  In the afternoon, soft snow, the first that Red Ben had ever seen, fell for several hours. He did not fear it, but wondered at its whiteness, which soon wiped out the green and brown colors of his thicket and deadened all the woodland scents he was used to. Nevertheless, as soon as darkness made it safe to move about, he crept out of his hiding place and again visited the fox ranch. On three sides he found thickly planted spruce trees, which sheltered the yards, and made them so secluded and cozy that the timid animals could live there almost as happily as in the North Woods, whence those came which had not been born in captivity. The whole ranch was enclosed with the strong wire which had kept out the dogs. Inside this fence were the pens, each holding a pair of the wonderful silver black foxes. A shed ran along their northern side, giving protection against rain and the coldest winds. Red Ben moved stealthily between the snow laden spruce boughs, climbed the outside fence with the ease of a cat, and approached the first pen. Here stood watching him a beautiful fox, jet black to the tip of her tail, which was pure white. Blackie seemed mightily interested in Red Ben. She even stuck her dainty black nose through the wire for him to touch, which he did rather shyly. This friendliness was such a new thing to him, used as he was to the intensely suspicious, shy creatures of the woods, that it thrilled his every nerve. He scarcely looked at the other foxes, preferring to romp about Blackie’s pen in a spirited game, thought out on the spur of the moment, in which they had races and tag, in spite of the wire between. When the fun was at its height there was a sudden rush: Red Ben found himself facing, instead of gentle Blackie, a tall, lean, black fox, whose jealous snarl at once showed him to be a rival. Courtesy Black Fox Magazine “They tore at each other through the wire” Only the fence between prevented a furious fight. As it was, indeed, they tore at each other through the wire, Red Ben charging against it again and again in vain attempt to break through. There was an over-hang of wire at the top which stopped him from climbing over, and wire laid along the ground in a way to make digging-under nearly impossible, so he, a creature of the wild, could not get in. The black rival meanwhile did all he could to tease and anger him; but worst of all was the way he bossed and maltreated poor Blackie, who seemed to live in constant fear. Red Ben was fairly raging. He felt as he had long ago, when Gray Fox treated his mother so badly. Somehow he would get in! But whenever he tried to climb up the wire, the other fox bit his toes cruelly and gloated over his helpless fury. It was after one of these climbs that he found a ladder leaning against the shed. He had never before seen one, but was clever enough to guess that it might be climbed. One foot at a time, his big tail helping to balance him, he moved up the slippery rungs. Almost at the top he lost his footing and fell all the way down with a thud, but, none the worse for this, he tried again, and actually reached the roof. Now, at last, he could look down on Blackie and know that one jump would bring him to her side, where he could give the lean, black bully the thrashing he deserved. Proudly he stood there, while all the foxes in the row of pens watched and waited. Something was warning him not to leap. If he did, could he get out again? Was not this a kind of trap? Although Blackie was coaxing him, his caution held him back. He climbed down the same way he had come up and trotted away, not however without first taking a last jolly romp with Blackie and giving a good growl of warning to her disagreeable, black companion. He had three mice for supper. They had been overtaken by the snow away from home, and were rushing back in long leaps when he found them. As soon as dawn came he was again cozily hidden in the thicket. Later in the morning he noticed excitement among the foxes and saw a boy wheeling a barrow laden with things which he put in the pens. He saw that this boy somehow entered without climbing over the wire. Red Ben was exceedingly interested in this, so interested that he did not note how carefully the boy walked around Blackie’s pen, looking at the tracks in the snow, nor how long a time he spent fixing something in the pen. Red Ben, indeed, had not yet learned that snow holds footprints and tells the story of the night travels of every creature that touches it. How, therefore, could he guess that everything about his visit was plain to this wide awake boy, who, thrilled by the idea of a big, wild fox being near, was plotting to catch him? The sun melted very little of the snow, so when he started out that night, the ground was still white and cold. He hurried to Blackie, who frisked about in great excitement at seeing him again. Eagerly he tried the spot where the boy had entered with food and water, but of course was stopped by the peg on the door. Blocked in that hope, he turned to the