Redcoat/Chapter 7
THERE were two kinds of dangers that Redcoat had to be ever on the watch for. One was the danger which was out in the open, and the other was cunningly hidden, hidden with all the art of man. The open danger was from men, guns and hounds. Of the hidden danger I will speak later. Redcoat's safeguard against all danger was in his eyesight, his hearing, and very keen sense of smell, for his was the best nose in field or forest.
One illustration of the hidden danger against which no cunning could guard him will illustrate what I mean.
Redcoat was hunting in the rabbit warren and the hunting was not good, in fact it had been bad for several days. He was crouched behind an old stump, close to a rabbit path. This pathway was the rabbit's main travel road through the swamp.
Redcoat had been sitting there in the cold with the snow sifting down upon him from the overhanging branches for more than an hour. He was cramped and disgusted with the poor hunting. Presently he peeked out from behind the stump and discovered a rabbit coming down this rabbit highway, but as ill luck for the hunter would have it the rabbit also saw Mr. Fox and turned and ran for his life. Ordinarily the fox would not have pursued him. He would have waited in ambush for another rabbit, but since the hunting was so poor pursuit seemed Redcoat's only course, so he went after the unfortunate cottontail bounding lightly over the laurel tops and scurrying around small spruces. Out and in they raced, a race of life and death, in which the fox steadily gained in spite of the rabbit's dodging and turning.
But it happened there was another hunter abroad that night; a surly old wildcat or bay lynx was sitting on an old log, waiting by the rabbit path. He had been waiting for a long time, and to see Redcoat chasing the rabbit he had hoped to get filled him with uncontrollable rage. He dug his claws into the bark on the log in a frenzy of fury, and as the rabbit scuttled by the wildcat crouched to spring, but not at the fleeing rabbit. Redcoat discovered him as he came hurtling through the air, else this hunt would have been his last. He did not have time to jump aside but simply dropped in the snow and the cat passed over him, just raking his back with his long needle like claws. Before he had time to recover Redcoat had sprung to one side and the cat's next jump missed him. In a fair run the bobcat was no match for him, so he soon left him far behind. But, it was a close call and it filled the Red Hunter with unspeakable rage, to think that his rabbit swamp had been invaded by this ugly old cat and that he had had to run in this unceremonious way for his life made Redcoat so angry that the hair on his back and neck bristled for hours whenever he thought of it.
About twenty rods below the spruces where the fox family had their den there was a wonderful little spring which gushed out from the rocks and fell in a perfect bowl which the waters had worn for themselves. It was fringed with ferns and moss and the water was deliciously cold. This was Redcoat's favorite drinking place. Very rarely did men come to the spring and Redcoat looked upon it as his own special possession.
So his surprise and disgust may well be imagined when one day he discovered man scent about the spring. The scent was not strong, yet it was unmistakable, but this was not all, for there were several small pieces of meat scattered about on the ground close to the spring. Redcoat sniffed the meat suspiciously, for it smelled delicious and made his jaws drip saliva. There was a faint suggestion of man scent about the meat, but it was nearly lost in the ravishing scent of the bloody meat.
In the old days when Redcoat had been just a small pup tagging about after his sire this wise old fox had given the pups to understand that those things which they did not have to work for often were not good for them. If they killed their meat they could be sure it was all right, but if it was killed for them and placed under their noses, then look out.
But Redcoat had partly forgotten this lesson. In fact, the old fox's untimely death at the hand of Bud Holcome had interrupted the education of the fox family. Besides, Redcoat was very hungry this morning and the meat smelled so tempting. Something inside him seemed to say beware. His good nose told him that the meat might possibly have come from the hand of his enemy man, but he was so hungry. Finally, after nosing one of the pieces for several seconds, he swallowed it hastily and it seemed to do him no harm; so he gobbled down the other pieces, took a good drink at the spring, and hurried away. It was not long however before a queer sensation came over him. He became dizzy. There was a prickling, tingling sensation in his nerves, and soon this was followed by violent pain inside and spasmodic twitching.
