  At first Red Ben saw no other foxes, and rarely came across the tracks of any, for Ben Slown’s traps did their work well. There was, however, one cunning old fellow who paid a visit to the Ridge whenever there was especially good hunting weather. With him, on one never to be forgotten night in late August, Red Ben had an adventure. He and his mother had gone to Ben Slown’s fields to hunt the little short tailed meadow mice which were so plentiful there that their paths had been gnawed through the grass in every direction. They had caught two, and were once more entering Oak Ridge wood, when Red Ben noticed that his mother hesitated to go farther and kept anxiously looking into the shadows. He heard a deer snort; then, in the half darkness of the wood, he caught the glint of two eyes. This new creature was certainly no coon or possum; the eyes were higher above the ground than either of these would hold its head. Quickly it moved into the moonlight and showed itself to be a fox, not unlike the mother in form, but gray in color, with reddish legs and a tail entirely lacking the beautiful roundness of the red fox’s. Instinctively the pup stood as straight and tall as he could, while along his back the hair fairly tingled with dislike. He saw his mother try to slip away, and then crouch suddenly with ears back and warning whine. He saw Gray Fox trot up, walk around her, and then bare his teeth in a snarl that sent off the soft-eyed mother in a hurry. How his heart pounded then, and how the fury welled up in his breast! Gray Fox next turned in the direction of Red Ben, but stopped short when he found the young fox facing him without flinching. Stiff legged and disdainful he slowly walked forward, and got the surprise of his life as Red Ben flew at him like a fury, bit him on the side of the head, again on the foot when he reared up, and then on the tip of his precious nose. Back he staggered, snarling angrily, but scarcely knowing what to do. Then Red Ben, remembering well the holds his mother had taught in their games, flew at his thick neck, caught the heavy, loose skin behind the ear and closed his sharp teeth until they nearly met. Gray Fox’s red eyes glared back at him furiously, as he struggled this way and that, but he could not turn to bite while those jaws kept their hold. Fear grew until he was in a panic. What if the mother fox were to return now and fall on him from behind? He threw himself on the ground, then rolled over, clawing like a cat, and dragging Red Ben down with him so suddenly that all the breath was knocked out of him and his fine hold loosened. This gave Gray Fox a wonderful chance. He was the first on his feet. He leaped for the throat hold. Red Ben, still gasping, was pinned to the ground, almost throttled. The big, heavy enemy had all the advantage—it never had been an equal fight, and now Red Ben was down. Oh, if his mother would only come! That wonderful, faithful, swift little mother who could be so very fierce when he was in danger. Somehow the very thought of her gave him courage. He made one mighty kick and at the same instant snapped at the fat ear of the beast above. Luck was with him; he nipped its tender edge, and Gray Fox gave a scream. The jaws were loosened, and in that instant Red Ben’s lightning speed saved him. He rolled over, leaped to his feet and shot away. Dizzily he circled some bushes, with the other close behind; then something warned him to stop. Gray Fox had vanished. “Gray Fox was waiting to trap him” Had he not been a red fox, raised by one of the wisest of mothers, Red Ben would probably have made a fatal mistake, for, well hidden behind the bushes, Gray Fox was waiting to trap him when he came around. The thing was planned so well that had Red Ben kept on, he would almost have walked into the other’s mouth. Just in time he guessed the trick and crouched to look all around. He was out of breath; he could hardly stop his panting to listen. His neck ached and strained muscles quivered, but what mattered that, when he was free and able to match wits against wits? Often his mother had hidden this way to catch him in their games. He remembered now that she had always lain in wait somewhere ahead, therefore Gray Fox would do the same—the safest road was that by which he had come. Dodging bushes and shadowy places he started back. There was no sound, no movement anywhere ahead; the noise and fury of the fight had scared away the other wild things and even quieted the night singing insects. Red Ben himself felt the awe of it all. He moved without stirring a leaf, at first in a cautious trot, then a gallop and at last a full run. Faster, faster—until on the hard woods path he let out every ounce of speed he had. It was the wonderful speed of the red fox, no longer just a cub. Red Ben Gray Fox was left far behind: and to prevent his following the trail, Red Ben made circles in the dense swamp, circles that went around and around with apparently no end, for he leaped far to one side before shooting away to his old haunt by the fallen tree. Here he crouched, waiting for whatever might happen next. Had Gray Fox been able to follow him, Red Ben would have fought to the death. He was on home ground here; he would run no more. His spirit had not been broken; far from it! From the bottom of his heart he despised the big gray bully. He hated the strong smell of him still lingering in his nostrils. But he knew Gray Fox was the stronger. When, after hours of searching, his mother at last found him, the fierce glitter was still in his eyes. He was crouching in the same spot, watching with all the intense excitement of the young creature which, for the first time, is forced to take care of itself in a big world. Anxiously sniffing his head and neck, the old fox quickly learned through the scent much of the story of the fight. She found the cuts about the throat and licked them free from poison. She also licked off the dirt that still clung to his soft fur, looked him all over for other scars, and then mothered him until his high strung nerves were soothed and he limped stiffly after her for a sleep under the fallen tree. While he curled up in a round ball, with head buried between his fluffy tail and the even softer fur of his flank, the mother kept watch. She too was curled up in a tight, comfortable little ball, but she kept her chin resting on her fluffy tail so that her nose and eyes as well as both ears could be on guard. The moon had gone down, and around them now were the blackness and the stillness of that weird part of the night which comes just before the light of day. Night prowlers, large and small, were resting, waiting for the Sun’s signal which would drive them to their beds. Day loving creatures felt the coming of the dawn, but dared not stir yet. The red fox’s eyes drowsily closed, then opened with a snap: from far away floated the clear baying of a hound. |
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