  One fine day the Mother uncurled herself and sat up in the nest to sniff the air. The young ones awoke one by one, and sniffed too, that is, all except Striped Coat whose four black paws still pointed at the sky as he lay on his back sleeping off the effects of his last stuffing. There was a smell of smoke. Farmer Slown, true to his threat, was burning the brush piles. Soon the smoke drifted past in masses, driven by a brisk breeze blowing towards Goose Creek. There was a crackling and snapping noise, with now and then a roar when the flames leaped high. Even the sun lost its brilliancy and could only glow dully like a red hot ball in the smoke. The mother wood pussy walked about uneasily, looking out at the smoke from each peep hole in the brush pile. Some of the woods folk were running by in a stupid panicky way, looking this way and that, and often turning back when they should have gone only forward. Bun, the woods rabbit, actually came into the den and crouched there a moment before rushing on. Possum, his long mouth open and dripping saliva, shuffled in a moment later. Ignoring the skunks he curled up on a log and watched in sour silence. Mice and little sharp nosed shrews were hopping about like big grasshoppers with apparently no idea of the right direction. At first the Farmer had chased these with his rake. Now, however, the smoke was too thick, the fire had spread far beyond his control and was threatening to sweep the whole wood. The Farmer’s one idea was to stop the flames before they reached his buildings. He worked frantically, digging and raking, stamping and beating until the fire in a great wave had swept with the wind all the way to Goose Creek and there had been checked by the water. Meanwhile its fiery breath reached one brush pile after another, licking them up and sweeping on. The mother wood pussy waited as long as she dared, then panicky from the roar, the stifling smoke and the heat, she seized one of the young ones and tried to carry it out. It was heavy and slippery, she lost her hold and blinded by the smoke could not find it. Returning she seized first one, then another and then in her excitement tried to carry two out together. This failed. But her efforts and fear aroused the young ones, they understood that they had to flee from their home. So when the mother was forced by the smoke to move out, the young ones trooped after her on their own legs, making a long line of black and white stripes as each followed the tail of the one ahead. Last of all came the smallest and in front of him came Striped Coat with every hair of his body on end and his tail straight up in the danger signal. Through the smoke they wandered towards the field, then along the fence, away from the path of the roaring flames. It was a queer little company. Each stumbling along as best he could, bristling up whenever strange objects like roots or stumps loomed suddenly out of the smoke, sneezing and choking when the tricky wind blew the fire towards them. Well it was that each had showy white stripes which those behind could plainly see and follow, just as men in the dark follow a lantern. For in that way the mother was able to lead them the whole length of the fence and then around the corner to the edge of Farmer Slown’s barn where, as if she had been aiming for it all the time, the mother found the hole under the floor and slipped in. After her solemnly trooped the little ones. And it was a strange thing that between them and the fire, their enemy, the Farmer, was working for all he was worth to save his home and at the same time to do what would also save their lives. He did not know that a skunk family was under his precious barn, but he had found out for himself that a fire in the woods was a terribly dangerous thing. When, thanks to the help of Goose Creek, the Farmer had put out the last flame, he was nearly exhausted and in much worse condition than most of the little woods folk he had tried to destroy. To be sure many of them were homeless, but they could find or make new homes. Indeed, when that night the mother wood pussy slipped from under the barn and wandered across the field to the stretch of burned woods beyond, she found the mice already in new holes along the edge of the field and Possum carrying, in a bundle held by his tail, a lot of straw for a new bed he was making in a hollow oak. Where the brush piles had stood, and beyond, all the way to the creek, every living thing was blackened and dying. Trees thirty feet high were scorched. The ground was almost bare. Many years would go by before the forest could cover the ugly scars. Wandering about in an uncertain, awed way were several meat eaters besides the wood pussy. Gray Fox and his mate were slipping from shadow to shadow examining everything, a mother coon and her three young ones passed along the edge of the creek, and overhead Screech Owl and several of his kind were talking it all over in gentle crooning voices. The wood pussy could find no trace of her old home, the brush pile. It was gone. So after a little while she left the gloomy place. Near the field she picked up a small toad and a yellow and brown garter snake, both killed by the fire. These and a number of wild strawberries were food enough, and she was too tired to hunt more. Back then to Farmer Slown’s barn she wandered. It was not quite the kind of a place she would have selected for a den, but there seemed no other to which to take the young ones. Stealthily she circled the farm yard and slipped into the hole. It was smelly and damp and cold under the barn floor, but what she thought of most was whether it was safe. Several times she looked out and wandered about uneasily, each time returning to the young ones to lick and mother them. They seemed utterly tired out; so she began gathering together leaves for a bed in the farthest corner; she had decided to stay. Several times she looked out and wandered about uneasily |
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