by Felix Salten
“Many thanks, Red.”
“You don’t call me robber or murderer anymore.”
“No, not anymore.”
“You are nice, Debina.”
“Never mind that, Red.”
Wishful drops dribbled from the fox’s jaws. “Your son is appetizing. He’d be a fine meal for me. But be calm, I’ll spare him.”
“I’m calm because you can’t do anything to him! Not even if you wanted to!”
“So you think. I’m very hungry, Debina.” The saliva fairly dripped from his fangs. “So far I have only mice in my stomach.”
“Go, Red! Fetch yourself five or six more mice.”
He burst out, “I’d attack anybody else. But not you or yours!”
“You’re right. I’d kill you without mercy.”
“Perhaps it would be an interesting struggle!” the fox said slyly.
“Be off now, Red, quickly.” Debina was breathing hard. “We have nothing more to say to each other. Farewell!”
Slinking off, he said over his shoulder, “Thank you for the greeting and farewell.” And as if removing himself from temptation, he loped away.
Little Tambo stood quaking. “That’s ‘danger’—isn’t it, mother?”
“Yes, my child, one of our many dangers. But grow big and strong and there’s hardly any danger you’ll ever need to fear.”
Putting aside all worry, Debina delighted in little Tambo, in his growing agility and queer clumsy grace, in the obedience he showed despite his lively temperament.
A few strong stags passed her and her son, who looked at these apparitions in wonder. While the high-crowned Kings nodded in friendly fashion to the little one, Debina felt a certain premonition.
Now King Tambo stepped along, overpowering with the size and splendor of his crown.
Debina halted, waiting, breathless. Would he address her? Would he greet his son? For a moment she hoped so and felt inclined to permit his advances as the beginning of new friendship—an enduring companionship.
The majestic figure came closer, very close.
Debina stepped into his path as if by accident, and stopped, pretending to be surprised. Tambo could not help but see her and the little one. Yet he did not give her a single glance! He looked neither at her nor at his son. Like a complete stranger he passed them by, regal, indifferent, unapproachable.
Debina felt cold and suddenly hostile. The magpie’s words spoke in her. Strutting coxcomb! . . .
“Come!” she bade the youngster, who was staring fascinated after Tambo. She would not say to her fawn, “That is your father.”
She had her son . . . at least she had her son. He was all that mattered now. He would not, must not, could not disappoint her. . . .
Chapter 27
DEEP DARKNESS PREVAILED. NO moon stood in the heavens and the stars were invisible behind the clouds. Yet the fox was still seeking prey.
Mad hunger plagued him. For he had made not a single catch; not a rabbit, not even a mouse. His hunger had grown to violent cramps which drove the unsuccessful robber to desperation.
A hare rose suddenly before him and fled. Filled with hatred the fox stared after him, but did not feel strong enough to catch up with the fugitive, or even to ambush him by a short cut.
Then a mouse came into his path, and he crushed it and swallowed it with lightning speed. Yet the tiny bite only made his pangs the sharper. Hoarse barking ripped from his throat.
“Am I so clumsy? Am I too dumb to satisfy my appetite? Or am I having extra bad luck? I missed the pheasants too.”
Longingly he looked up into the trees. He could see dark motionless clumps—pheasants asleep, each with his head tucked under a wing.
What a delicious feast, a pheasant like that! The fox’s mouth watered. “I wish I knew how to climb. Then I’d be full in a trice.”
Dreamily he dragged himself farther along. At last he sat on his haunches to rest, dull, tired, starving.
Up in a treetop, suddenly, he heard a short choking cluck and the panicky beating of wings. Electrified, the fox leaped to the tree. His every nerve vibrated with newly awakened strength; he was ready for battle. Just let whoever was killing that pheasant bring it down to the ground and he’d never enjoy his booty! The fox would see to that!
He felt so strong through his bitter need that he was sure he could conquer even the fiercest enemy. Yes, if he could kill this lucky pheasant-catcher, instead of just putting him to flight, he’d have a double meal! His fasting would be over for a long time!
