Chapter 5
He was scarcely out of sight when the dog appeared, passing his master as unheedingly as if the latter had been a part of the tree against which he leaned. At the foot of the inclined trunk Pal stopped, plainly puzzled. No trace of the alluring scent could he catch, though he eagerly nosed all about the tree and even partly up the trunk. Not having the agility of the woodland creature, however, he could not proceed far enough to recapture the scent. So he was obliged to content himself with ranging the neighborhood in the hope of picking up the trail, a fruitless search from which he was at length recalled by the whistle of his master. And though the trail invariably ended in some such manner, Pal never seemed to weary of the chase.
As a rule a fox frequents a somewhat restricted territory in which, if he is strong enough, he rules supreme, driving away all trespassers. Silver Spot, however, was an unusual fox in many ways and often demonstrated his individuality by wandering far afield.
Late one afternoon, while ranging the woods several miles to the east of the home den, he paused beside a clear forest stream to drink. As he raised his head from the refreshing water, his alert ears caught a faint stir. Soundless as a shadow he melted into the bushes at his back just as a queer procession came into view. At the head, advancing with an air of slow dignity, walked a shining black animal with two broad white stripes down her back and fur so long that it rippled silkily in the breeze; behind, in a row, came five little ones, exact counterparts of their mother. Upon a flat stone at the edge of the stream they all crouched for a drink. Silver Spot did not offer to molest them, but watched curiously as, their thirst quenched, they again took up their slow march. He even followed at a discreet distance, watching the youngster who brought up the rear and who often had to be hustled back into the line from which his curiosity had led him.
Night found Silver Spot in an upland pasture at the edge of the forest, a place of black stumps and thickets of juniper and wild berries, silvered over with the radiance of the full moon. He drifted lightly across the pasture, alert for any adventure which the night might present, and brought up beside a rude building from which came an enticing odour. Silver Spot had not tasted chicken since, as a cub, he had rushed to meet his mother returning from a foraging expedition, but the recollection of the delicacy was still strong with him. He worked industriously, and before long dug out an entrance under the building. Then, before the plump hen which he had selected could wake and cry out, Silver Spot had killed her and was out and away. He traveled swiftly and, safe in his own den, enjoyed the feast.
Having acquired a taste for plump chicken, Silver Spot decided to revisit the henhouse the following evening. This time, however, his intentions were thwarted in a way which almost put an end to his career. Eyes other than those of the Hermit had been watching the growth of Silver Spot, eyes burning with greed when they looked upon his handsome coat. Fur such as this sold for much money in the city and the desire for money left no room for pity or admiration for the animal in the mind of the half-breed, Sam. He had bided his time, but now, though it was not the best time for furs, he dared wait no longer. Very soon he was to guide a party of hunters and fishermen far into the north, and he must take the fox now or never.
Most cunningly he had baited and concealed his trap, which had been purged by fire of all human touch. Then he had scented the ground all about with the carcass of a freshly killed chicken. Thus Silver Spot, the memory of his feast still upon him, caught the alluring scent. Swerving from his path, he was suddenly caught in the steel jaws which closed with an ugly click. The big fox was a prisoner, the victim of a trapper's greed.
He tore savagely at the thing which held him, straining every effort to gain his freedom, but without avail. The trap seemed only to close more tightly, cutting through fur and sinew, staining the ground red. At length, exhausted, he sank down in the leaves only to rise again and again to renew the struggle.
The hours dragged on. He was hungry and unbearably thirsty, with water only a few yards out of reach. His brave heart almost failed him, but as the darkness began to pale and the wilderness to waken, desperation gave him fresh courage. He set his sharp teeth upon the imprisoned foot and at last was free once more, two toes missing. He took a long drink from the stream before limping off to his den where morning found him licking his wound, thus cleansing it of all impurities and assuring a swift recovery.
A few hours later the half-breed visited his trap where his keen eyes read correctly the evidences of the night's struggle. Sorely disappointed, he returned to his cabin, save for the trap as empty-handed as he had left it.
For a time the big fox was lame, but nature soon healed the wound and he was able once more to roam the forest as free as the air itself. He had learned a lesson, however, and no trap could be so cleverly placed as to lead him into its cruel jaws. He paid no more visits to the farm in the clearing, but kept almost entirely to his own domain.
Late in the summer came a wet period when for days dark clouds hung over the wilderness and the rain fell steadily. When the sun did appear, scattering the clouds, the woods were soaked and dripping, and showers still fell from the heavy branches.
It was on such a day that a hunter with a pack of trained fox hounds entered the forest a mile to the west of Silver Spot's den. It was not long before the dogs had found the trail of the big fox and the chase was on, a chase destined to try the cunning and strength of the hunted to the breaking point.
