THE WORRYING OF RED BUCK
On the heels of the fire came long, drenching rains, which quenched the
smouldering moss and stumps, filled the brooks and ponds, and brought
back hope and the joy of life to the Ringwaak country. But there remained
a cruel black scar across the landscape, along the upper slopes of the
ridge, stretching from the region of the lower lakes all the way over
into the wild Ottanoonsis Valley. It was a scar which succeeding springs
would soften with the balm of bush and weed and leafage, though two
generations would hardly avail to efface it. To Red Fox it was a hateful
thing because it represented a vast and rich hunting range spoiled. The
little meadow, however, had suffered no irreparable damage, because,
there being no growth of bushes upon it to feed the fire, the roots of
the grass had not been burned out of the soil. Immediately after the
rains a fresh young herbage sprang up all over it, from the brook’s edge
back to the woods, and it lay like a jewel in its brilliancy, the one
spot of green young life in the blackened expanses of ruin. Red Fox and
his family went back to the den above the meadow, and found it, of
course, none the worse. In fact, the desolation surrounding it made it
all the more secure from intrusion or discovery. In the course of the
next few weeks the young ones, now as large as their mother, and with
much of their father’s independence of spirit, scattered off to shift for
themselves; and Red Fox dropped back with a sense of relief into the
pleasant routine of his life before their coming. He visited the farms in
the settlement more frequently now than of old, because he knew that the
half-breed hound had lost all interest in hunting since the death of his
comrade, the black and white mongrel. He kept, of course, a wary lookout
to avoid stumbling across Jabe Smith; but with the rest of the settlement
and their possessions he did not hesitate to take liberties. Once,
indeed, the half-breed hound picked up his hot trail and followed him
with some of the old eagerness; but when, tiring of the game, Red Fox
turned with bared teeth and stood at bay, the dog remembered urgent
business back at the farm, and hurried off to see to it.
[Illustration: “RED FOX WAS ENJOYING A GOOD STRETCH.”]
For a season now the big fox’s daily life, though to himself filled with
inexhaustible interest, was not adventurous. His mastery, where mastery
was possible, was so assured and recognized, and his few enemies were so
well comprehended, that ordinary caution held him secure. He needed, to
be sure, at this stage in his career, all the sagacity with which nature
and his excellent ancestors had so liberally endowed him; for his
unfailing triumphs over circumstances had given him that self-confident
pride which so often proves a snare to its possessor.
Along in the last week of September, one evening about sunset, Red Fox
was enjoying a good stretch after a nap beneath his juniper-bush, when he
saw a tall, high-antlered red buck standing about ten feet away and eying
him with a kind of hostile curiosity. It was rutting season, when, as Red
Fox knew, the bucks were always looking for trouble. But he also knew
that the handsome, arrogant-looking beast could have no possible excuse
for a quarrel with him. He finished his stretching unconcernedly,
therefore, then sat up on his haunches and stared, good-naturedly enough,
at the visitor. What was his surprise, then, when the latter, apparently
enraged because the small red animal by the juniper-bush did not seem
afraid, suddenly bounded at him with a beautiful, graceful ferocity, and
struck at him with his keen fore hooves.
Had one of the big black stumps on the hillside pounced upon him, Red Fox
could not have been more astonished. His astonishment, however, did not
make him lose his wits. He was out of the way like a flash before that
murderous hoof descended. But the angry buck followed him up, bounding
like a great ball, and striking again and again at the small,
brush-tailed creature who so easily eluded him. With each failure he grew
more and more irate; but at last, half-winded with the violence of his
efforts, he stopped, his great red sides panting. For half a minute he
stared at Red Fox irresolutely; while Red Fox sat up on his haunches ten
yards off and stared back with an unruffled, indifferent air. Then,
apparently concluding that he had made a mistake, the hot-headed animal
wheeled daintily and moved off across the meadow.
[Illustration: “MOVED AWAY GRANDLY ABOUT HIS BUSINESS.”]
