BEN'S HUNDRED DOLLAR FOX
Ben Slown had a good many days of corn husking ahead of him that Autumn.
Every morning he carried his gun out to the field, turned loose the
eager black and white hound with instructions to "sick 'em," then busied
himself in the profitable task of stripping the long yellow ears.
The hound would hunt through the woods, and, by the manner of his
yelping, tell Ben Slown what he was finding there. A quick short yelp or
two meant he had scared up a rabbit. An angry, loud baying in one spot
meant that Gray Squirrel, or Red Squirrel, had been treed and was making
fun of him from a safe height.
When the hound ran Woodchuck, or Muskrat, into a burrow, his baying was
muffled, on account of his nose being in the mouth of the hole. But when
he rushed full tilt through the woods with a musical "wu--uh, wu-uh,
wu--uh" at regular intervals, that meant fox; and, near the Ridge, fox
meant Red Ben.
Ben Slown no sooner would hear that, than down he would throw the corn
bundle and off he would run for his gun, which was never left very far
from his hands. Off, too, would dash Shep and the fox terrier, who
ordinarily busied themselves with digging for mice around the corn
shocks.
In the excitement, Red Ben always managed to get away, usually by
hunting up Gray Fox, or some other member of the gray family, whom he
had learned to find in the Pine Barrens a mile down Goose Creek. The
hound had discovered that any other fox was easier to follow than Red
Ben, so he gladly changed trails.
On one occasion, after a long, hard run, Red Ben, circling back by a new
route, came across the scent of a fox entirely a stranger to him. With
his usual caution he looked about and presently caught sight of a red
creature like himself, watching him intently.
For a full minute he and the other fox studied each other without
moving. Not since his mother vanished had Red Ben seen a red fox, and
never before had he seen an animal quite so unkempt looking as this one.
The red fur was all mangy and torn, the tail almost a stick.
Red Ben, in all the magnificence of his perfect coat, seemed like a
different kind of animal from this wretched little she-fox. And yet
there was a brightness of eye, as well as an alertness about her which
commanded attention.
The baying of the hound close by changed the scene all too quickly. Red
Ben went on his way in graceful bounds, the little she-fox watching him
till out of sight, then herself vanishing in the wood.
This kind of daily persecution by Ben Slown and his hound wore heavily
on Red Ben. The sleepless days, hard runs and constant worry made him
unfit for hunting during the night. Often he went hungry. He quickly
became embittered and reckless. Instead of running after swift rabbits
and spending hours in digging out mice, he fell into the easy habit of
catching the fat, stupid chickens and ducks that could be picked up at
any farm yard without his expending much energy.
His cunning in work of this kind seemed endless. He learned how to catch
the guinea hens in the gray light of early morning, how to climb over
and under chicken yard fences and how to enter hen houses through
windows. He became the vexation and terror of every poultry man within
three or four miles of the Ridge. Bounties were offered in three
villages for his capture. One hundred dollars in all hung over his head;
and still he somehow managed to live on his much loved Ridge--the only
place he knew as home.
To children Red Ben naturally became a real hero; stories of his cunning
took the place of fairy tales, besides which he seemed to have a
friendly as well as inquisitive feeling towards them which led him to
follow them about in the woods on their winter-green and holly picking
expeditions, cautiously of course, but showing in one so wild an
interesting trustfulness.
Sometimes he would be glimpsed as he watched them from some thicket, far
enough away to satisfy his shyness; at other times his orange colored
form would slip past as silently as a shadow, to be swallowed
immediately in the tangles all about. So the children, with their sharp
eyes, had the thrill of seeing him more often than anyone else; and of
all the hungry woods creatures he had first choice of crusts and lunch
scraps they dropped.
Every fox is likely sooner or later to do something foolish that gets
him into trouble, but Red Ben's wonderful luck seemed unending. He was
often seen when running ahead of the dogs. Perhaps some old farmer would
be driving home his cows, when into the country road ahead would plunge
the fox, his bright fur and big, bushy tail leaving no doubt as to his
identity.
"Ah, there goes a hundred dollars," the old man would sigh, as he
thought of the reward, then he would admiringly watch the graceful fox
until out of sight around the bend in the road, and pray that the dogs
might not get him after all.
Red Ben of course jumped into the road ahead of the cows so that these
big footed creatures, which kicked up the dust so plentifully as they
walked, would spoil his trail before the dogs would get there. It was
one of his ways of eluding them.
Everyone who saw the red fox talked about it and about the reward, and
though to the children he was always Red Ben, to the farmers he was now
Ben's Hundred Dollar Fox.
"He's the most valuable thing on your old farm, Ben," some neighbor
would tell Farmer Slown.
"And he won't be there much longer," Ben would answer in his usual ugly
manner.
"How's that? Are you going to try sticky fly paper next?" But Ben would
stalk off without answer.
The answer came when five of the village dogs died from some mysterious
poison for foxes they had picked up in the fields. After that people
began to pass Ben Slown on the road without speaking.