Then, the fact came to Redcoat that it was the meat which was making him sick. His enemy man had done some terrible thing to him. If he could only get rid of the meat. He knew a plant somewhere which would cause him to vomit. If he could only find it and eat some of the leaves. Ordinarily he knew where it was but now his wits seemed to forsake him. Up and down he raced, searching madly for the plant, and all the time his sickness grew upon him. His plight was getting desperate. He was becoming so dizzy he could hardly stand. Something must be done and that quickly. Then the wood nymph, that guardian angel who protects and shelters the wild creatures, must have come to his assistance, because of a sudden he remembered an old remedy that he had often used. He was standing knee deep in cut grass and he began breaking off the tips and eating them ravenously. Mouthful after mouthful he gulped down, and the tickling of the cut grass in his throat and stomach soon produced the desired effect and the poisonous meat came up with a rush. But Redcoat had already absorbed much of the poison in his system and he went away into the spruces and found a dark place under the top of a fallen tree, and there he laid for the rest of the day a very sick fox. It was hours before Nature threw off the effect of the poison and he finally went to the brook to slake his terrible thirst.
It had been a hard lesson and had nearly cost him his life, but he had learned it well. Never again would he touch any meat he did not kill himself. The whole thing had been too easy and he had been a fool, but they would never catch him again in just that way.
It did not matter that it was a felonious offence to lay poison in this way, where a dog instead of a fox might have gotten it, for some men fear not the laws of God or man and those who lay poison in this manner are of that class.
In the old days when Redcoat had been a pup tagging about after his sire with the rest of the litter, that wise old fox had taught the youngsters many things, among which was the fear of steel and iron. The old fox had impressed upon the whelps that this smell was one of the most dangerous they had to fear.
He had discovered an old discarded steel trap by the brookside and together with the whelps had examined it carefully so they would know it when they saw it again. Finally he had driven the litter away from the trap with great ferocity, giving them plainly to understand that this was a great danger. Later on he had supplemented this knowledge of the smell of iron and steel with the scent of an axe which a woodsman had left for a night in the woods. They also discovered an iron horseshoe in a country road. Later on Redcoat himself had discovered many discarded utensils of iron, all of which he examined very carefully so that the scent of iron or steel was well worked into his system.
The reason for all this caution had been brought home to him one day with great force. He had been watching Bud Holcome who was walking along the banks of a small stream and stopping every now and then to examine something in the stream. At one point he pulled out one of those very strange instruments which Redcoat's sire had told him was so dangerous. After examining it for a few seconds Bud had replaced it in the water. A little further on to Redcoat's great surprise Bud hawled out another of the dread instruments and in it was a muskrat. The rat was dead. He had been in the trap for some time and being exhausted had drowned. Bud opened the mouth of the strange steel device and took out the muskrat which was held by the forefoot and then threw the rat down on the bank, and put the steel trap back in the river. Redcoat waited to see no more, but fled in great fear lest the strange device might catch him by the foot and hold him until Bud Holcome should come for him. This conclusion did not come to Redcoat all at once, but after several days' pondering on what he had seen he got the idea rather vaguely in his mind.
So, for this reason Redcoat was rather well fitted to cope with traps. This was why for a long time he avoided all the traps which Bud Holcome set for him, for Bud was determined that the fox's bright red coat should be Kitty Mason's Christmas present. A new muff would be a wonderful present for Kitty, and Bud was determined that he would do his best to get it. So with this in view, he had set trap after trap with all his trapper's skill. Some of these he set by the dry set method and others he placed in water, but Redcoat always detected the iron smell, or the man scent, and left them alone, even when they were baited with chicken heads, which fairly made his mouth water. Then Bud remembered a trapper's dodge of which he had read and he smoked his traps, which took away the steel smell, and he also dusted out his own tracks by using a balsam bough, which was very pungent. But even so, Redcoat usually discovered the ruse and still went free. But sooner or later even the most wary may get caught and Redcoat was no exception to the rule.
He had been hunting along a little stream one morning, in the hopes that he might find a muskrat in one of Bud's traps for he had become so bold that he had twice robbed a trap, once taking a mink. This had made Bud still more determined to catch him. This morning Redcoat had thought he noted Bud's scent at a certain place on the stream. But after careful examination he had concluded that it was a mistake. The trapper had been walking in the stream and the water had carried away nearly all the scent.