ladder, and soon was once more on the shed roof, looking down at Blackie’s companion, who was in his usual disagreeable, jealous mood. It was then that he noticed, for the first time, a ladder leading from the roof into the pen—a ladder very much like the one he had just climbed. He went towards it cautiously. It had not been there the night before. There was also about it the scent of the boy, but no more noticeably than on other things, such as the gate. Still, he feared it. Perhaps he would have left the place without venturing to set foot on it, if at that moment Blackie had not given a shrill whine of fear. She was crouching in a corner of the pen with the black fox standing menacingly before her. Down the ladder sprang Red Ben, his heart fairly afire. Before the snarling black knew what had happened, he was rolling in a whirlwind of snow, with jaws like iron closing on his furry neck. His snarl suddenly changed into a whine of abject fear; then Red Ben let him up. However, the black one was treacherous. He sneaked around the pen, and when Red Ben was looking with wild eyes at the ladder which had suddenly fallen, rushed up and caught him in the flank. Down went Red Ben, but so quickly that the other was also thrown off his feet. How they fought, there in the dark, on the trampled snow! How fur flew! Little tufts of it dotted the yard; black tufts they were, worth many dollars apiece. But what cared Red Ben?—as soon as the ladder fell he knew he had been trapped—he, who had laughed at all the traps on Oak Ridge. Bitterly he fought until the black one had more than enough and cowered like a scared rat in the farthest corner of the shed. Then Red Ben let loose his muscles in the wildest leaps and the most frantic rushes of his life. Madly he ran around and around the enclosure, or up the quivering wire. Blackie could not be made to understand what was the matter. She was a ranch bred fox; this was her home. But to Red Ben, reared in the wild tangles of the Ridge and Swamp, freedom meant everything. He would have it! In the morning he was still climbing or digging, still pushing and pulling at the door, or tearing up and down the yard. Even the coming of the delighted boy did not calm him for an instant. With red fur standing on end, eyes flashing, sharp teeth bared as he panted from exertion, he was the wildest looking creature seen on the ranch for many a day. Finally he dropped to the ground, exhausted, but not discouraged. Blackie came timidly to him then and licked his bruised and torn feet, and the bites on his ears which, without her care in taking out the poison, might have turned into angry sores. With her so close, Red Ben seemed to forget the wire that held him in; but the instant he heard a footstep approaching, all his fears awoke and he was once more the untamed, splendidly active creature so admired by the boy. In the afternoon, the boy’s father, who owned the ranch, came home from a long trip he had made the day before. After seeing his family, his first thought was of the valuable foxes, so the boy, hoping to give him a pleasant surprise, said nothing about having trapped a new fox, but eagerly led him to the pens. As these two came through the spruce trees, Red Ben flattened himself against the ground under the shed, hoping to be passed unseen. But the man noticed the tufts of fur lying about the pen and strode over there. “Why, what’s all this, son?” he asked. “Have Blackie and her friend had a disagreement? This looks pretty bad. They are the best pair of all. If anything happened to one of them, I don’t know what I should do.” At this the boy began to feel mighty uncomfortable. All the joy of the surprise was suddenly gone. He hung back, fearful of what his father would say when he found out what really had happened. “This is awful!” his father went on. “Something has gone wrong. What could it be?” And then, as if in answer to the question, Red Ben sprang up in all his wildness and dashed up the wire like a cat, only to be thrown down by the netting at the top. The old rancher stepped back in a dazed way, then with sudden suspicion, looked at his son. He read part of the story in the poor boy’s unhappy face, and drew out the rest with a few questions. He was a sensible father. He gulped down all his disappointment about the injury to one of his favorites, gave the boy a hearty slap on the shoulder, just to show it was all right, and congratulated him on his cleverness in outwitting a fox. “You were mighty smart to cut the three bottom rungs off that ladder to keep the blacks from climbing out before the other fox knocked the ladder down. Suppose you see, now, whether you can set a trap in the pen that will catch that big, red scalawag and not the others. His fur is wonderful, the longest I ever saw. We’ll make him into a fine rug for the parlor.” With that he strode off without noticing what a woeful glance the boy gave the “fine rug,” so wonderfully alive at that moment. |
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