Redcoat/Chapter 4
AFTER the last of that bewildering series of tragedies which took the last member of Redcoat's family and left him all alone, a great sense of loneliness came over him. He had been associated with his brothers and sister ever since their birth in early Springtime. He had looked to Father Fox and Mother Fox for food and protection, so that they had become a necessary part of his life. He had romped with the rest of the young foxes, even up to the coming of Autumn and the fox hunters, so it was no wonder that he now felt lonely.
Somehow he could not understand that they had gone away for good and that he never would see them again, anywhere upon the fox range. True he had seen his mother go head over heels in the snow at the sound of the thunder stick, but even so, he could not appreciate the fact that the great sleep had claimed her. Somehow, somewhere, she must come to life again and come trotting to meet him, either upon the meadows or on the mountains.
So, Redcoat spent several days in hunting for his kin. First, he searched the whole length of the mountain range, even going back into the foothills ten miles away from the home burrow. Then, he spent long moonlight evenings searching the meadows. He also went in close to the farmhouses trying to see if he could discover any of his kin. These men-creatures were so cunning. Perhaps they were keeping his family from him. Surely something was keeping them all.
Finally, as a last resort, Redcoat searched the home burrow, in all its branches, to see if in any way he had overlooked his family. Then gradually it came over Redcoat that his kin had gone forever, and he ceased to look for them, but he did put in several moonlight nights, sitting upon a cliff which overlooked the great meadows, looking and wondering. Occasionally he would lift his pointed nose to the moon and howl, a long thin howl, which was the very epitome of grief. But finally even his grief was forgotten in the struggle to get food and to keep his own brush safe from the men who were after him so persistently.
Hitherto he had usually hunted with one or more members of his family but from this time forth Redcoat hunted upon the meadows in the moonlight, or in the great rabbit swamps three miles away, to the south of the mountain, or about the farm buildings in the lowlands near the mountains, by himself.
He was thrown entirely upon his own resources. By his own wits he must live or die, and Redcoat decided that he would live, and live well. The mountain, the fields and the woods belonged to him, or at least the foxes had claimed their inheritance in the wilderness ever since the first fox had hunted mice, and Redcoat would continue to claim his own. Not only that, but he would take from his enemy, the man, as often as the chance permitted. From what his father had taught him and what he had observed, he was now convinced that war between the foxes and the men was on. In fact, it had always been on. He would do what he could to make them pay for what the fox family suffered at their hands. Their chicken coops, their duck houses, and even their turkey roosts would pay tribute to the fox family. It was a dangerous game, but all life was dangerous. Yet, it was an exciting game. One that was well worth playing.
Thus the weeks went by and Redcoat lived the life, and fought the battles, of a fox. He hunted mice upon the great meadows on his own side of the river, but he never ventured across the river by the broad plank trail which the men used. Later on, when he was more experienced in the ways of men, he would take the chance, but not now.
He hunted quail on the upland farms a mile or two from his mountain. He found these birds in the cornfields, or in the stubble. He hunted rabbits in the rabbit warren. It was a long way to the rabbit swamp, but the hunting was good once he got there and it was very safe hunting.
He was always on the lookout for partridge, but very seldom could he surprise that wary bird.
Often he prowled about the outlying buildings of the farms of the valley. There was always a chance that he might pick up some refuse from the table, which had been flung to the hens and not eaten by those fowls, or perhaps at the farms where the hens ran outside during the day and were shut up at night, a foolish pullet or rooster might be left outside, and be hiding under a sheltering bush. In that case, Mr. Fox took care that there should be no "fuss or feathers" about "the kill." He usually gave one quick sharp bite upon the neck. This silenced the telltale squawking, and it shut off life as well. When the fowl had ceased to struggle, the fox, with a toss of his head, would swing the kill over his shoulder and make for the nearest woods.
When the first snow came Redcoat's difficulties were greatly increased. He had thought them hard enough before, but now he had to use great care in sneaking about the farm buildings because he left telltale tracks wherever he went. He was at first much disgusted with this soft white stuff which was so cold that it chilled his feet. Also when the new snow rattled off a bush upon him as he passed beneath it, it made him start, but he soon got used to it.
But, the greatest of the difficulties was that the Fox Club in the nearby city redoubled their efforts as soon as the new snow came. It was now much easier following for the hounds, and harder running for the fox, and much harder to elude the pack.