The throttled squawks and the wild flapping in the tree had grown feeble. Feverishly the fox lurked about to see if the invisible robber would come down. It would be terrible if he were to do all his feasting up in the tree! But no, that was never done right on the scene, the fox knew. If only a few paces away, a quiet place must be found. At night, only the owl gobbled her food in the trees. And in the daytime, the hawk. However, the owl never attacked pheasants, and at night the hawk was sleeping. So this killer couldn’t be one of those.
Tense, ever more confident, more insane with greed and the desire to fight, the fox waited. It was no more than a few moments, but it seemed to him an eternity.
In the branches, a new rustling sounded. Slowly someone climbed down, very slowly, with the dead pheasant, a heavy load. Now the invisible robber stopped on a branch to rest.
Impatiently the fox panted with hanging tongue.
A thud! The pheasant fell to the ground.
Had it slipped from the stranger’s grasp or had he thrown it down? No matter! Like lightning the fox leaped to seize the fallen prey.
And as quickly Shah the Persian tomcat landed on the ground and rushed for his booty.
The fox snarled, baring his teeth. He had never seen the tomcat before, did not know his kind, and sized him up for a weakling. “He won’t fight,” he told himself, “and if he does, I’ll settle him in no time!”
Bravely, however, with angry hissing, the tomcat showed himself ready to attack. Against his natural enemy, here in the forest, the gentle pet of the barnyard became a thing of fury.
“Give me my prey!” he demanded fiercely. “Give me my property, you red ruffian!”
“Nothing here is your property,” rumbled the fox. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’ll show you who I am, you highjacker!” the tomcat yowled in rage.
“You don’t live in the forest!” yapped the fox. “You’ve got no right here!” He crouched to attack.
The tomcat hit at his eyes with quick sharp claws.
Caught by surprise, the fox jerked back just in time. The claws had cut him on the forehead, had almost cost him an eye. It wasn’t so simple as he thought to deal with this enemy!
The big teeth in the fox’s long jaw planted respect in Shah too.
Growling and snarling, they crouched opposite each other, both taking stock. It was the Persian again who reached the first conclusion.
He sprang on the fox’s back, and delivered a drumfire of blows against the red robber’s head and eyes. The fox threw himself backward, his eyelids tightly closed; he rid himself of the attacker and snapped at him wildly. He reached for Shah’s throat, grimly trying to bite it through. But the nimble tomcat knew how to avoid him and his fangs. Suddenly the fox caught the Persian’s ear. His teeth held tight, tearing. The tomcat gave a howl of pain and wrenched loose.
More than the tip of the ear stayed in the fox’s mouth. He swallowed it quickly, and tried to jump on the tomcat. But Shah slipped from under his paws.
The great gray owl floated soundlessly over the two embattled enemies and looked at them curiously. “What’s going on down there?” She lighted on a branch.
The fox shouted angrily, “This stranger here won’t leave me the pheasant he killed!”
“Stranger?” gurgled the owl. “This fellow’s no stranger to me.”
“You know him?”
“I know him very well. He’s not doing this out of hunger. He kills like his two-
legged masters—from sheer wantonness.”
“When I’m so hungry!” the fox yowled.
“Take care of your eyes!” the owl cried. “He’s just as evil as those two-legged traitors he lives with. They set a burning trap for me! He’s just as dangerous!”
“Do you live with Him?” the fox snapped.
“None of your business!” Shah spat back.
“See here,” the owl joined in, “after all, you don’t have to come up here to our place and play robber!”
“I do whatever I want!” the tomcat snarled.
The owl’s curved beak clacked. “Don’t be fresh or you’ll get something from me too—understand!” She floated down almost to the ground and glared at the Persian with huge fiery eyes.
The tomcat ducked back, frightened.
The owl told the fox, “This glutton lives an easy life with those two-legged fools. They love him. They give him sweet milk to drink. They feed him so full he can’t eat it all. He has a soft warm bedding place, and can do anything he wants. The two-legged idiots don’t know he still comes up here. You’re shameless!” she raged at the tomcat. “You’ll have a lot of trouble if you think you can do whatever you want here. Run back to Him before you’re sorry!”