A few rods further up the stream Redcoat discovered something that made his mouth fairly water. It was a small bird dangling over the stream. The bird was apparently dead, and it hung head down. These were two facts which should have made Redcoat wary. Anything that was dead was dangerous as food. Things one did not have to work for were not good for one. Then the bird was hanging head down, that also was strange. So Redcoat began investigating very carefully. There was no man scent on either side of the brook and no man scent on the bird. He was certain of that because he could reach his nose out within a couple of feet of it. For half an hour Redcoat walked up and down the stream looking at the bird and pondering and gradually his suspicions were dissipated. Then he noted a small bunch of turf in the stream half way between him and the bird. Why that was just the thing to step on. He hesitated for several seconds with one paw upraised. Something seemed to say beware, but it was very faint. His hunger was great and the bird looked so tempting. Then Redcoat set his paw down lightly on the bit of turf, and click, snap. Although Redcoat sprang back like lightning and turned a somersault in his hurry to get back in time, yet he was not as quick as the trap which closed firmly over his forepaw, and he was held in a terrible grip—one that made his paw throb with pain, and filled him with an unspeakable fear. The terrible thing of which his sire had warned him, for which he had always been on the watch had caught him at last. He was in the clutches of Bud Holcome and soon he would come searching along the stream to discover if this strange clam which he had put in the water had caught any of the wild creatures. Bud always carried a thunder stick with him and Redcoat knew well what his end would be. How could it have happened? He had always been so careful. It seemed more like a dream than a reality, but as the minutes passed the clutch of the trap upon his paw became more and more real. Yes, he, the Redcoat, who prided himself on his cunning, who had eluded men, dogs, and guns so successfully, was at last caught by this stupid clam in the brook. But it could not hold him. He would soon get free. So he shook his paw violently, but it did no good. Then he crossed to the other side of the stream thinking to leave it behind, but it went with him and the clanging snake-like thing followed also. Perhaps this was helping to hold him, so he seized the chain in his teeth and shook it violently, but that did no good. Then he fell to biting the trap savagely, but this only hurt his teeth. Then he resorted to another stratagem. With his free paw he dug a small hole, buried the trap, covering it with dirt, but as soon as he pulled with his captive paw the trap came up with it. Then he tried drowning the trap in the stream, holding it under the water for several minutes, but that also was useless, yet something must be done. The minutes were rapidly passing, so he went all through these manœuvers once again, yet all to no purpose. His thrashing around increased the pain in his paw until finally it was almost unbearable, but after an hour or two the paw became numb and the pain was less noticeable. But he was doing nothing to free himself and the coming of the trapper was drawing nearer and nearer. One, two and three hours went by and the misery of Redcoat grew. His nerves became keyed to the highest pitch. The chirping of a bird in the bushes or a snapping twig would make him jump. The woods seemed filled with fear. Danger lurched in every shadow. Finally a desperate thought came to Redcoat. He would gnaw off his paw and leave that portion which the trap held. He had steeled his nerves and opened his jaws to give the first vicious crunch upon his own member when he heard the rattle of a stone in the brook, and looking up fearfully he saw Bud Holcome wading up the stream. It was too late to sever his paw. He was lost for Bud Holcome was carrying the dreadful thunder stick in the crook of his arm. Then Redcoat remembered the drowned muskrat. The man had taken it from the trap and thrown it upon the bank. Had the muskrat escaped? Redcoat had not waited to see. Did this suggest a way of escape for him? I do not know.
But when Bud Holcome parted the bushes and peered in where he had set his best trap he saw the beautiful Redcoat lying limp upon the water, just as the muskrat had lain. Bud's astonishment was beyond words, but he took the precaution to advance with his rifle cocked.
"By jing," he said at last. "If he hasn't drowned himself in less than a foot of water. Guess I better shoot him through the head though and make sure of him."
He raised the rifle and had almost pressed the trigger when he remembered that a fox skin tears very easily. He would tear the skin enough in getting it off without making any extra bullet holes in it, so he lowered the rifle and poked the fox with the muzzle instead. He was as limp as a bag of feathers. Then Bud pressed his head under the water and held it there for half a minute, but not a muscle moved.
"He's sure enough dead," said the trapper at last, "but I don't understand how it happened."