At first the fox felt no anxiety. He thoroughly enjoyed mystifying a pursuer. Ordinarily in a straight-away run he could outdistance the fleetest foxhound. Now, however, even Nature seemed to conspire against him. He was soon drenched with spray. The water clung to his long fur, and his brush, usually carried blithely aloft, drooped heavily. In spite of all his tricks, circling and doubling, leaping from fallen trees and taking to the water, the hounds clung to his trail like bees to honey. Their deep baying sent the chill of fear to the staunch heart of Silver Spot. Realizing that here was no play such as he had indulged in with Pal, the Hermit's dog, he bent all his energies toward outstripping his pursuers.
For a time he kept well ahead of the dogs, but at length, as his old wound made itself felt, the pace began to tell upon him. His tail drooped lower until it all but swept the ground, while with it the courage of the fox seemed to fail. His breathing became labored. His foot-pads were cut by thorns and sharp sticks, leaving now and then a trace of blood upon the moss. He thought with longing of the home den which he was widely circling, but to which he dared not turn. With the pack in full cry, the hunted beast broke from cover at the edge of the wilderness where stood the cabin of the Hermit.
At once Silver Spot realized his mistake. Here in the open there was no means of avoiding the dogs, nor could he return to the woods. Even as he paused in despair, the leader of the pack burst into view, eyes gleaming savagely and cruel teeth bared. There was but one alternative and the fox took it.
Across the clearing the door of the log cabin stood open. For some time the Hermit had been following the course of the chase from his bench outside the door, his first feeling of exultation at the cunning and fleetness of his pet gradually giving place to uneasiness and then to genuine alarm for his safety. As Silver Spot came into view so closely pressed, the Hermit sprang to his feet, but the fox heeded him not. With a last effort he leaped the fence, sped across the clearing and through the door which the man closed in the very teeth of the foremost hound. The wild creature whom he had come to love had turned to him for sanctuary, and not in vain.
The hunt was over and, while the big fox crouched in the corner regaining his breath, the dogs raved unavailingly without. The hunter soon arrived upon the scene and coaxed and threatened, but the Hermit was firm. He told of his interest in the fox since the time he had found him, a furry cub, playing before the home den, and of how again and again he had watched him outwit his own dog. The hunter was at length won over and departed with his hounds, even going so far as to promise to hunt outside of Silver Spot's domain in the future.
The Hermit waited until man and dogs had vanished from sight; then he opened the door of the cabin and stood aside. There was a flash of reddish fur as Silver Spot bounded forth and away to the forest, his splendid brush once more aloft and new courage in his heart.
WHEN THE MOON IS FULL
One summer night when the moon hung so low that it seemed to have become entangled in the branches of a giant spruce, a comical furry face wearing a black mask across the eyes appeared at an opening high up in a tree. A moment later Ringtail, the big raccoon, scrambled to the ground and set off in search of food. His brown fur was long and thick, and his big tail with its seven dark rings was the pride of his heart. In the wilderness, life is a serious business, yet the big raccoon enjoyed to the utmost the blessings which Providence had heaped upon him.
Not far from the home tree lay a tamarack swamp to which Ringtail now made his way, having in mind a certain still, deep pool, bordered with rushes and lilies and teeming with fish, frogs, and tadpoles, fare beloved of raccoons. While yet some distance from the pool he could hear the chorus of the frogs, the shrill tenor of the smaller ones accented at regular intervals by the deep base of bullfrogs, and at the sound his mouth watered in anticipation.
Stealthily though Ringtail advanced, sharp eyes noted his approach. The chorus stopped abruptly and when he stood upon the edge of the pool not a frog was to be seen. The raccoon, however, being wise in the ways of frogs, was not discouraged. He crept out to the tip of the half submerged log, where he crouched, prepared for the long and patient wait which is so often the price of a meal in the wilderness. As he had hoped, the inhabitants of the pool soon forgot the presence of the motionless animal, taking him for a part of the log upon which he crouched. Gradually the chorus was resumed, at first on the farther shore, then coming nearer until, close at hand, sounded a hoarse, deep bellow which betokened the presence of a big bullfrog. Ringtail's mouth watered afresh, but he moved not so much as a muscle. The frog was as yet too far away to risk a catch.
A moment later its bulging eyes appeared, almost under the nose of the raccoon. Quick as a flash a little black, hand-like paw was thrust into the water and the big frog was flipped out upon the bank. Having secured it, Ringtail returned to the tip of his log where he proceeded to dip the body of the frog into the water again and again until every speck of leaf mold and dirt was washed away. Then he dispatched it with great relish.
As the commotion had disturbed the rest of the inhabitants of the pool, Ringtail now wisely turned his back upon the swamp and set out for fresh hunting-grounds. He wandered through the forest until he came to the bank of a clear stream which he knew of old to be well stocked with fish. Owing to recent rains at its source the stream had risen and the current was swift and strong. In the shallows where it had spread over its low banks, Ringtail found an abundance of food and fed daintily. Each morsel was thoroughly washed before he swallowed it, a habit of all raccoons, even though the morsel may have only that moment been taken from the water.
