A LONG CHASE
Well the mother knew what that baying meant. Months before she had left
her own hills beyond the big river, to escape the keen scented hounds
and to raise her family here in the Pine Barrens, unmolested by them.
Had one at last traced her? Was he on her trail now, following her
footprints unerringly to the fallen tree?
She looked at the sleeping pup. He certainly could not take care of
himself in a long chase. If the hound found where they were, she would
have to run for both of them. But she must wait until there was no doubt
that he was on her trail and not following Gray Fox or some other woods
creature.
For an hour she lay there, while the musical notes of the hound rang out
in the breezeless morning air. He was working out a difficult trail, the
one left by Red Ben in his night escape. How well those circles had been
made! But circles could only delay, not stop a trailer like this hound.
The oftener he found himself going around in aimless rings, the more
determined he grew, until at last he was working along the swamp
dangerously near the foxes.
Red Ben was wide awake, but understood that he was to hide there while
his mother took care of the dog. He had never seen a hound, so was full
of curiosity. Just as he had once watched Ben Slown from the mouth of
the burrow, he now peeped between the limbs of the old tree to see the
lanky black and white creature with the flapping ears come roaring up
the trail.
Behind the hound came Farmer Slown's woolly dog Shep and a white fox
terrier. Their noses were not keen enough for trailing, so they
encouraged the hound to do the work while they enjoyed the fun of it.
Red Ben had seen them before; they usually accompanied the farmer in his
walks.
Instinctively he knew then that Farmer Slown was somehow connected with
the hound and this hunt. He was instantly more than ever on the alert;
undoubtedly the farmer was somewhere near.
Through the bushes came the clumsy dogs, with a great crashing of dry
twigs, quite different from Red Ben's silent way of moving. He could see
the excited glare of their eyes, the red tongues and white teeth. The
hound, a huge creature, seemed to guess the fallen tree was a "foxy"
place: nose in air, he turned to it, full of suspicion. The other dogs
followed expectantly.
Red Ben's heart beat against his ribs. Should he run? Did they see him?
Something inside him seemed to warn, "wait, wait, don't move!"
And then a wild cry of joy came from the little fox terrier. He had seen
the mother. She had deliberately run past him to draw attention from the
pup, but he did not have sense enough to guess that. With another yell
he bounded after her, and after him came Shep. The hound alone stood
there doubtfully, but he could not bear to be left alone. With a mighty
bellow from his deep lungs he too rushed after the old fox, and went
crashing towards Oak Ridge on the fresh trail.
Again Red Ben had escaped. He heard the hound go farther and farther
into the Barrens; fainter came the baying, always fainter until it died
away entirely.
The swamp once more breathed freely and naturally. Blue jays called,
flickers whinnied, two of Red Squirrel's cousins came out of their hole
under a cedar root, Gray Squirrel was calling out, "Fee-we-e-e-e-k, kek,
kek, kek, fee-wee-e-e-e-k"--everywhere within sight things seemed
peaceful and happy.
Yet, somewhere in the Pine Barrens, Red Ben knew his mother was running
on and on, with death on her trail. One slim red fox against three dogs.
Would she ever come back?
[Illustration: Red Ben's Mother]
Red Ben crept from under the tree and looked all around. The red
squirrels scolded at him, but he did not notice them; he had made up his
mind to follow his mother. Full of trouble and scarcely knowing where to
go, he at last wandered to Oak Ridge. Through its leafy tangles he
trotted, in the direction he had last heard the hound. A branch of the
old woods path ran here, and with the instinct of the fox to take always
the best road, he followed it.
Suddenly, however, something unfamiliar appeared ahead and caused him to
stop as if frozen. It did not move, he could not make out what it was,
but he knew that never before had it been there when he followed this
path.
Cautiously he slipped into the woods and circled until he caught the
scent on the faint breeze. One sniff was enough. It was Farmer Slown!
Away ran Red Ben, not knowing, however, how narrow had been his escape.
Ben Slown, gun in hand, was sitting there watching the trail. At that
moment he was looking in the other direction, whence he expected the
mother to run ahead of the hound.
Red Ben knew now the danger of moving about in daytime. At night man is
asleep or else blundering about blinded by the dark. His traps and his
poisoned baits may do harm then, but he himself is made harmless. There
is not a creature of the wild that does not learn this.
To Red Ben the world seemed full of enemies. He dared not go farther,
nor wander back; so he crouched in the laurel bushes and waited. And
then he heard, far away, the baying of the hound. Nearer it came. It
thrilled the young fox: he knew his mother was not far off.