WHY THE FOXES TRUSTED DUSTY STAR
When Dusty Star and Kiopo, after many long days of journeying came into
the valley below the den of the Silver Fox, they saw that there was
water, and a good place for rest. They did not waste any time in
discussing its advantages or drawbacks. They simply decided at once that
here was the goal of their wandering and that here they would make their
camp. That is to say, Dusty Star would make it. Kiopo would look on and,
if he approved, would consent to making it his temporary home. If he did
_not_ approve, he would show his dislike and uneasiness in so many plain
ways that Dusty Star had no peace until they moved elsewhere. Even if
the wolf was satisfied that no hidden danger lurked in the
neighbourhood, and that they might safely settle down for a time, he
could never take kindly to a sitting-down existence. For the great life
that he had was always in his feet, so that he must be continually on
the move, or going long journeys or short ones, as the case might be,
but sooner or later, always coming back. So while Dusty Star built the
tepee, Kiopo went exploring up and down the valley, getting every point
of it well into his eyes, and every drifting smell it had well up his
nose. And more than once, when he tried the wind suspiciously, he caught
a faint yet unmistakedly musky odour that suggested a fox.
That night they slept soundly; Dusty Star in the bough-built tepee,
Kiopo stretched full length across its entrance. And all night long,
Carboona, the old savage home of countless lives, gloomed darkly above
them, though they did not even know its name. Still less had either of
them the least idea that they had chosen their resting-place within the
borders of that very region where Kiopo had first drawn breath.
Next morning Dusty Star woke up well pleased with his new home. The day
passed quietly, and the inhabitants of the neighbourhood kept well out
of the way. Kiopo did his hunting at a distance, and supplied the camp
with food. Besides that, there was nothing particular to do. That was
the joy of living where the world forgot to get civilized. After you had
caught your meat and cooked it, the days and nights were very wide,
because there were no clocks to make them narrow, and to chop them up
into little bits called Time.
So because there really was nothing particular to do, Dusty Star on the
fourth day after settling down in the new home, thought he would climb
up Carboona in the climbing afternoon.
Now the same idea, almost at the same moment happened to come to another
dweller upon Carboona, and that was the Catamount, or great wild cat,
which had its lair in a hollow tree less than half-a-mile from the camp,
and carried the dull green fire in his cruel eyes to make the leafy
shadows a terror to all lesser forest folk.
He had slept most of the day in his tree after a good kill the night
before, and was not feeling especially hungry. Still, to a blood-loving
creature like the Catamount, there was always a pleasure in tracking
fresh meat even if it was not needed. So the great cat set out for a
leisurely stroll across Carboona to find if any new smells had been
spilt along the world since he had gone to sleep.
For some time he got nothing that particularly interested his nose.
There were smells of course. But some were old, and some were
unpleasant, and one or two were really dangerous. Among these last, was
one of the big wolf which had recently come to harry Carboona, as if he
were its rightful lord. The Catamount's eyes gleamed with an ugly light
as he recognised Kiopo's hated scent, and went a little more warily on
his way. Unlike Dusty Star, he did not immediately seek the upper sunny
slopes. The green glooms of the evening shadows pleased him more. As he
slunk along, lifting and setting his cushioned feet so delicately that
his coming was like that of a piece of drifting thistledown, he looked
as evil a presence as could be found abroad in the ending of the day.
When he reached the last ravine, above the further side of which the
foxes had their den, he paused. A faint, unusual sound reached his ears
at irregular intervals. At first it sounded like some small creature in
distress. That was the very sort of prey the Catamount enjoyed. He
began, very cautiously, to make his way across the ravine. When he was
half-way up the opposite side, the sound came again. This time he heard
not one voice, but several--and the notes were not those of creatures in
distress. He was plainly puzzled. He had reached the sunlight now, and
partly because of that, partly because every step brought him nearer to
possible danger, he went with even greater caution than before. All at
once the meaning of the commotion became clear to him. He heard; he
smelt; he saw!
All this time, Dusty Star had gone on steadily climbing till he had
caught up, as it were, with the very middle of the afternoon. But for
all he knew, he mounted alone, and never once got a glimpse of that
other stealthy climber who stole up like a furry shadow of the evening
itself into the golden places of the afternoon. And the Catamount was
equally unaware of the neighbourhood of the boy.
