THE PRESUMPTION OF BLACK MINK
It was hours later when Red Fox, weary but elated, got back to the den in
the bank, having lingered on the way to stalk a rabbit and refresh his
powers. One great menace to his peace for the coming spring had been
removed. With the energetic, enthusiastic, and tireless black and white
mongrel finally out of the way, he knew that the hound would have little
pleasure in following the trails alone. At the den in the bank he sniffed
in deep disgust, for the smell of burnt gunpowder still clung rank within
it. He easily dragged out the intruding sapling, with the charred
remnants of the “spitting devil” attached to it; but that heavy, choking
odour was something he could neither remedy nor endure. Leaving it for
time to deal with, he trotted on to the summit of the ridge,—to find his
small mate lying in her lair with a contented look on her face and a
litter of blind red puppies tugging at her teats.
Toward these new arrivals Red Fox was indifferently tolerant. He
considered them rather a bore than otherwise; though he knew they were
tremendously important, or his mate would not devote herself to them as
she did. He established himself on a dry and sheltered ledge just above
the den, where he could keep an eye upon its occupants; and if any peril
had threatened them, he would have fought to his last gasp in defence of
the helpless and apparently useless sprawlers. For several days, however,
he had little time to rest at home and ponder the situation, because his
mate devoted herself so closely to her new duties that he had to do the
hunting for both. It was a long way down into the neighbouring valley and
the chicken-yards, which he had come to regard as safe objects of attack;
and it chanced that at this season there was a scarcity of rabbits about
the ridge. So it came about that Red Fox found himself more strenuously
occupied than he had ever been before at any point in his career. At this
busy time the fortune of the wilds flung upon him one of his most
unpleasant adventures.
One day when he was hunting, not very successfully, down beside the still
half-frozen dead-waters, it happened that a little way up the stream a
large mink started to trail a rabbit. The mink had been feeding for a
time altogether on frogs and fish, and was just now smitten with a
craving for red blood. He had just missed catching the rabbit at his
first rush; and then, in an obstinate rage at his failure, he had settled
down to the chase of the fleet quarry.
For a little the rabbit’s tremendous, bounding leaps had all the
advantage. But soon she began to tire. She ran around in a circle; and,
as soon as her trail began to wheel, her cunning pursuer, knowing just
what she would do, cut across the curve—and almost intercepted her. At
this narrow escape her poor little heart came near to stopping with
terror, as well as with astonishment at the appearance of the dark, snaky
foe, in this unexpected quarter. She ran on down the bank of the
dead-water with the mink not ten yards behind her. Her terrified eyes,
absorbed in the doom that followed, failed to note the form of Red Fox
darting across her path just ahead.
[Illustration: “HE HAD JUST MISSED CATCHING THE RABBIT AT HIS FIRST
RUSH.”]
Under ordinary circumstances, an ordinary fox would have discreetly
ignored both pursued and pursuer, avoiding a dangerous quarrel; for the
predatory wild folks, as a rule, do not like to fight unnecessarily. But
Red Fox was utterly scornful of any mink as an antagonist; and he was in
a hurry. His hunting was not for fun, but for business. Precedents and
vested rights were of small concern to him. Crouching in a mass of dead
brown fern, he waited for the rabbit to come up. Then, a straight,
darting rush,—and the fugitive was caught right in the air, in the middle
of one of her wild leaps. One despairing squeal, and her neck was bitten
through. Then, throwing her over his shoulder, Red Fox started homeward
with his easy prize, never deigning to cast a look toward the baffled
pursuer.
But in this arrogant confidence, for once, he made a mistake. The big
black mink was no coward, and his keen little eyes went red with rage at
this insult and injury combined. It was presumption, of course, for him
to think of matching himself against the great master fox, feared all
through the Ringwaak regions for his strength and craft. But his eyes
were now like two glowing points of garnet, and prudence had been burned
out of his brain. After a half-second’s pause, he darted like a snake
behind Red Fox, and bit him through the hind leg.
In wrath and amazement Red Fox dropped his burden and turned upon this
presumptuous assailant. But the mink, with one of his lightning-like
springs, was already eight or ten feet away, crouching and waiting. Red
Fox covered the distance at one bound,—but when he alighted the mink was
not there. The snaky black figure, belly to the ground, was crouching
eight or ten feet away, eying him with a fixed malevolence. Again, and
yet again. Red Fox sprang at him, only to be evaded again and again with
the like ease. At last he, too, crouched flat, eying his foe with keen
curiosity for a good half-minute. Then with great deliberation he arose,
picked up the dead rabbit, and once more started homeward with the prize.
He had not gone a dozen steps, however, when again, like a swift and
deadly shadow, the mink closed in behind him and gave him a terrible,
punishing bite in the other hind leg, above the second joint. Had he been
less heavily muscled, this attack might have hamstrung him. This time,
however, he was on the alert. He wheeled savagely, under the rabbit’s
body as it were, so that he seemed to throw the latter over his head. But
again he was too late. The black assailant was beyond reach of his jaws,
again crouching, and waiting, and menacing.
[Illustration: “AT LAST HE, TOO, CROUCHED FLAT, EYING HIS FOE WITH KEEN
CURIOSITY.”]