Ruses that had fooled the pack on bare ground went for nothing when there was snow. All of which Redcoat had to learn by sad experience. Several long chases the Fox Club gave him, and several narrow escapes he had. He usually followed the plan that his mother had mapped out on that fateful day when he had lost her upon the mountain. But now he always remembered that the man-trail, which crossed the mountain two miles from the burrow, was a danger place. When Redcoat came to this trail, he would gather all his fleetness and cross at two bounds where the trail was narrow. Once, even so, the man's terrible thunder stick went "bang, bang," and small pellets pattered all about Redcoat. If he had not been going at his best pace he would have fared as badly as his mother had. He found that if he ran hard and fast enough, away into the foothills, the animals with which men chased foxes would leave him. So, his plan was usually to bolt after snarling up the track.
Thus, with protecting his brush and getting his living, Redcoat was very busy.
As the snow grew deeper and deeper and winter came on apace, the cold increased in intensity and the winds howled through the treetops on the mountainside in a dismal manner. When it was very cold for several days at a time, hunting was bad and Redcoat often went supperless to bed.
About the middle of January the loneliness that had come upon him after the loss of his family returned with great intensity. Once again he took up the futile search for his family. He found other fox tracks on the meadows and in the rabbit swamp but none of them were made by his kin. Finally, he became so lonely and so longed for companionship that one evening he went down to the Holcome farm and sat upon the wall a few rods from the farm buildings, and lifting up his nose to the moon, howled pathetically. Finally his wailings aroused Scotty, the farm dog, and he came out and drove the fox away. But even this seemed better to Redcoat than being entirely alone. It was something to have even the farm dog chase him.
Finally one day when the loneliness was greater than ever, he found a fox track in the rabbit swamp which interested him. It was not made by any of his kin, but there was something about it which drew him on. He followed it persistently for several hours. Sometimes he would think that he was very close to the one who made it, but
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the track led on and on. Finally just as he was about to give up in disgust and go away to the meadows to hunt mice he came out into a little open spot in the woods, and there, standing backed up against a bush, with the moonlight falling full upon her, was a beautiful fox. Not as large or as dark as Redcoat, but with a wonderful skin. Her fur was all fluffed up in her excitement and she looked much larger than she really was. Redcoat always remembered her in future years as he had seen her that first night in the moonlight. But when he advanced to be friendly with her she turned and galloped away through the forest. But now he knew that there was a real live fox on the trail ahead of him. Redcoat himself did not care, but exulted in the chase. Out and in through the laurel he followed the trail until the stranger again halted, and this time he came up and sniffed noses with her, but once again she was off. For another half hour he lost sight of her and then another trail appeared close by hers. There were two foxes, but Redcoat's good nose soon told him that the newcomer was a rival; so he started after him in hot haste. He soon overtook them and fell upon his rival with great fury, and after a running battle of half a mile, he discomforted him and drove him away out of the rabbit swamp. Then he went back to Fluffy and this time she did not flee from him.
This night of playing tag in the rabbit swamp, and of racing through the pines and the aspens on the side of the mountain, was the first of many mad frolics under the February moon.
As Redcoat looked back and remembered how lonely he had been he now seemed like another creature. The joy of life and of wild untamed living was in their veins. Their blood exulted as did the sap in the maple. They were one with the life that thrilled in the wild flowers down under the snow. The mating madness was upon them and they lived it to the full.
Thus the happy weeks went by until late in April when Fluffy became less inclined to play. Often she seemed to wish to be left alone and would drive Redcoat away with a petulant snarl.
Then she began searching in the spruces where the old fox den had been. Soon she found a sheltered spot under a great rock, and here she began to dig. Redcoat tried to help her but she would have neither his company nor his help. After a week's time, she had finished a new burrow under the great rock. The man who dug out this fox family would have to first lift a five-ton boulder.
There, in the new burrow, in the darkness, under the great rock, four little fuzzy foxes were born. They were tiny, fluffy, blind, helpless things, that whimpered and nuzzled at their mother's flank; and this little wilderness mother was as wise and tender with them as a human mother could possibly have been.
We may wonder who taught her how to care for the little foxes. To snuggle them up and keep them warm, and feed them when they were hungry.
It was the great Mother Nature, who either directly or indirectly teaches us all.
