JIM CROW'S SIGNAL
Instead of sleeping under the fallen tree in Cranberry Swamp, where the
fleas had become too lively for comfort, Red Ben had made it a practice
to pick out a new place nearly every day. This time he chose a laurel
clump on the top of Oak Ridge. There was an advantage in this high bed;
he could keep an eye on Ben Slown's farm, whence he now expected trouble
of some kind to come.
He had lately paid special attention to the danger signals of all the
wild creatures, and on them relied for first warning, so he curled up in
his usual tight ball, with eyes closed, but ears uncovered to take in
every sound.
The "check, check" of red wing blackbirds, the rasp of brown thrashers,
the screech of sparrow hawks and the rustlings of a great wood full of
happy life went through his ears unheeded. The bark of Red Squirrel made
him look up for a moment, to make sure that the little fellow was only
talking to his mate; so also did the whirring of a grouse that some
prowling hunter had scared up nearby; but during most of the time he
could doze.
From a pine, near the fields below, came an occasional reassuring "caw"
from Jim Crow, who was keeping guard while the crow flock fed in the
sheep pasture. Everything seemed all right to him. To be sure there were
two red-tail hawks soaring high in the sky, but they were not worth
bothering over at that distance. All at once, however, a man, followed
by dogs, came from behind the farm buildings.
"Caw, caw!" called the old crow sharply, to tell the others that
something suspicious was in sight. A moment later he recognized Ben
Slown and instantly flew out of his tree with the real danger call.
"Cawr, cawr, cawr!" repeated again and again, as the other crows flew up
too and scattered in the direction of the Barrens.
The first call awoke Red Ben, and the second brought him to his feet in
a bound. All he needed was the sight of the crows, flying towards the
Barrens, to convince him that it was Ben Slown who was coming. Only the
approach of a well known gun carrier could make those wise birds leave
the neighborhood of the Ridge like that.
He watched the farmer and his three dogs, then trotted down the far side
of the Ridge, crossed Cranberry Swamp and entered the Barrens. There was
a definite plan in all this. Gray Fox had freed him from Ben Slown's
dogs once before, now he could do it again.
Red Ben knew the old bully's range rather well, and wasted no time in
reaching the most likely thicket. Sure enough, the smell of Gray Fox was
there in plenty, the smell Red Ben had such reason to fear and dislike.
He sneaked cautiously up wind and spied the sleeping fox curled up under
a pepper bush.
He stood there undecided what to do. It was dangerous to trifle with
Gray Fox. But matters were decided for him by an eddy of wind which
carried his own scent into the thicket.
Gray Fox's nose twitched; he looked up, recognized Red Ben and sprang to
his feet with a snarl. Back dashed the young fox, and after him came the
angry gray. Through the woods they sped towards Cranberry Swamp where,
Red Ben felt sure, the farmer was already hunting for him.
The gray bully was bent on revenge this time; he would teach the red
upstart a thing or two! But just as they neared the log that crossed
Goose Creek, the bay of a hound floated through the woods from straight
ahead. Red Ben dashed across the log, but Gray Fox hung back and finally
sneaked away to hide. And so it happened that when the black and white
hound, Shep and the fox terrier crossed the log on Red Ben's trail from
the Ridge, they found the fresh, straight-away track of Gray Fox, and
followed it.
While Ben Slown sat on the Ridge waiting for a shot and while Red Ben
lay comfortably in the Swamp, Gray Fox, rage in his heart, was leading
the dog chorus on a wild chase far into the Barrens, to a deep hole he
knew about. The entrance was too narrow to admit the large dogs, and the
little fox terrier could be held at bay. It was well for Gray Fox that
this hole was so far from the Ridge that Ben Slown could not hear the
hound baying there.
All this time Jim Crow was keeping his eye on the whereabouts of the
farmer. Silently he would circle the Ridge, high over the trees, until
he saw the crouching figure, then he would alight in a tall tree at some
distance in the Swamp and by his "cawr, cawr, cawr," keep back all the
crows that started to return in the direction of the Ridge. By watching
him Red Ben, too, knew where the enemy was lying in wait.
When later Jim Crow saw the disgusted farmer start for his home, he flew
joyously over the woods spreading the news with a "caw--caw--caw." Soon
afterwards he drew all the crows to the meadow by calling as rapidly as
he could get out the sounds, "Cehr, cehr, cehr, cehr, cehr."
Jim Crow's language was becoming well known to Red Ben. Before the sun
rose each morning, Jim would talk to the other crows. "Caw-caw," he
would begin. Another would answer, "Caw-cehr, cehr, cehr," and then from
all over the Ridge would come other caws of various kinds. No two crows
spoke at once. If Jim had something important to tell, all the rest
listened. By the time the sun was nearly showing above the horizon the
band had started towards the feeding ground. Usually this was in one of
the fields, but visits to the river flats and to cranberry bogs were not
uncommon.
If a large hawk, or owl, was discovered by a crow, he called, "Caw, caw,
caw, caw, caw," and brought to the spot every full grown crow within
hearing. One after another would then dive at the big bird and harass
him until he escaped from the neighborhood.
Once when Red Ben had discovered a dead crow and had pulled it out for
inspection, another crow, flying over, caught sight of the apparently
murdered bird and shot down with a furious "Cahrrrr," which others,
appearing from all sides at this harsh call, repeated until the woods
resounded.
Sometimes a crow would vary his caws with a melodious "Kruck--kruck,"
which resembled one of Blue Jay's favorite notes, but was much louder.
As Red Ben now rolled himself into the usual tight little ball, for
sleep, he heard once more the joyous "Caw--caw--caw" of the old black
sentinel and, with that ringing in his ears, contentedly closed his
eyes.