CHAPTER III

'THE COLLARED BUCK'

On the northern slope of Knockdane there is a little glen whose sides are hung with ivy and aromatic ale-hoof, and which is so deep that even on the longest day of the year the sun can never climb high enough to shine upon its southern wall. The glen is strewn with limestone rocks, and at its head stands a twisted crab-apple tree. Beneath the roots of the latter there is a dry roomy chamber into which dead leaves have either drifted or been carried; for the Crab Tree burrow has been beloved of the Fur Folk ever since the tree itself began to bear a yearly load of wizened fruit. Some have used it as a den, some as a nursery, and many more as a sanctuary. Grimalkin adapted it to the first of these uses, and took up his abode there at the end of November.

Frost and snow seldom come to Knockdane before January. During the close of the year the weather is damp and mild; rain drips relentlessly upon the sodden ground; and the scarlet and orange agarics in the moss are the only things which flourish. One morning in mid-December Grimalkin went hunting among the bramble thickets of upper Knockdane. The whole place was traversed by an elaborate system of runways, the geography of which was accurately known to the rabbit people alone. A warm mist lay over the woods, distilling into great drops on every grass blade and twig ere dripping to the saturated ground. Indeed, it was hard to tell which was the most water-logged--the earth or the air. Like all his race, Grimalkin hated the wet, and he shook his head impatiently as the water trickled inside his ears. The air was so damp and heavy among the briars that there was little or no scent, so that when a rabbity waft came to his nostrils he knew that the trail must be fresh. He turned down a side alley, and suddenly came face to face with the most amazing rabbit which he had ever beheld. It was large and grey, but the strangest thing about it was a broad white stripe which passed completely round its neck and ended in a pointed gorget. The rabbit was squatting with its ears flattened and its eyes half closed, and in this attitude the strange collar stood out round its neck in so uncanny a fashion that Grimalkin paused doubtfully. Suddenly fear leaped into its eyes--its ears sprang up vertically, and just as Grimalkin cramped himself together for a rush, the strange rabbit wheeled round and burst out of the 'form.' Grimalkin pulled himself up abruptly, for he was too experienced a hunter to give chase; but even in that brief space he had time to remark that its tail was not carried in the usual jaunty rabbit manner, but was depressed like that of a hare.

That was the first time that Grimalkin met the Collared Buck rabbit of upper Knockdane. The Collared Buck, like the lost Incas, was the last of his race. Years before, a whole colony of white-necked rabbits had lived in the hedgerows outside the wood, but their ornament had proved a fatal guide to foxes and stoats, and this winter the sole survivor lived in Knockdane, a hermit and a solitary. He had his headquarters in a burrow in the elder thicket above Grimalkin's glen; but as in that wet season, like many other of the holes in Knockdane, it was often full of water, he was obliged to 'lie up' in the woods, whether he liked or not. Very early in the morning, after moonset, he went out to feed in the sheep field by a well-worn track; but, as soon as the 'false dawn' appeared, he returned to the wood, and made a 'form' in some patch of fern or bramble, where he passed the day. Grimalkin the cat never wasted his time over rabbits unless there was reasonable chance of success, and although he often crossed the Collared Buck's hot trail he never turned aside to follow it. Sometimes indeed he caught a glimpse of the Buck himself lilting across a clearing in the starlight, or feeding with a wary eye fixed on covert; but this rabbit's remarkable appearance was only equalled by his cunning, as indeed Grimalkin soon saw for himself.

One crisp January day Grimalkin was taking a sun-bath in the fork of a large beech tree, when a sudden 'bang-bang' apprised him that men were in the wood, and that they were there with intent to slay. Grimalkin regarded men with more hatred and less fear than did the Fur Folk themselves, for his early days by the fireside had made an indelible impression upon him; but he was aware of the limitations of human discernment, and knew that if he remained where he was he would be reasonably safe. The reports of the guns came nearer, and presently a pair of jays flew overhead, squawking to all the birds within earshot that it was time to move on. In front of the beech tree the trees grew more sparsely, and the ground was encumbered with a low growth of fern and bramble. By and by the shooting party came out of the covert and advanced slowly up the glade. Grimalkin, blinking down from his coign of vantage, saw rabbit after rabbit bolt from its 'form' only to turn a somersault and collapse into a palpitating heap. Just below the beech tree there was a thick patch of briars, broken up by numerous passages and clearings. Grimalkin, unlike the men below, had a bird's-eye view of the place, and just before the line of beaters came abreast of it a rabbit hopped out of a runway. His white necklet proclaimed that he was the Collared Buck. He sat up upon his curious hare-like tail, and peered through the bushes. Just then another shot was fired, and a luckless rabbit close by crawled screaming through the fern. The Collared Buck made up his mind--he rolled over limply upon his back and lay still. The beaters came up and began to whack the bushes, but he never twitched a whisker, and he might have escaped notice altogether had not one man caught sight of his white gorget gleaming in the grass, and walked over to pick up, as he considered, the dead rabbit. The Collared one lay like a stone until a hand was put out to seize him, then he suddenly leaped sideways and ran for his life. Bang! bang! bang! he bolted down the whole line of guns, and each fired as he passed; but although the shot clipped twigs from the bushes all round him, he ran on unscathed. Just out of shot he paused, and then quietly and deliberately crept down an adjacent burrow, leaving the sportsmen the poorer of self-respect and cartridges.

