his feet wet, as well as cold. He hated
getting his feet wet, so he slipped back at once into the den and licked
them dry.
For an hour or more Red Fox sulked and marvelled in his dry retreat. Then
as the air grew soft the snow dissolved away in patches, and he came out,
stepping fastidiously. But all through the morning he was too much
interested to do any hunting. Not till late afternoon did hunger make him
forget this inexplicable thing that had so changed the face of his world,
and drive him forth to the serious business of life. When, however, some
ten days later, on the heels of an iron frost, the snow came in earnest,
he had completely adapted himself to it and treated storm and cold alike
with supreme unconcern.
In all this time Red Fox had had not a glimpse of his mother or sister,
though their trails he had crossed from time to time, recognizing them
unerringly by the scent. At these reminiscent trails he always sniffed
with a kind of pleasure, yet he felt no impulse to follow them up and
renew old intimacies. Other foxes, strangers, he caught sight of in the
distance once in awhile; but his impulse, like that of his kind, was to
avoid companionship, which is apt to mean complication. Moreover, he had
no wish to encourage trespassers upon what he now regarded as his own
peculiar range. Young as he was, he was nevertheless so vigorous and well
grown as to pass readily for a fine yearling; and he was quite prepared
to fight in defence of his preëmptions.
This freedom from interference could hardly be expected to last, however,
without some price being exacted. Red Fox had a possession which many of
the wild creatures coveted—to wit, a burrow that was secret, dry, and
warm. In his absences it had been explored by various stealthy
wanderers,—weasel, woodchuck, mink, and black snake,—but they had all
taken care to be well out of it before the owner’s return. One surly old
woodchuck, a battle-scarred veteran of a courage to match his ill-temper,
went so far as to establish himself in the door of the burrow with the
purpose of fighting for its possession. But Red Fox happened to be away
on a long chase in the other valley; and, after the old woodchuck had
waited for a couple of hours in vain, his valour waned. He remembered
that there were other burrows, if not to be stolen then to be dug; and he
remembered, too, that the issues of war are doubtful. He wandered down to
the nearest turnip-field, was caught in his pillaging by the black and
white mongrel, and killed after a magnificent fight. And Red Fox never
guessed what a stern struggle had been spared him. Strong and clever as
he was, he doubtless would have won; but he would have carried scars
thereafter.
[Illustration: “ONE SURLY OLD WOODCHUCK . . . WENT SO FAR AS TO ESTABLISH
HIMSELF IN THE DOOR OF THE BURROW.”]
One day when Red Fox came trotting contentedly home with a partridge in
his jaws, he found the fresh tracks of another fox leading ahead of him
straight to the den. Sniffing at these, he realized that the visitor was
a stranger; and instantly a vague antagonism lifted the hair along his
back. To him any visit was intrusion at least, if not invasion. He
hurried up to the juniper-bush—and was met by the sight of the intruder
standing half-way out of the entrance to the den, with ears back, teeth
bare, impudent defiance in the gleam of his narrowed eyes.
The heart of Red Fox swelled with a hitherto unknown passion, a mingling
of injury and savage rage. Dropping the partridge, he sprang silently
upon the intruder, who met him willingly enough just below the
juniper-bush. There was no sparring for position, but both grappled on
the instant, each with a snap and a grip; and, locked in a red furry
ball, they rolled about three yards down the bank. Here they brought up
sharply against a stone, Red Fox on top, and worrying fiercely at the
side of his enemy’s neck.
Jammed down against the stone, the trespasser was now getting much the
worst of the battle. Blood, his own and his adversary’s, flowed into his
eyes, half-blinding him. Suddenly he decided that he had been in the
wrong—and he made a swift repentance. With a vehement heave and wriggle
he doubled himself up, emerged between Red Fox’s hind legs, and sprang
away. Red Fox wheeled, eyed him for a second, then rushed for him again.
The stranger did not pause to apologize or explain, but bounded right
over the nearest bush and made off through the underbrush at a pace which
showed his sincerity. Red Fox followed for perhaps a hundred yards, and
then, greatly elated by his triumph, returned to the den to lick his
hurts.
It was less than a week after this encounter when another strange fox
appeared. Red Fox was just setting out for his afternoon hunt, when he
saw the stranger halting irresolutely at the edge of a thicket some
twenty yards below the den. His hair bristled up at once, and he
advanced, stepping delicately on his toes, savagely inhospitable and ripe
for another fight. But there seemed to be no hostility in the stranger’s
attitude.