“I want my property first!” snarled the tomcat.
“Nothing here is your property,” the owl mocked. “Your life belongs to you, nothing else. Take that and get out. Or else you’ll lose it as you lost your ear!”
The fox plunged to still his hunger on the pheasant. He tore at the flesh of the fat bird, swallowing greedily.
“Must I watch this calmly?” the tomcat yelled and sprang again on the fox’s back. Foaming, the fox turned his neck to get at the other’s throat. The Persian somersaulted, grabbed for the torn pheasant and would have fled.
But the owl, suddenly wanting a share of the loot, prevented him. Her wings beat around his head, her sharp claws stabbed at his throat and face like daggers.
Shah tried to defend himself, to fight and resist. But his paws hit empty air. Blinded by the owl’s wings, he dropped the pheasant.
“Grab!” the owl cried to the fox.
He misunderstood her on purpose and seized the pheasant.
“I mean grab the black thief!” the owl shrieked indignantly. “Grab him, choke him!”
The tomcat used this moment to jump free, for he was wounded and felt the nearness of death. Maddened by pain he ran wildly, as desperately as his feet would carry him, toward the valley. Behind him loped the fox. Above him floated the owl. To escape the owl he slipped into the thick underbrush.
The fox followed him, egged on by the owl and now hoping to fulfill his dream of killing and eating his enemy.
In the thicket, branches and thorns scraped Shah’s raw wounds. That slowed him down. He felt dull and sensed the fox catching up. He tried to reach the open stretch and, collecting his last strength, fled down the hill to the Lodge garden.
Closer above him floated the owl. She was still following him when he reached the garden fence. There the fox had to stop. Wearily, he sneaked back to his pheasant.
The tomcat kept running right to the stable. The owl swooped down in vicious farewell. “Don’t you ever dare show yourself in our forest again, you villain! Never again!” The Persian disappeared through the swinging door.
The owl flew back to the woods and found the fox enjoying the last of the pheasant. “Give me my share!” she said. “I helped you.”
“I didn’t need your help,” snapped the fox.
“Don’t be ungrateful, Red,” the great owl warned. “We chased that rascal away together. He’ll never come here again.” She snatched and swallowed a piece of meat covered with feathers.
The fox growled, “If you hadn’t chased him away, I’d have killed him myself and would have still more to eat. So, as a matter of fact, you helped him !”
“No boasting, Red,” the owl’s beak clacked. “I’ve eaten only a little anyway, and you’re full.”
The fox had to admit that. He was no longer hungry and felt more good-natured.
The owl floated away. They were both satisfied, yet they did not exchange words of parting.
Chapter 28
WHEN THE TOMCAT BURST into the barn, Raggo the donkey was awake. “For land’s sake, little one, what happened to you?” He loved to pass on to the tomcat the manner of the others toward himself.
The exhausted Persian was in a bad mood. “Shut up!”
“I’m sorry for you, little one. You’re bleeding.”
“Well, what of it? What do you care?”
“It’s none of my business, of course, little one,” retorted the donkey, “but I’m still sorry for you.”
“Shut up, I said!” the tomcat snarled.
“And one of your ears is missing, you poor thing.”
“Ear? Oh, yes, my ear. I bit it off myself. It annoyed me . . .”
“Bit it off yourself?” the donkey marveled. “I couldn’t do that, and my ears are much longer.”
“Yes, you have nice ears,” the tomcat said hastily, ashamed of his stupid explanation.
“How’d you get those cuts on your neck and over your eyes? They’re bleeding badly. All that from the owl?”
“What do you mean—from the owl? What do you know about the owl?” Shah paused in his smoothing of his ruffled fur.
“Well, I heard her scold you and forbid you the forest.”
“Oh! . . . Well, don’t tell the others about it,” the tomcat begged.
“The new Little Gray isn’t the only one who knows,” mooed Lisa unexpectedly. “The owl was loud enough.”
