  With the first signs of darkness, Red Ben uncurled himself and took a long stretch. Then he gaped until nearly every tooth in his head was bared. After that he realized how ravenously hungry he felt, also how bad this dry, hot night would be for hunting. Far away he heard a great horned owl hooting. “Who—who, who—whoo,” it said, over and over again. Nearby, Screech Owl was crooning to his little mate, very softly. They, too, were hunters and knew that there was little use in settling down to work until the dew had gathered in the fields and made the withered grass luscious enough to entice the rabbits and mice into the open. All had to have water, and for most of the little creatures that gnaw, it was safer to sip the dew than to take the long trip to Goose Creek. Suddenly a weird scream filled the woods. It had scarcely ceased when another pierced the air, this time much closer to Red Ben. The fox cowered back and waited. Again the scream, and then a ghostlike, whitish shadow flitting between the trees. Barn Owl, strangest of all the creatures of the night, was flying to his hunting ground. Many a silly ghost story has been started by a glimpse of him—innocent old mouse eater—in his moonlight travels through the woods. By day he rested in a hollow tree, or hid in dense tangles high above the ground. Now and then he found a roosting place on the rafters of some tumble down barn. By night he searched the meadows for mice and moles, doing great good to the lands of the farmers. Red Ben had often seen Barn Owl’s white form, but never before heard his call so near at hand. In the summer he had come across two of the old bird’s youngsters squatting forlornly beside the stump of an old hollow tree, which had been their home until a woodcutter had felled it the day before. “They sat on their tails and held hands” The fox had come too close to the suspicious birds and had nearly been caught by the quick blow both aimed at him with their long talons. One reached out so far that he lost his balance and toppled over. Struggling violently to get on his feet, he clawed his brother, by mistake, and received a sound whack in punishment. Forgetting brotherly love and fear of the fox pup, they then flew at each other in a fury and had a good fight. At last, exhausted, they sat on their tails and held hands while hissing defiance at each other in a comical way. Red Ben was very much interested in the strange pair, and made a practice of taking a look at them every night. The devoted old mother fed them regularly, often leaving beside them several more mice than their stomachs had room for. These, however, they ate during the day, swallowing fur, tails, feet and everything, but later spitting up in neat balls all the bones and undigestible parts. At last a day came when they were not to be found near the tree. Overhead, however, sounded a rasping call. Red Ben looked up and saw two monkey faces, rimmed in white, looking down at him from a high limb. Their wings had grown long and they had learned to fly. Soon four big barn owls, instead of two, would be quartering the meadows in moonlit nights. The pangs of hunger soon drove Red Ben to begin to hunt along Goose Creek. In daytime, rows of mud turtles, coiled water snakes and greenish black bull frogs were usually to be found there on floating logs, warming themselves in the sunshine. At night, some of these ventured to come ashore after insects. “Muskrat was busy pulling up grass” Picking his way cautiously along the water’s edge, Red Ben noticed a muskrat swimming in the middle of the sluggish stream. Hoping it would land near him, he hid, but the wily rat went ashore on the far bank where he was safe from the fox, but not from a brown mink whose fierce eyes were also watching. Mink was a swift swimmer whose thick fur shed water quite as well as that of Muskrat. He dove into the stream as noiselessly as a snake, swam under the surface until at a point below Muskrat, who just then was busy pulling up grass which he expected to carry to the stream and wash before eating. Red Ben, in his excitement, leaped out on a bar of sand where he could see the chase more easily. Screech Owl, too, having caught a glimpse from a distant cedar, flew to a limb over the stream. All the creatures within that angle of the creek except poor old Muskrat seemed to know that something was going to happen. Even the bats flitted about without their usual dips and rushes after low flying bugs. Muskrat, with mouth full of grass and roots, turned back just as Mink’s head came above the steep bank. For one breathless second the two furry creatures looked at each other, then the rat plunged headlong for the stream. Like a football player he charged down the bank, throwing the small but fierce Mink head over heels into the water. Muskrat dove and vanished so quickly among the stems of the spatterdocks and golden clubs that Mink was confused, and actually lost him. A swirl near Red Ben showed him where Muskrat entered the under-water burrow in the bank, leading to his home. In the clear stream the fox had a glimpse of the brown body with forepaws held against its sides, driving itself through the water by great strokes of its webbed hind feet. Its long, flat, almost hairless tail acted as a rudder to guide its course. Seeing nothing more of either animal, Red Ben trotted on. Ahead was a dead tree on which were large, black objects. These he knew were turkey buzzards which by day soared far and wide over the Barrens, searching for any dead animals that would afford them a feast. Here they gathered in the evening, a gruesome, ill smelling assemblage. The fox avoided the tree and swung into the old wood path. It was the best thing he could have done that night, for it brought him face to face with a meal. Trotting along quite unconcernedly, his attention held by the buzzard tree, he was met by an explosion of rage, almost under his nose. He leaped wildly, to avoid he knew not what. Almost at the same moment he recognized the big gray tom-cat which had treated him so uncivilly when he visited Ben Slown’s farm. His dignity had been badly jarred, and he felt angry all over. This stealthy, hostile creature, which belonged at the farm, had no right to dispute his way in the wild Barrens. Besides which it had a freshly killed wild rabbit under its paws. As the two eyed each other, Red Ben felt the fur tingling along his spine. The alluring scent of the rabbit filled his hungry nostrils. He stepped closer—yes, the rabbit certainly was a fat one! Still nearer he went, always watching the furious eyes that glared at him. How the cat could growl! Now his nose was within a few inches of the rabbit. His eyes dropped for the fraction of a second, just to have one good look at it, and in that instant the raging cat struck with both front paws. But Red Ben was not there. He had been quick enough to leap away from those claws. Back he circled and again dodged a furious blow. The hateful growl of the cat rose into a high pitched shriek of rage. Losing all caution, he made a spring after the fox, who neatly side stepped it and picked up the rabbit on the run. A yowl followed him, but as he looked over his shoulder, he saw the cowardly cat actually turn tail and dash for home. This was the beginning of Red Ben’s rule over Oak Ridge and Cranberry Swamp. Before October ended, every animal who lived there had learned not to trifle with him. He knew them all by that time and respected their rights, but woe to the one that tried any mean tricks on him. He was growing big and strong, and very wonderful looking, in his orange-red fur, which, responding to the first frosts, was becoming long and rich. The most conspicuous thing to be seen on the Ridge was Red Ben, but he took care that he seldom was seen. Nevertheless his fame was growing. |
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