Suddenly Dusty Star came upon one of the surprises which Carboona keeps
in its most secret spots. In an open space between a mass of thickets he
found a family of fox-cubs playing in the sun. Five, fat, funny little
bodies, tumbled and sprawled and tussled and rolled in a frenzied frolic
which, if you looked closely, was really a furious battle over the
leg-bone of a grouse. Sometimes they bit the bone; sometimes each other.
It really didn't seem to matter, so long as somebody bit _something_. It
was the triumphant glory of being able to bite! The fight raged first to
one side, then to the other. There were little yelps and squeals, and
miniature growls, like fairy thunder. Once the tide of battle rolled
almost to Dusty Star's feet. The excitement was so great, and Dusty Star
so still, that the cubs saw nothing and smelt nothing.
But for all their seeming unconsciousness, their little ears were keenly
alive to sound. For when the mother fox suddenly gave the sharp warning
bark which is the signal of approaching danger, four out of the five
cubs scurried instantly back to the den.
The fifth cub, either because he was more stupid than the others, or
more daring, stayed where he was, sitting up on his little haunches and
moving his head from side to side as if to assure himself there was no
need to hurry home when there was such an unexpected chance of having
the grouse-bone all to himself.
And Dusty Star was not the only watcher of the disobedient cub.
Between him and that other watcher was less than a dozen paces, but as
the boy had arrived on the spot a little earlier, and was now as
motionless as the tree behind which he peeped, the Catamount was still
unaware of his presence. Screened by a thick bush and a tangle of
creepers, the great cat watched its opportunity with a mouth that
quivered.
His first instinct on seeing the cubs was to retreat immediately with
the same caution as he had approached. Various unpleasant experiences
had already taught him the danger of interfering with young animals
whose parents are likely to be within springing distance. But although
he looked from side to side with the utmost care, not the merest
whisker-tip of any parent was visible.
It was precisely at this moment that the mother-fox had uttered her cry
of warning. What had startled her neither Dusty Star nor Catamount knew.
Over the trackless barrens, along the runways of hare, mink, and fisher,
down the world-old trails of the journeying caribou, there have always
travelled--there still travel--mysterious warnings that convey
themselves to the hunted creature neither by sight, sound nor smell. And
when the warning comes, all wise creatures seek the cunning of their
feet.
At the cry, the startled Catamount crouched back into the bush; and if
the fifth cub had followed the example of his brothers and sisters, the
great cat would have retreated as he came; but the sight of that plump,
furry little Disobedience, that sat there on its little tail impudently
defying the world, almost within reach, was too great a temptation to
resist.
The Catamount threw another piercing glance all round the locality. The
mother fox gave no sign of her presence. If he wanted the furry
Disobedience, it was now, or never. He crept forward half a pace and
gathered his legs under him for a spring.
The movement he made was very slight; but it was sufficient to betray
him to Dusty Star. Instantly the boy realized the danger threatening the
cub, but before he could do anything, a lightning streak of fur flashed
out of the bush, and hurled itself on the cub.
No sooner had the Catamount made good his hold on its squirming prey,
than it turned to flee. To its intense astonishment, it found itself
face to face with Dusty Star!
Never in its life before had the great cat set eyes on a human being.
For one brief moment, it was paralysed with fear. And that moment cost
it dear. Quick as a hawk, Dusty Star stooped and struck. The keen blade
of his hunting knife flickered in the sun, and then buried itself in the
Catamount's fur.
With a scream of rage and terror, the animal dropped the cub, and turned
savagely on its foe. But at that very instant there was a rush and a
hoarse squall, and it was knocked clean head over heels by the furious
charge of the mother fox.
This totally unexpected attack completed the great cat's discomfiture.
Spitting and squawling, it bounded into the underwood and was instantly
out of sight.
It might have been expected that the fox, having routed one enemy of her
little one, would have turned at once on what she might have well
supposed was another. But just as she had quitted the den to look for
the missing cub, she had seen Dusty Star attack the Catamount, and her
quick senses told her that the action had not meant any injury to her
cub.
For all that, he was a new experience; and the wisdom of the wilderness
is that new experiences had better not be trusted. So while she nosed
the cub tenderly, turning it over with her paw, to see if it had been
injured, she kept one eye jealously on Dusty Star to watch his slightest
movement.