But he was not to get away so easily. Red Fox’s blood was up. The attack
had been unprovoked, and altogether senseless. Between the foxes and the
deer there had always been a kind of informal peace, their interests in
no way conflicting. Red Fox was minded to make the haughty animal suffer
for his rashness. Departing from the custom of his kind, he now slipped
forward swiftly,—as a dog might, or a solitary wolf in dealing with a
moose,—and nipped the buck smartly on the hind leg.
Deeply insulted, the buck wheeled about and struck at his presumptuous
assailant. But Red Fox was already beyond his reach. After a couple of
futile rushes he gave up the effort and again moved away grandly about
his business, with an air that seemed to say that foxes, if there were
such things, were quite beneath his notice. No sooner had he fairly
turned, however, than he felt again Red Fox’s long, avenging teeth in his
hind leg.
With a little worry mingled in his rage, the buck turned once more. But
this time he made but one effort to catch his nimble assailant. Then he
stood and eyed Red Fox, shaking his proud antlers and stamping with his
fine-edged fore hooves. Thereupon Red Fox ran around him half a dozen
times, this way and that in dazzlingly swift circles, which kept the tall
animal wheeling nervously in the effort to face him. At last he darted in
so cleverly that he got another nip at the buck’s hind leg; and the buck,
now quite demoralized, made a wild leap into the air, and started away in
great leaps, across the meadow, over the brook, and through the burnt
woods beyond.
This was a victory to swell even Red Fox’s heart with pride,—and his mate
had been watching it all from the door of her den. The natural and
fox-like thing for the victor to have done, now, was to be content with
such a triumph. But Red Fox wanted to inflict punishment. Moreover, he
had learned a great deal from the persistent trailing of the dogs in the
days when the hound and the mongrel had persecuted him. Like a hunting
dog, therefore, he set out in pursuit of the fleeing buck, following him
by sight through the naked ruins of the woods.
[Illustration: “RESUMED HIS FLIGHT THROUGH THE TRUNKS AND RAMPIKES.”]
In a very few minutes the buck, somewhat short-winded from his earlier
efforts, paused and looked back. In a moment he caught sight of the low,
red figure, belly to earth and stretched straight out, coming up upon him
swiftly through the blackened stumps. In a panic he ran on again till the
pursuer was out of sight. Then again he stopped to take breath, running
back a little way, after the custom of his kind, and lying down with his
face toward the danger. But he had no more than settled himself, his
flanks heaving and his fine nostrils wide, when again the red pursuer
came in sight, following implacably. With heart almost bursting, the
harassed buck sprang to his feet, and resumed his flight through the
trunks and rampikes.
After this had been repeated two or three times, at ever shortening
intervals as the fugitive’s distress increased, the chase led out of the
burnt woods and into the unscarred forest. Here, owing to Red Fox’s
comparatively indifferent powers of trailing, the buck would have had a
great advantage had he been fresh. But instead of that he was now on the
verge of utter collapse. Once fairly inside the leafy coverts, he
stopped, unable to run a step farther. His legs were trembling so that
they could hardly support him, but he turned and stood at bay, ready to
make a last fight against the mysterious enemy whom he had so rashly
challenged.
A moment more and Red Fox came up. The buck struck at him frantically,
but he kept out of reach, circling, and considering the situation. Then
he sat up, about twenty feet away, and coolly eyed the unhappy buck. He
noted the starting eyes, the flaring nostrils, the labouring flanks, the
quivering knees. The victory was certainly complete, the vengeance surely
effective. He did not see exactly what else to do. Though beaten, the big
beast was not killed; and Red Fox had no desire to hazard a final mix-up
with those desperate hooves. In this novel chase there had been no
thought of hunting, but only of wiping out an affront. At last, though
with a certain hesitation of manner, Red Fox got up, licked his lips,
took a last triumphant look at his discomfited enemy, and trotted away
through the underbrush to hunt for a mouse or a rabbit. The buck stared
after him for a half a minute, then lay down in his tracks to recover.