Ringtail's feast suffered a sudden interruption. A few paces farther on another raccoon had been having a similar meal when Ringtail appeared. Now the first comer believed the feast to be his by right of discovery and therefore advanced threateningly upon the intruder. Ringtail was surprised but not disturbed. Fighting was almost as much fun as feasting. Accordingly, when the other animal appeared ready to quarrel, Ringtail, although he had eaten all he desired, advanced joyously to the fray.
The two were evenly matched and for a time they rolled about, locked in each other's embrace, neither gaining the advantage. A porcupine dawdling along the trail stopped to look at the belligerents with cold little eyes; then, grunting disdainfully, he waddled to the edge of the stream to see what prize could be worth so great an exertion. As they fought, the raccoons drew nearer and nearer to the porcupine, who did not offer to move. Another lurch would undoubtedly have brought them into contact with his bristling quills had they not in the nick of time discovered their danger. Instantly they separated and leaped back. The leap brought them to the slippery mud at the edge of the stream and the next moment both rolled helplessly into the flood.
They rose gasping, but the current, which at that point set well in toward the bank, seized and bore them struggling for some distance before they managed to scramble upon a large branch that the stream was carrying. There they clung, all desire for fight wiped out by the sudden plunge.
For a time they rode, looking longingly at the banks which seemed to glide rapidly to the rear. Then their queer craft was swept into a side current and grounded, while the raccoons lost no time in wading to shore. On the bank they cleaned and smoothed their bedraggled fur until it was once more dry and fluffy; then, without a backward glance, each hurried away, Ringtail to his home tree, where he arrived just as the rosy fingers of dawn appeared in the east. The warmth of his snug hollow felt very grateful after his sudden immersion and his ride in the cool night air.
The next night found Ringtail entirely recovered from his adventure and once more abroad. He wandered until he emerged from the forest at the edge of a bit of cleared ground. Before him lay a moon-washed open space and beyond that rose tall, green ranks of corn, a sight that filled the raccoon's heart with joy. He quickly crossed the clearing and, bearing down a stalk, stripped it of its husk and sank his teeth into the milky kernels. Ringtail dearly loved sweet corn and he ate until his round, furry sides were distended and he could hold no more. Then he ran up and down through the rustling field, bearing down great quantities, merely sampling their sweetness and leaving behind a wide swath of ruin.
The next morning when the farmer beheld the work of destruction, his wrath was great and he vowed vengeance upon all the raccoon tribe. That night he lay in wait at the edge of the field with his gun. No marauder appeared, yet in the morning he found that a new section had been visited. It looked as if a dozen raccoons had feasted. A grand hunt followed, but Ringtail, safe in his hollow tree at the edge of the tamarack swamp, heard the distant barking of the dogs without alarm. The hunt swept off in another direction and quiet again fell upon the wilderness.
Thus the summer with its long, sunny days and velvety nights sped by and was succeeded by the moon of falling leaves. The air was tinged with frost and the forest flamed with color. The cornfield no longer held a lure for Ringtail, but the beech trees were dropping their little, three-cornered nuts and the big raccoon was still fat and happy.
Late one night, when he had feasted well and was making his way slowly homeward, he heard the barking of a dog. He paused in the trail to listen. His sharp ears soon assured him that but a single enemy was upon the trail and he started on again, not at all alarmed. He made good time for so fat a fellow but it soon became apparent that he would be overtaken before he could reach the home tree. Accordingly he sought out a large beech tree and, backing up to its great trunk, waited for his foe.
He did not have long to wait. A black and white dog soon burst into view, nose to earth, and almost ran into the waiting Ringtail before he became aware of the raccoon's presence. With a yelp of surprise Pal halted so abruptly that he skidded in the dry leaves, while the big raccoon hissed warningly. For a long moment the two eyed each other, each seemingly unwilling to offer the offensive. Pal barked sharply, but the sound produced no effect upon the raccoon. Then the dog began circling the tree. Ringtail circled with him, always presenting a formidable front.
Ordinarily the peace-loving canine would hardly have attacked the raccoon, but the madness of the season was racing in the veins of the Hermit's dog and he longed for heroic adventure. So, after slowly circling the tree several times, he threw caution to the winds and closed in. Ringtail was ready, and for a time there was an inextricable tangle of raccoon and dog. Then Pal backed off, bleeding in several places, while the big raccoon, panting and disheveled, still stood with back against the tree.
For a moment the two glared at each other. Then Pal's look wavered. He glanced up into the tree and thence into the forest. Then he yawned as if he had lost all interest in the affair and, trotting off, was soon out of sight among the dark trees. Ringtail was free to continue his way homeward, limping slightly but proud of his victory. Before going to sleep he spent some time cleansing his matted fur and restoring it to its usual soft and lustrous state.