And now that wonderful knowledge of the feelings of wild animals partly
taught him by Kiopo, which he had been gradually gathering all his life,
came to his aid and told him what to do. For while his body remained so
absolutely motionless that he hardly seemed to breathe, his mind made
itself a finer body, and went out towards the fox; and the fox,
receiving the message, learnt that she had nothing to fear. For all
that, she was not easy that the cub should be left in the open, so far
from the den's mouth. Dusty Star she had ceased to mistrust; but her
instinct told her that, although the Catamount had disappeared, he was
still in the neighbourhood. So before she allowed herself to find out
any more about Dusty Star, she picked up the cub by the loose skin at
the back of its fat little neck, and carried it back to the den. As a
matter of fact, the Catamount was further than she knew, and now sat in
the fork of a red-cedar tree, licking the wound inflicted by Dusty
Star's knife, and making up his mind that if this new monster, with a
paw that struck so fiercely was a protector of the foxes, it would be
wiser to leave the entire gang severely alone.
When Baltook returned from his hunting with a plump partridge in his
mouth, he was confronted by a strange sight. At the very entrance of
their den he saw his mate sitting wholly at her ease, with a _human
being_ by her side.
In all his life of surprises, Baltook had never come upon anything so
surprising as that. Boola must be crazy--gone clean mad before the time
of the Mad Moon when the wolves and foxes sing. Yet Boola had no
appearance of madness. She just sat and gazed at the human being with
extreme calmness as if she had known him all her life. For a moment or
two, Baltook stood observing this astonishing sight, with one fore foot
raised, as if uncertain what to do. Then he laid the partridge down
quietly in order to get clear of the smell of the kill and so be able to
scent the stranger. Screened by the bushes, he wrinkled his fine nose,
and sniffed, and wrinkled, and wrinkled and sniffed, and still was
unable to make up his mind. And there Boola sat all the time, as calm as
a toadstool and seemed to have neither eyes nor ears except for her new
friend.
At last Baltook could bear the suspense no longer. With his brush held
high, and his eyes shining, he stepped warily out into the open.
When Boola saw her mate approaching, she rose to her feet with a low
growl. But the growl was not meant as a sign of anger: it was merely her
way of saying "Now, here we've got a visitor. Mind how you behave." Yet
behind these words, if she had used them (which she didn't!) her mind
was disturbed. A strange creature was close beside her, whom, though he
had proved himself friendly, Baltook did not know.
It was extremely difficult to explain anything at all. Because it really
was an unheard of thing that an Indian boy should sit neighbourly at
your front door, and spill his mind out at you in a way you couldn't
smell! Yet when Dusty Star did it, it didn't seem odd at all, but as if
it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet now Baltook came, and
made it seem all odd again, because he carried with him the _foxiness of
things_ which had always remained foxy since the beginning of the world!
In this embarrassing situation, there was only one thing to be done, and
Boola did it. She advanced six paces toward her mate, and touched his
nose with hers. Among the wild peoples the nose is a most important
organ for conveying information. Because great persons like the
President of the United States and the King of England do not use it for
conversational purposes, does not alter the fact. Just exactly what
Boola told Baltook by this means, I do not know. Whatever it was,
Baltook was reassured, and came slowly up to the mouth of the den. Dusty
Star never stirred. But again--as he had done with Boola--he moved his
mind towards Baltook, while he kept his body still.
And so, while the afternoon climbed still higher, and the evening came
softly after it, on its soundless shadow-feet, the three sat on silently
together and learnt to know each other, without anything being said. It
is like that in the forest-life. You sit in silence, with your mind
open; and so you learn to understand.
When at last Baltook and then Boola began to show signs of restlessness,
Dusty Star knew it was time to go. He never said good-bye. There was no
need. He just rose to his feet quietly and walked down into the trees.
The two foxes carefully smelt the place where he had sat, and then,
while Boola went back to her cubs, Baltook followed the trail.
It was very dark when Dusty Star reached the camp. Kiopo, who was out
hunting, had not returned. Dusty Star made a fire by rubbing two sticks
together in the Indian way, in order to be ready to cook anything which
Kiopo might bring back.
In the gloom of the dark woods, a black shadow having a wrinkling nose
sat up and smelt the fire with wonder, and violent disapproval; and when
a little later, the figure of an enormous wolf holding a hare in his
jaws, glided into the open, the shadow with the wrinkling nose followed
the best fox-wisdom and melted back into the trees.
Although Dusty Star did not actually tell Kiopo where he had been
visiting, Kiopo smelt foxiness, and learnt a good deal. Foxes he did not
mind, so long as they behaved themselves. If Dusty Star had been with
them, Kiopo was not going to make a fuss. So, Dusty Star cooked and ate
his hare supper, and thought of the little foxes, and wished they had
the bones.