It was irresolution, rather, and an impulse to flight. So it came about
that, as Red Fox advanced, his enmity began to cool, till his motive in
drawing near was little more than a desire to find out what the visitor
wanted. The angry ridge of hair along his neck and shoulders sank down,
the dangerous gleam faded out of his alert eyes. The stranger, waiting on
tiptoe, seemed always on the point of running away; yet never did, but
kept watching Red Fox’s approach over her shoulder.
When he found himself within half a dozen yards of the diffident
stranger, Red Fox halted and sat up, his head cocked sideways, his jaws
half-open, his tongue lightly hanging out, his face a picture of bland
but eager interest. The stranger, apparently somewhat reassured, now
permitted herself to sit down also, turning so as to face him. In this
position they eyed each other in silence for a minute or two, mutually
benevolent. Then Red Fox jumped up briskly, trotted over to the visitor,
and sniffed at her cordially. Both seemed highly gratified at the
encounter; and, after gamboling together for a few minutes, and chasing
each other about, they went off side by side through the underbrush,
seemingly bent upon a partnership in the chase.
Filled with pride and an exultation utterly new to his heart, Red Fox
trotted on, with eyes fixed upon the slim companion at his side, his eyes
wrinkled and mouth open in an expression of foolish content. The young
she, however, kept her eyes and wits about her, keen for the hunt and
apparently indifferent to her conquest. Here she pounced upon an unwary
foraging mouse. Here she captured a maimed snowbird, as it was hopping in
panic fear toward the covert of a juniper thicket. And at last, creeping
with indescribable stealth around the roots of a huge beech-tree, she
seized a drowsing rabbit which her skilful nose had discovered to her.
Her skill and prowess delighted Red Fox beyond measure; and, as the twain
feasted together on the stained snow, their mating was cemented with the
blood of the long-eared victim.
After this capture the pair turned back homeward by a long circle which
brought them close to the skirts of the settlement. Here, as luck would
have it, their fresh trail was picked up by the half-breed hound as he
was trotting lazily down the road to visit the farm of his comrade, the
black and white mongrel. So fresh and so alluring was the scent that he
could not wait for company, but broke into joyous cry and dashed into the
woods alone.
[Illustration: “CREEPING WITH INDESCRIBABLE STEALTH AROUND THE ROOTS OF A
HUGE BEECH-TREE.”]
Red Fox and his mate were less than half a mile from the road when that
ominous sound arose on the clear, frosty air. They stopped short, stood,
each with a foot uplifted, as motionless as statues, and listened
critically. There was but one voice in the cry. Plainly there was but one
foe in pursuit. They looked at each other searchingly, and seemed to come
to an understanding without discussion. Then they resumed their journey,
trotting perhaps a little faster than before, but certainly not running
away. Red Fox was in no mood to run away; and his slim comrade seemed to
have lost that timorousness of nature which she had displayed toward
himself a few hours earlier.
As they were making no haste, the voice of the pursuing enemy drew
swiftly nearer. At last it was just the other side of a line of young
spruce-trees, not two score paces behind them. Red Fox’s heart was
thumping, but there was no thought of flight in it. He stopped and
whirled about to face the peril. As he did so, the she fox turned with
him, undaunted as he. Then, with a soft crashing of fir-branches, the
loud enemy burst into view.
The dog had covered half the space between before he seemed to notice
that the two foxes were not fleeing, but awaiting him. He was surprised,
and stopped abruptly, while the high-carried feather of his tail drooped
in indecision. This but for a second or two, however; for what were these
two slender antagonists to him? Finding voice again, he dashed forward.
And the two foxes, with a shrill, threatening bark, ran to meet him.
Now the half-breed’s specialty was distinctly not fighting, but trailing;
and he was taken aback by this most unexpected and irregular attitude of
the two foxes. As he hesitated, he suddenly found himself in the midst of
a demoralizing mix-up. Frantically he snapped his big jaws at his elusive
assailants, but got only a few mouthfuls of soft fur, so nimble were
they. In the meantime he was getting bitten smartly on both hind legs,
and slashed on neck and dewlap till the blood ran copiously. Those
assaults upon his hind legs terrified him particularly. He was afraid of
getting hamstrung. This fear in a moment grew into a panic. With all his
strength he shook himself free. His proud tail tucked shamelessly between
his legs, he turned and fled for home. The two foxes ran after him a
little way, in mere pretence of pursuit, then, extremely elated over
their easy triumph, resumed their journey toward the den on the hillside.