Standing his rifle against a tree nearby, Bud pulled the splendid fox out on the bank by the chain, released the forepaw from the trap and picking the fox up in his arms carried him a few feet from the stream and laid him in a patch of sun-light to dry. What a beauty he was Bud thought as he brushed the water from his bright fur. What a wonderful muff he would make for Kitty. When Bud had satisfied himself with admiring the fox he went back to reset the trap. He had stooped down to place it on a flat rock in the stream when he heard a slight rustle in the bushes behind him. Turning in great haste, he beheld Kitty Mason's Christmas present flashing through the underbrush as he had never seen a fox run before. Bud sprang for his rifle and sent a shot after the fugitive, but he merely lopped off a twig ten feet behind him. Before he could load the rifle for a second shot the fox had disappeared. Bud rubbed his eyes. He looked at the spot where he had lain the fox a minute before. Then he looked at the empty trap in the stream, and then at the thicket where Redcoat had disappeared, and burst into a peal of boyish laughter, showing that he was a good sport and a good loser.
"Well, Mr. Redcoat," he said as he set the rifle up against a tree and went back to the trap, "you fooled me this time good and plenty, but I'll get you next time or my name isn't Bud Holcome."
The next time that Redcoat fell into the power of Bud Holcome it was not his fault, but just one of those fatuitous happenings which sometimes befall the wild creatures. Neither his eyesight, his hearing, nor his scent had been at fault. Who could have known that this thing which was not really a trap could turn out to be a most diabolical trap, worse than any steel trap. Surely a poor fox could not be expected to understand the laws of physics, and nothing short of an understanding of physics could have saved Redcoat that time.
He had often run upon the rails of the trail which the great thunderer followed. These same rails had often befriended him, for they had allowed him to run for hundreds of rods leaving little scent, so that he might baffle the pack. The rails had never caught his feet. Only once had the thunderer's trail proved disastrous to him and that was when he had been caught in the deep cut. But this place where he was caught upon the occasion in question was on the great meadows, with plenty of chance to escape in every direction.
It was a very frosty biting cold morning in early December. There was a hard sharp crust on the snow. It was very hard to break the crust on the meadows where the mice hunting was the best. Such wary little creatures as the wood mouse had been keeping their houses where Redcoat could not find them. So on this crisp frosty cold morning Redcoat was so hungry that his stomach fairly ached. Hunger gnawed like a rat at his vitals. Because of this fact he was looking everywhere for food, and would take a chance on anything that offered. He was trotting along on the railroad track, his keen nostrils sniffing the air, when he suddenly smelled something that made him stop still in his tracks and sniff again and again. It was blood that he smelled; red, rich blood, such as makes a fox's jaws drip saliva, and it was very close to him. Then he happened to look down on the rails beneath his feet and he saw it, red and vital. It was under his very feet, and scattered in bright drops all along the rails for several feet. Where this bright tantalizing red fluid had come from Redcoat did not know, but he knew it smelled good.
The blood was that from the veins of an unfortunate doe which had been killed by the morning express only an hour before. Yes, Redcoat could smell the man scent all about on the road bed. The men had climbed down from the train after the engine had struck the doe and loaded her on the train and taken her to the next station. All this Redcoat did not know, but he knew that the blood upon the road bed smelled delicious. First he lapped a dozen drops up from the white snow, but the blood was much plentier on the rails, so the unsuspecting fox began lapping the blood on the cold steel. But one drop was enough for him. To his great surprise and consternation his tongue clung to the rail as though it had been caught in a trap. Not only that, but the rail sucked and pulled at his tongue until it made him whimper, gritty chap that he was. He tried carefully at first to pull his tongue free, but every effort seemed to glue it more firmly to the rail. Then he pulled desperately until it seemed as though he would pull his tongue out, but it did no good. Finally, this struggling made him sick and faint, and he lay down to rest and to think.
This was another trap. It was the work of men. Another of their plans to capture him. First Bud Holcome had caught him by the paw, and now he was caught in a much worse manner, by his tongue.