This time Red Fox felt a sense of injury added to his wrath. That last
bite hurt him badly. He followed up the mink in a long, steady rush; but
the latter was too quick for him, too supple in dodging, and, after
having chased him for about a hundred yards, he gave up the vain effort.
Wheeling abruptly, he ran back to the subject of the quarrel, where it
lay sprawling and bloody on the brown earth. And the mink followed him,
not five feet behind his heels.
Now Red Fox was puzzled, as he had never before been puzzled in all his
life. He could not catch his too active foe. He could not carry off the
prize and expose himself, in so doing, to those dangerous assaults in the
rear. And he could not acknowledge defeat by relinquishing the prey.
Placing one positive fore paw on the rabbit’s body, he turned and glared
at the mink with eyes narrowed to a slit and a sharp, staccato snarl. He
was threatening before he knew what he threatened, but he knew he was
going to do something. The mink, nothing daunted, crouched again, in
readiness for whatever that something might be.
At length Red Fox’s sagacious brain decided to simulate defeat in the
hope of luring the foe to closer quarters. The anger died out of his
eyes, his tail and the fur of his neck drooped dejectedly; and he became
the very picture of cowed abasement as he slowly turned away from the
prize and slunk off. Instantly the mink, content with his victory, darted
forward and began to feast upon the rabbit’s blood. Like lightning Red
Fox whipped about, and was back between two breaths. But the mink had not
been fooled at all. There he was, ten feet away, glaring red, but licking
his narrow jaws, with all his wits about him. Red Fox once more had the
prize under his paws, but he was no nearer knowing what to do with it. In
a sudden outburst of fury he rushed upon the mink to hunt him down by
tiring him out.
For a good five minutes the mad chase went on, up the bank, through the
bushes, over rocks and stumps, through the deep woods,—but never more
than forty or fifty yards distant from the dead rabbit. The mink kept
always some ten or fifteen feet ahead of his furious pursuer, and felt
quite at ease as to the outcome, because aware that he had the brook at
hand as a safe refuge in case of need. If he should find himself getting
winded, he would take to the open water or dive under the lingering ice,
where Red Fox would be quite incapable of following him. What the end
would have been will never be told; for while neither showed any sign of
tiring or yielding there came a strange intervention. A black bear came
lumbering briskly out of the nearest thicket, and, without so much as an
apology to either Red Fox or the mink, helped himself to the rabbit,
which he tore to pieces and began to devour with every evidence of good
appetite.
[Illustration: “HELPED HIMSELF TO THE RABBIT.”]
The chase stopped short, while both the mink and Red Fox glared
indignantly at the giant intruder. Then Red Fox, philosophically
concluding that the fight was off, as there was nothing left to fight
for, trotted quietly away through the underbrush to seek other game. Time
was too precious for him to think of wasting it in a fruitless quarrel.
But the big black mink, as it chanced, was of a different way of
thinking. He had wanted that rabbit, which he had earned by clever
trailing and persistent chase. He would have had it, had not Red Fox
insolently interfered. Now the rabbit was beyond his reach for ever, the
bear’s great jaws making short work of it. His rage against Red Fox
blazed up with fresh heat, and he had no longer any thought but
vengeance.
Following cautiously and at some distance, he waited till Red Fox had
apparently dismissed him from his mind. Then he slipped up behind once
more, and repeated the old attack, springing back, however, more swiftly
than before, because his antagonist was no longer hampered with a burden.
This time Red Fox was thoroughly startled. He flashed about and made his
spring; but, as he expected, he was again too late. His vindictive and
implacable little enemy was crouching there as before, just out of reach,
his strong tail twitching, his eyes like savage flame. Red Fox was
bothered. He sat up on his haunches and gazed at the mink
contemplatively. He wanted to hunt, not to fight. And that last bite hurt
worst of all.
Presently he made up his mind what to do. Meekly, and with a frightened
air, he got up and once more trotted away. But this time he limped
painfully, as if one leg was so injured as to be almost useless; and he
kept looking backward deprecatingly over his shoulder. Swelling with
vindictive triumph, the mink grew less wary, and followed closer,
awaiting the chance for another attack. Upon this, Red Fox broke into a
feeble run, limping terribly. And closer still came the mink, feeling
that revenge was now close at hand. At last, in passing through a rough,
tangled thicket of little bushes and dead weeds, Red Fox stumbled
forward, and fell. In a flash the mink was upon him, and reached for his
throat.
At this instant, however, Red Fox’s faintness and feebleness fell from
him; and the mink’s teeth never gained his throat. They met, indeed,
savagely and punishingly enough, near the upper joint of his fore
shoulder. But the next moment his long jaws closed over his assailant’s
slim black loins,—closed, and crunched together inexorably. For a second
or two the mink writhed and snapped, twisting like a snake. Then, as the
long white teeth came together through his backbone, he straightened
himself out convulsively, and fell together like a wet rag. Red Fox shook
him fiercely for a minute or two, till assured that he was dead past all
shamming; then threw him over his shoulder, as he had done the rabbit,
and started for the den on the ridge. Tough, stringy, hard-fibred
mink-meat was not like rabbit-meat, of course, but there was a good lot
of it, and his mate was not in a mood to be over dainty.