After this the weather became fine and warm, and the rabbits used to come out of their burrows to take sun-baths. Three times Grimalkin saw the Collared Buck basking outside his hole above the glen, with his legs sprawled on the dry leaves, and his eyes blinking blissfully in the heat. Three times did Grimalkin then attempt to stalk his prey, and three times did the Buck take alarm, and hop underground with insulting leisure. The desire to circumvent the Collared Buck became an obsession with Grimalkin. He spent hours at a stretch watching the burrow mouth; all in vain. He often caught a glimpse of the white collar, or saw the drooping scut flit into the bushes, but he never gave chase on these occasions, for he knew well that in a race he was no match for a rabbit, and that his skill in hunting depended less upon his legs than upon his patience. So the Collared Buck fed nightly in the fields, and arrogantly chiselled his mark upon the old willow tree which is the trysting place of the buck rabbits in spring, and upon which each sets the imprint of his teeth.

Earlier in the autumn Grimalkin had lived principally upon the squirrels who squabbled among the beech-mast, but as the season advanced, Koutchee, who, though a noisy meddlesome fellow, is no fool, grew wary, and the suspicion of a barred tabby tail twitching in covert was sufficient to send him scuttling up a tree. Henceforth Grimalkin lived chiefly upon thrushes. The ripening of the haws brought in hordes of missel-thrushes, redwings, and blackbirds, who tore at the crimson berries and littered them over the countryside with the wasteful profusion of the Feather Folk who take no thought for the morrow, and then came, full cropped and drowsy, to roost in Knockdane. At dark Grimalkin used to creep beneath the bushes which were weighted down with the sleepy birds, and took his toll. The redwings were his favourite game, for it was possible to strike one down silently; whereas no sooner did he miss a spring at throstle or blackbird than the whole wood knew of the occurrence. Creeping in the darkness among the locked laurel stems, Grimalkin often knew that he was not the only hunter abroad. Sometimes as a cloud came over the moon, a blackbird 'spinked' agonizedly, and then all at once the whole hillside seemed to spring into rushing whirring life as every bird within earshot dashed out. There would be dire confusion for a few minutes until the flock settled in another thicket, and then the patter of pads tiptoeing away told that the fox was also hunting that way that night.

One evening Grimalkin was prowling on such an excursion along the edge of the wood. Just in front of him a deep drain, cut straight through the hedgebank, opened into the field. This cutting was a favourite path of all the Fur Folk, and its muddy bottom was trampled by many feet, from the splay pugs of the badger to the fairy spoors of the rats. It was for the latter that Grimalkin waited, under a fern stub. Famine had gripped the rats with the rest of the Wood People, and drove them out to feed on the rotting beech-mast far from their holes. The blackbirds were arguing together loudly as they settled down in the laurels for the night; nevertheless through all the din Grimalkin detected a distant scurry and patter of feet. His practised ear soon recognised that the oncoming steps belonged to a running rabbit, and just behind he caught the galloping rustle of some pursuer. Grimalkin the cat feared neither fox nor dog, and he knew that the smaller folk all feared him and turned aside from his path; so that, with a glance to locate a convenient tree in case of emergency, he remained where he was. The bushes suddenly parted and out sprang the Collared Buck. His ears were laid down and his eyes showed the whites as he glanced behind him. He came straight as an arrow for the drain; not until he was almost upon it did he catch sight of Grimalkin, and at that moment Redpad the fox came leaping upon his trail. The Collared Buck saw that he was in a trap. He was yet three yards from the bank when he jumped, but the force of his rush was with him and carried him into the drain. At the same instant the cat's claws tore his flank, but the smart merely spurred him to further efforts. He changed feet nimbly, and shot through the hedge far out into the field beyond. Grimalkin alighted on the ditch bottom in a smother of dead leaves, not three feet from the fox's nose. He put his back against the bank, and his eyes looked ugly as he breathed a menace. The fox stopped dead, and they glared eye to eye while one might pant a score of times. Then the fox dropped his eyes uneasily. He dared not face the great cat's scimitar claws in the narrow path, and he slid cautiously back in his tracks out of striking distance before leaping into the bushes.

Grimalkin caught a rat and a bird that night, and at dawn went back to his lair. He licked his muddy coat dry, and being full fed and comfortable for the first time for many days, he sang a low song to himself, which made the little mice, among the ivy at the cave's mouth, cower and hide. But by and by the purring ceased, and Grimalkin, thoughtfully watching the dim light on the floor, growled softly at the recollection of the baulked spring in the hedge bottom; and in his dreams that night--for the Fur Folk often dream--his claws worked softly as though he had struck them into the kill.