Even as Redcoat struggled desperately to free himself, yet was held fast by that terrible grip of the frosty rail upon his tender tongue, the voice of the mighty thunderer, that long demoniacal shriek which Redcoat knew so well, sounded. It was just as he had thought. He had been caught and held upon the track in order that the thunderer might grind him to dust. But this was not all, for the horror of this dread sound had barely died away in his ears when he heard the rhythmic breathing of that strange machine in which men travelled so fast over their smooth trails, and looking up the road, which crossed the trail of the thunderer very close to where Redcoat struggled, the distracted and fear crazed animal discovered his enemy Bud Holcome coming rapidly towards him. Bud saw Redcoat almost as soon as he saw the boy, and stopping his Ford sprang hastily out, and advanced toward the prisoner and Redcoat saw that he was carrying the thunder stick on his arm. So it was a conspiracy of all his enemies to destroy him. Bud had noted, almost as soon as he discovered the fox, that he was held fast in some way, otherwise he would have run away as fast as his legs could have carried him. Perhaps it was a trap which he had dragged for a distance and finally caught the chain between the ties. But even Bud, trained woodsman that he was, was not prepared for the terrible dilemma of this coveted red fox. When he discovered that the fox was held by his tongue in the desperate frost grip of the rail, his surprise was beyond words. But he also had heard the train coming. He must shoot the fox quickly and then get him off the track before the train tore the beautiful skin to ribbons. But, as he raised the rifle and took aim, Redcoat looked him full in the face. It seemed to Bud that the eyes of the fox and his own eyes met, and there was something so unspeakably pathetic and imploring in the cry for mercy which came from the two wide wild eyes. It was as though Redcoat had been praying to the god of the wild creatures to save him. But it was the warm kindly heart of Bud Holcome which heard, for he lowered the rifle quickly. Again the thunderer shrieked and this time it was only half a mile away. Whatever Bud did, must be done like lightning. Then in a flash the boy remembered his luncheon, for he was going to fish through the ice for pickerel and had taken his dinner. There was the thermos bottle of hot coffee with his lunch. Bud raced back to the automobile as he had never raced before. The lunch box troubled him for a moment, but he tore it frantically open and raced back with the bottle of boiling coffee. Again the train whistled; it was now barely an eighth of a mile away. Bud stooped down and gazed doubtfully at the train, and again Redcoat looked up at him imploringly. The cap came off but the cork stuck in the bottle. Bud worked at it desperately for a second or two, but the locomotive whistled frantically for him to get off the track and for down brakes. He could waste no more time, so with a quick movement he broke the nozzle of the bottle on the rail as close up to Redcoat's jaws as he could. The boiling coffee released the fox's tongue as suddenly as though Bud had released the jaws of a steel trap. The rails were now clicking beneath his feet, and the solid earth was shaking. Bud sprang backward with all his strength and rolled down the embankment on one side of the track, while Redcoat sprang to the other side, and with a roar of car wheels the thunderer rushed by. Another second and boy and fox would have shared the fate of the unfortunate doe. From his sprawling position in the ditch Bud looked up at the train as it thundered by. To his surprise he saw the engineer and the fireman leaning out of the window looking at him. Also, several of the passengers were looking from the windows. It had been a closer call than he had appreciated. As Bud picked himself up and looked about for Redcoat he discovered this maker of all his trouble standing about a hundred feet away looking at him. Bud thought that the fox wagged his tail, but he was not sure. The sight of the fox reminded Bud of his rifle. To shoot a fox when he was caught in the pitiable manner this one had been and when he was looking up into one's face was one thing, while to shoot him out in the open was another. So, Bud raised the rifle. But as soon as the cunning fox saw the thunder stick pointed at him he started for the distant woods in such a series of wild bounds that Bud knew it was almost useless to shoot at him; yet he sent a shot after him, but only succeeded in kicking up a shower of snow ten feet behind him.
If poor Redcoat was confused as he raced for the woods who will wonder. For this man creature had doubtless helped to entrap him, catching him in that cruel way by his tongue. He had then called the Great Thunderer to crush him, but had freed him just in time, only to try and kill him with the deadly thunder stick when he was free. What strange and terrible creatures men were!
"Well," said Bud as he clambered back into the Ford. "I guess this is my last try at Kitty Mason's Christmas present for this year. But I will get him in time for next Christmas or I'm mightily mistaken."