When Fluffy communicated the news of what had happened in the burrow to Redcoat he became very proud and redoubled his efforts at hunting. Then it was, seeing how the pups were pulling on Fluffy, that a daring enterprise came into the Red Hunter's mind. One that nearly proved fatal.
One evening just at dusk he started for the Holcome farm determined, if it were possible, to secure a fat hen for Fluffy. As he approached the barn he discovered that the men were busy about the buildings for a light was coming and going. The henhouse at the Holcome farm was attached to the barn, and the outside door, which the hens usually used, was often shut up for several days in the winter, while the hens came and went through the big barn door. As Redcoat watched from a distance he could see the hens scratching in the chaff on the barn floor. Finally one by one they passed through the small door into the henhouse, and the listening fox could hear them flying upon the roosts.
He could not discover the men anywhere in the barn. The door leading from the barn floor to the henhouse was open. The moment seemed auspicious if he made a sudden dash and did his work quickly. In less time than it takes to tell it, Redcoat dashed through the barn door and into the henhouse and seized a fat pullet. But, unfortunately for him, he did not get her by the neck at the first bite and she set up a frightful squawking in which the entire flock joined. As Redcoat turned to make his escape, through the barn door, one of the men appeared in the door carrying the bright light. When he saw Redcoat he slammed the door together and shouted to his companion.
"Dad, Dad, come here quick. There's a fox in the henhouse, and he has got one of the white pullets."
Mr. Holcome, who was milking, came running at Bud's outcry.
"You watch the door, Dad," cried Bud excitedly, "and I'll run to the house for my rifle. We've sure got him this time."
Meanwhile poor Redcoat ran backward and forward in the small henhouse, looking for a way out, but there was no opening. There seemed to be an opening, but it was so high up that he doubted whether he could use it or not. It was a window and Redcoat could see the moonlight outside. But, it was his only chance. He gripped the pullet still more firmly in his mouth, stepped to the other side of the henhouse to get a start, gave a light spring to the middle of the room, and then sprang with all the intensity of his steel muscles towards the light. There was a sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, and Redcoat landed in a sorry heap in a snow bank outside. It was lucky for him that he struck in the snow instead of upon the ground, but even so, he was badly stunned and lay in the snow for several minutes.
Finally Bud reappeared with the rifle and he and Mr. Holcome cautiously opened the henhouse door. With the cocked rifle in his hand Bud peered into the henhouse.
"Gosh, Dad, he's gone," he cried. "He's got away."
"Are you sure there was any fox here at all?" inquired the man incredulously. "I don't see how he could get out."
"Look at that window, Dad," cried Bud excitedly. Mr. Holcome looked and saw that two panes and the sash, which had been broken, were gone.
Meanwhile, the sound of their voices aroused Redcoat and fear gave strength to his muscles. He struggled to his feet and trotted away into the darkness just as Bud reappeared at the big barn door, closely followed by Mr. Holcome.
"There he goes, Dad," cried Bud excitedly, raising the rifle.
"Bang," went the thunder stick, and Redcoat heard something go singing over his head and he quickened his pace.
"Where is he, Bud?" inquired the farmer. "I don't see him." Mr. Holcome strained his eyes in the direction Bud indicated and finally burst into a loud gaffaw. "Fox nothing," he snorted. "It's just your imagination, Bud."
It was not until they found the tracks outside the window, and blood and some feathers on the snow, that Mr. Holcome admitted there might have been a fox in the henhouse after all.
Half an hour later, Redcoat proudly laid down his kill at the mouth of the burrow and with a sharp joyous bark summoned his mate. Fluffy came forth in much excitement to see what he had brought her. Then Redcoat laid down upon his belly in the snow his jaws dripping saliva, for hunger gnawed at his own vitals, and watched his mate devour the better part of the pullet.
When she was fully satisfied, she backed away, and with a fox smile and a wag of her tail, invited the hunter to dine. There was only the head and neck, the feet and the offal, left, and this Redcoat speedily devoured. And, then he went away to the old burrow to sleep, while Fluffy returned to the pups in the new burrow. Redcoat's own appetite had been only partly appeased, but he had provided for his mate and the pups and he was satisfied. It was the way of the wild, that the male should hunt and fight for the mother and the little ones, and he was satisfied with this code. On the morrow he would look for a breakfast for himself.