* * * * *

After that Grimalkin watched the hedge bottom for two nights, but the Collared Buck was wary, and went out to feed by another way. On the third evening he came again, but a breath of wind warned him in time of his enemy's presence. This happened once or twice, and then Grimalkin grew tired of a fruitless vigil in the damp ditch and laid other plans.

One January night Grimalkin came out of his cave, and stealing across the glen, climbed the opposite wall. It was dark under the trees, but a white blur in the shadows guided him to the mouth of the burrow in the elders. Very very cautiously he sniffed at the place. All was well. The Buck had not yet gone out. Grimalkin squatted down within striking distance, tucked his paws away cosily in front of him, and waited.

An hour passed--there was a stir in the burrow, and the Collared Buck crept out, his white throat a beacon in the starlight. So swiftly that it seemed as but one movement, Grimalkin took half a dozen quick steps and leaped, but even as he did so the big rabbit stamped a sudden alarm. They rolled over together, Grimalkin bearing down his prey as a tiger will a deer, but the latter was frenzied with fear, and in his agony launched a desperate kick which caught Grimalkin upon the point of the nose. As he staggered back he felt the rabbit slip from between his claws. The Collared Buck bounded away among the elders, stamping an alarm at every stride, until his dancing white collar disappeared among the bushes. Grimalkin sat up and wiped the blood from his face. He realised that another point had been scored against him.

* * * * *

An hour later as Grimalkin was passing the well-worn track to the Sheep Field, dawn was breaking, and a fine rain began to fall. He followed a path among the furze bushes, and on turning a corner caught sight of a rabbit in the grass. He stalked it scientifically, and from nearer covert looked at it again. There was no doubt but that it was the Collared Buck. He was lying prone upon his chest as though for a sun-bath, and apparently had noticed nothing amiss. But why should he bask when rain was falling? Grimalkin was uneasy. The Fur Folk fear what is unusual; nevertheless because he was hungry, and his enemy so close, he sprang. His claws sank deep into the white collar, but the Collared Buck neither moved nor gasped. His body was warm and limp, and round his neck, although Grimalkin never noticed it, was twisted a wicked strand of brass wire. It never occurred to Grimalkin to question how his long-sought quarry had died. He drew himself up and his tail swayed with triumph. The Collared Buck lay beneath his claws and old scores were repaid. He began to play the death-game which the cat kind always play over the kill. First of all he touched the rabbit with his paw, daring it to rise up and run from him; then, as though to make surety doubly sure, he leaped upon it and struck again. While there is life in bird or beast they will struggle from the death-play blindly, but the Collared Buck lay placidly still with the rain draggling his fur and his eyes staring. Even his sensitive nose never quivered; for, although Grimalkin did not know it, the wire round his neck had long ago choked the breath in his throat. Next Grimalkin rolled upon the ground, and drawing the limp form towards him, licked its fur and caressed it, while he sang a song praising its strength and cunning, and vaunting his own superior skill as a hunter. The wrens in the furze scolded and flew away, for few of the lesser folk are bold enough to stand by while Grimalkin plays after the kill. He gambolled to and fro like a kitten for the joy of feeling the strong muscles swell in his limbs; and growling, he dared any of the Wood People to snatch his prey from him. So absorbed was he in his game that he never heard a step on the close turf, and only when a blackbird chuckled an alarm did he look up to see Paddy Magragh standing watching him, with a bundle of rabbit snares in his hand. Then all make-believe was at an end. Should he, Grimalkin, Cat-King of Knockdane, give up his kill? He growled menacingly, and dragged at the body, until the peg round which the wire was twisted, already loosened by the rabbit's death-struggles, was pulled out of the ground.

'Drop it, ye thafe,' shouted Paddy Magragh, flinging his stick at the cat. It missed its mark, and Grimalkin merely glared as he dragged his kill towards the bushes a few yards away. Magragh had lost his cudgel, but he strode up to kick his antagonist aside with his heavy boots. However, Grimalkin turned upon him with such a ferocious snarl that he drew back, for no leather would have been proof against those teeth. By the time he had fetched his stick, Grimalkin, tripping over his burden, had almost gained the bushes. He gave chase instantly, but Grimalkin had never yet abandoned his prey, and only trotted the faster. They reached the bushes simultaneously. The earthstopper struck out brutally with his stick and knocked aside Grimalkin, who rolled over and over half stunned; but then Magragh lost his advantage, for he rashly stooped and laid hold of the rabbit. In an instant, with a strangled yell, Grimalkin's teeth met in his wrist. He sprang back with an oath as the blood trickled down.

'Begob! there's something not right wid that cat,' he muttered fearfully, stepping aside. 'And the rabbit is a quare one. 'Tis a drop o' holy wather, not a stick, ye'd want for the likes o' him, I'm thinking.'

So without further interference Grimalkin returned to the limp body of the Collared Buck and dragged it laboriously into the bushes. Once protected by the kindly furze thorns he crouched down panting, lest another attack should be meditated, but it did not come; and presently he heard the earthstopper's heavy tread on the turf as he walked away.

Then indeed Grimalkin's triumph was complete. He had even outwitted man himself, and robbed him of his kill. He turned to the rabbit once more, and played out the death-game to an end before returning to his lair.