A few nights later Ringtail met with a strange adventure, one which left him thoroughly puzzled. He had left his hollow tree early in the evening, very hungry after his hours of fasting. Coming upon a bed of wake-robins, which covered the forest floor with their spotted leaves, he stopped to dig up a few of the peppery roots. Washing them in a near-by stream, he devoured them, blinking his eyes comically over an unusually hot one. Then he wandered on in search of beechnuts, his appetite only made keener by this peppery salad.
Not far from the rail fence which guarded the clearing of the Hermit, he came upon a little open glade carpeted with moss and surrounded by great trees. From the side opposite Ringtail a strange yellow radiance streamed out over the glade. In its brightness a number of rabbits were disporting themselves, jumping about as if in some queer dance, pausing occasionally to stare into the center of that fascinating glow. Now and then one would vanish into the darkness to right or left, but another was sure to take its place.
Ringtail stared, the light reflected from his bright little eyes. Slowly he crept nearer, lured by that strange radiance, fearful, yet unable to resist. The rabbits vanished at his approach, while a tiny wood-mouse which had stolen up, fled with a squeak of panic. But for once Ringtail had no eyes for plump wood-mice. He stared a moment, then moved aside into the darkness where his eyes were not so blinded, and looked about him.
The light came from a small object set upon the ground. Ringtail walked all around it, passing within a few feet of a spot where the Hermit sat concealed in a thicket of wild cherry. The man had secreted himself behind his dark-lantern in such a way that the wind would blow toward him, so no scent of human presence reached the inquisitive raccoon, who continued his cautious circling until he emerged again into the radiance of the lantern. His fur bristled and the rings upon his tail stood out sharply, while his queer little masked face held such a puzzled look that the Hermit chuckled to himself.
"You would make a fine pet, old Ringtail, but I suppose it would be a shame to deprive you of your liberty," thought he, as he looked admiringly at the big animal. His experiment with the light was proving even more successful than he had hoped.
For some time Ringtail remained in the vicinity of the light, generally just out of its glow. Several times he circled the lantern, regarding it curiously but keeping at a respectful distance, for it much resembled a trap. At length, however, the pangs of hunger asserted themselves and he went on his way reluctantly, looking back often until the strange glow was hidden from sight. Beechnuts were forgotten, but he made a satisfying meal on fresh-water clams and several big, juicy tadpoles before he turned his face toward the home tree.
By going some distance out of his way he came again to the little open glade. This time it was illumined only by the radiance of the harvest moon, a radiance very familiar and therefore not particularly interesting to the big raccoon. The night was far spent when he reached his hollow tree and climbed to his doorway. There he was sharply silhouetted for a moment against the low-hanging moon before he vanished into the friendly darkness. The bottom of the hole was made soft with a thick covering of leaves into whose warmth Ringtail sank with a sigh of content, and at once fell asleep.
The first dull cold days, heavy with their hint of coming snow, found the big raccoon fat and sleepy, ready to go into winter quarters. Ringtail seldom braved the gales of winter. He was an indolent, peace-loving fellow, who would not have been able to cope with the hunger and cold of the snowy months. The home hollow was not quite deep enough to suit his fancy, so for one whole day he wandered about, investigating tree after tree before he found one to his liking. Occasionally he would enter a hole to find it occupied by another raccoon who only looked at him sleepily and went on with his comfortable doze.
All day dark clouds had hung over the wilderness. Late in the afternoon a few big flakes, harbingers of the coming storm, drifted slowly to earth. The sight caused Ringtail to hasten his investigations and at last he discovered a place quite to his liking. It was a warm deep hollow, well up from the ground in a big beech tree, its doorway opening toward the south.
When Ringtail poked in his furry face, he found another raccoon already in possession of the snug hollow, but this fact did not trouble him at all. He slid down into the hole, which was carpeted almost a foot deep with beech leaves, and, instead of resenting the intrusion, the other raccoon only sighed comfortably and went back to sleep. Ringtail squeezed his big body into the warm bed of leaves, cuddling his nose into the thick fur of his bedfellow and protecting his feet with his own bushy tail. And there the two slept contentedly, a furry brown ball, until the warm spring sun peeping in at their doorway called them forth.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF RINGTAIL, THE RACCOON
Late one summer afternoon a hush lay over the wilderness. The air was so still that even the poplar leaves, which move at the slightest breath, hung motionless. The swamp steamed in the heat, and even in the more open forest the air was sultry and oppressive. Birds and wild creatures waited panting for the relief of darkness, seeming to move more silently and furtively than usual. The sun sank behind a bank of angry-looking clouds, but even after dusk had shrouded the trails there was only slight relief from the heat.