  The mother led the way towards the nest under the fallen tree, but was stopped in the old path by the sound of a man’s footsteps. Quickly she slipped into the bushes. The pup was not sure what to do. However, when he saw Farmer Ben’s friend, John, stalking down the path, he scrambled out of the way in a hurry. “Well, if there isn’t Ben’s little sharp-nosed fox!” muttered the man in surprise. “Ben’s fox! Ha, ha. I should like to see Ben catch him now!” He saw how wonderfully the wild little animal melted away among the shadows, then he stalked off with many a shake of the head as he thought of his chickens at home. Everyone he met after that had to be told the good joke about the den and Ben’s sharp-nosed fox, so the story spread, and “Ben’s fox” became for a time the special joy of all the village gossips, who liked Ben none too well. Those whom he had angered with sly bargains in the past, said that he himself was like a cunning fox—a black one; so it was a fox against a fox. “Black Ben against Red Ben,” someone of doubtful wit expressed it. This amused a number of the boys, and at once gave the little red fox a nickname. Through all his later career he was known as Red Ben. When people good naturedly teased Ben Slown, who never could enjoy a joke on himself, he grew more and more surly. He soon saw that, until he caught the foxes, he would always be plagued, especially when someone lost a chicken. So he began to scheme and set more traps. He had always hated foxes, but never more bitterly than now. With little suspicion of this, the mother was teaching Red Ben the tricks that every wise fox must know. Night after night they hunted mice together, or lay in wait for fat muskrats in the swamp, or chased big Bun or the other cottontail rabbits. Often they played in the moonlight and wrestled and rolled by the hour in a sandy hillock near the Ridge. Both thoroughly enjoyed this. The usual game was a mock fight. The mother would rush at the pup and roll him head over heels, then hold him to the ground while he tried with all his might to break away. Sometimes she would pretend to bite a foot or a leg, or to tear an ear, he meanwhile striving to protect himself. At first she was very careful not to hurt him, but as he grew stronger he also gained a wonderful quickness which often surprised the mother, whose own motions, although almost like lightning, were soon no match for his. Then the games became wildly exciting. The pup could escape the old fox’s rushes, and himself nip and worry and trip and get away, and then roll over and over with her, in a lightning battle to get the throat-hold which ended every game. All this was splendid training for Red Ben. He could practice all kinds of fighting tricks and learn how to deal with an animal larger and stronger than himself. Had his little brothers lived to be his playmates, he might never have had this experience, which meant so much to him later on. His cleverness and growing strength made him a wonderful companion for the old fox. She would go nowhere without him, and began to rely more and more on his help in their hunts. It happened that wild strawberries were especially good that year, and so were eaten occasionally by the foxes, who picked up those the village children did not find. After them the cherries ripened, and the big mulberry tree at the corner of Ben Slown’s fence began to drop delicious fruit. Fat robins, starlings and black birds picked their share, but at night, especially after a rain heavy enough to knock down a good supply, the Oak Ridge animals fairly swarmed around the mulberry tree. The shy red foxes usually reached it after the last sign of the sun had left the sky, so it was not strange that on one evening they found there ahead of them one of the deer from Cranberry Swamp with her two spotted fawns. The watchful doe scented them, gave one quick snort and led the fawns away in great bounds, for fear they were in danger. All three leaped over the field fence as if it had been a bush in the path. The rush of the deer to cover frightened two rabbits just as the foxes came cautiously out of the wood. Away dashed Red Ben to head them off, but too late. When he returned, a huge coon hurried to the tree and began to swallow mulberries as fast as he could pick them up. The mother fox, however, took no notice of old Ring Tail, and he was too busy to worry over the foxes just then. Up in the tree, Red Ben heard an occasional squeak, and soon spied a little brown squirrel which was quite the prettiest creature he had ever seen. While he watched, it suddenly sprang into the air with feet outstretched and sailed to a fence post near the wood; there it alighted almost as softly as a leaf, looking so much like a clinging piece of bark that the pup could hardly believe it was anything alive. This was Flying Squirrel, one of the very nicest of the woodsfolk. While he was busy with the juicy mulberries the pup did not keep a very good watch behind him, and so was surprised suddenly to find White Stripe, the skunk, nosing around close by. He, too, liked the mulberries, it seemed. The fox kept one eye on him, but found he attended strictly to his own business. A moment later a furry gray creature, nearly his own size, came stealthily along the fence. The pup was worried and ready to run at the slightest sign from his mother, but she kept right on nosing about, and old Possum joined the feeding. He, however, crawled up the big tree, where he wandered from limb to limb, picking off the ripest fruit and often by mistake knocking down some to the creatures below. “Flying Squirrel, one of the very nicest of the woodsfolk” It was a weird assemblage that the moon looked down upon that night. Two small coons came from the swamp with their mother for a hurried look around; White Stripe’s mate, a wonderful white skunk, also appeared, and a brown screech owl sat on a nearby pine limb to watch and whinny softly, so that his mate, who was looking for mice farther along the fence, might always know where to find him. By this time Red Ben knew most of the wood creatures, and they knew him. Ringtail, Possum, White Stripe and Screech Owl were hunters; like himself they preferred meat to grass, fruit, roots and nuts. Although each had a scent entirely his own, each also had the “hunter” smell, quite different from the meadow mice, who lived on seeds and grass, or from Red Squirrel, who ate nuts, mushrooms and buds. Quite different too from the deer and from Bun, the big rabbit who lived near one of the farm gardens and enjoyed parsnips, string beans and other vegetables, whenever the clover was scarce. The woodsfolk could be divided into two big families—the first one made up of those who hunt and the other of those who are hunted. The hunters get used to seeing each other and to running across each other’s trails at night. As long as there is food enough for all, they rarely quarrel; but jealousy and suspicion keep them from being real friends. Red Ben did not think of playing with the young coons; nor would young skunks have interested him at all as playmates. The four-footed hunters all had teeth very much like those of a dog or a cat, while the little animals that they hunted had gnawing teeth, like those of the mouse. Even the woodchuck and the muskrat had gnawing teeth; they liked to eat grass and tender roots. Screech Owl and other hunters among the birds, from big Bald Eagle all the way down to little Sparrow Hawk, had hooked beaks and long sharp claws or talons, with which to catch their prey. |
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