The startled Persian limped over to her. “You heard too?”
“I certainly did,” the cow rumbled. “And now that you’re here—come on, be honest—who took your ear?”
Sullenly the tomcat’s nose sank and he admitted: “The fox.”
Raggo said, “I knew you couldn’t have done it yourself!”
“Does it hurt very much?” Lisa asked.
“Not so much now.”
Filled with curiosity, the donkey inquired, “It must have felt horrible to have it bitten off, didn’t it?”
Shah just nodded.
Raggo wanted to know more. “Of course you ran away at once?”
The Persian’s battle-scarred head jerked up. “No! That shows how little you know me.”
Witch awoke. “What are you all talking about?”
Before she could get an answer, Devil stood beside her. “Look how this free and independent friend of ours is bleeding! His whole ear’s gone!”
“Only half,” contradicted the Persian.
“The whole thing!” the stallion reaffirmed. “You can’t see it.”
“But I can feel it!” said the tomcat, much irritated.
The stallion maintained his opinion. “Seeing is what counts.”
“You think you know everything.” The tomcat spat.
“And no one doubts that I do!”
“I doubt it.” Shah resumed smoothing and cleaning his ruffled fur. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re witless. I can see right through you.”
“Not with those clawed-up eyes you can’t,” snorted the stallion.
Raggo declared, “It looks to me as if the owl and the fox had got the best of you.”
“And serves you right!” the stallion muttered with satisfaction. “Why did you run up to the forest secretly? Why do you kill hares and pheasants? Does He let you go hungry?”
“Let him alone, Fiery One,” Lisa begged softly. “He must be suffering great pain.”
“Serves him right!” the stallion repeated stubbornly. “Playing robber will be beaten out of him yet! One day he’ll be minus his other ear, and then they’ll kill him. Good riddance if this murderer dies!” The stallion tossed his head.
The Persian cried out, “Murderer yourself! Cowardly murderer! Grass-eating murderer!”
In a flash they all turned on the tomcat.
�
�You’re shameless!” Witch raged.
Lisa mooed indignantly. “You wanton meat-gobbler, you know very well the Fiery One didn’t want to kill his friend!”
The calf spoke up with his favorite line: “It was an unhappy accident.”
The donkey had little idea what was meant. He made mental guesses which evoked dreadful images in his mind. For some time now he had suspected that Manni had been beaten to death by the stallion. That made him afraid of Devil and toned down his sauciness. He had grown more modest, more agreeable, at times even humble. And so a friendly harmony had prevailed in the stable.
Subdued by his unpopularity today, the tomcat fled to the feed box, where he sat defiantly with his back to the wall.
The donkey felt sorry for him, and began to excuse and even praise him. “You’ve got to admit he’s spunky. He’s still got spirit, in spite of his pain. He’s really sick and badly wounded.”
“Well, we’re not doing anything to him,” Lisa mooed good-naturedly.
“None of us would think of hurting him,” Witch declared.
The stallion said grudgingly, “I forgive the plucky little fellow.”
“He did fight bravely against the owl and the fox, didn’t he?” Raggo insisted.
“Oh yes, very bravely,” Lisa agreed.
“The owl? Did he fight the owl too?” Witch was amazed.
The donkey recounted what he had heard when Shah had come running in.
“And I heard it, too,” the cow bore witness.
“Fine!” the stallion exclaimed. “Good for the owl!”
“Good for her?” demanded the tomcat. “For her deceitful, brutal attack? For the wounds she gave me?”
“No, not for that,” said the stallion. “But for telling you to keep out of the forest.”
“I’ll go again just the same, in spite of her!”
The stallion flew into a fit of his old anger. “You will not!”
“I will! I must revenge myself on the fox,” the tomcat said.
“Yes, just think of it!” The donkey took Shah’s part again. “He didn’t flee after the fox bit off his ear. Instead—” He turned to the tomcat. “What did you do?”
“I attacked the red thief!” The Persian glowed with pride.