Unknown to Vickey, she had come upon the object of a bizarre game often played by the owl and two other occupants of this farmyard. The man and woman who lived there had no children, and the light of their lives was a long-haired, black and tan tom-cat and a small brown and white terrier. They lavished on them all the care and attention they would have lavished on children, if they had had any. They fed them choice pieces of meat, and encouraged them to sleep in wicker baskets in the warm kitchen. As a result, the cat had grown to an enormous size and the terrier had become round and fat. Because they got all the food they wanted in the house, they didn’t have to hunt, but they did. In fact, hunting was their favourite game. It occupied most of their days, and they had become very good at it. They were renowned in the district for the fact that they could better that fearless little hunter, the stoat, although no one knew how. They also hunted small birds and mice, and whether the hapless victim they brought back to the farmyard was a dead stoat or a half-dead bird, they would spend hours playing with it. It was a game the old hen owl always watched, for when the other two finally tired of it she would swoop on their victim and carry it off. Thus she objected to Vickey’s interference, and when she landed on the rafter she screeched a warning to her two friends.
Black Tip and Skulking Dog, who had come as close to the farmyard as they dared, had seen the owl attacking Vickey, but were powerless to do anything. They also saw the great shaggy tom-cat and the terrier dashing out of the house and chasing her. However, it was only a short chase. These two were well aware that a fox could easily out-run them. Moreover, as the owl knew from experience, they still hadn’t finished with the stoat, and now that something else had shown an interest in it, they felt like resuming their game.
Relieved that Vickey had got away, Black Tip and Skulking Dog watched the cat and dog returning to the body of the stoat. Round and round it the little terrier hopped, barking loudly as if he expected it to spring at him, until suddenly the cat leapt in and seized it by the throat. A few shakes, and it was the terrier’s turn again. All the time, the owl watched and waited. Her turn would come later.
Leaving the stoat hunters to their grisly game, Black Tip and Skulking Dog joined Vickey and took her back to the safety of the earth up in the plantation. None of them rebuked her for what she had done, and she offered no explanation for her strange behaviour. There was no need. They all knew the reason. The cubbing mood was coming upon her, and she was not really to blame. They also realised it was more important than ever now that they should move on to Beech Paw, a point Old Sage Brush was quick to make when Vickey had gone below ground.
‘Do you think the stoat hunters will come looking for us?’ asked Hop-along.
‘They might,’ said the old fox. ‘Or they might just come across us when they’re after stoats. Either way, it’s an added danger.’
‘We have nothing to fear from a cat,’ said Fang.
‘But the cat is very big and hunts with a fun dog,’ Skulking Dog reminded him. ‘They could be a danger to some of us.’
‘And the small fun dogs are the worst,’ Sinnéad pointed out. ‘They can follow us into the earth.’
‘Sinnéad’s right,’ announced Old Sage Brush. ‘We can’t run the risk of being trapped. We’ll have to make a move. But how are we going to get past the fun dogs?’
If the old fox was expecting some of them to come up with the answer, he didn’t get it, so he suggested that they apply their minds to it as a matter of urgency, and despatched Fang and Hop-along to get more food. Black Tip could keep an eye on Vickey, and Skulking Dog would give them the extra protection they might now need.
Always conscious of the rather distinctive tracks he left and his inability to run very fast, Hop-along was quick to notice that he and Fang didn’t leave any track on the thick carpet of needles that covered the ground beneath the trees. This he found very comforting, and told Fang so. They paused to examine the cones that were scattered everywhere. Fang held one of the longer spruce cones between his front paws and gnawed it with his long teeth, while Hop-along tried to crack one of the smaller larch cones. They were dry and brittle, and both soon came to the conclusion that there was no food in them.
Even though they had gone in the opposite direction from where Black Tip and Skulking Dog had hunted, they found little sign of wild-life in the plantation, so they too decided to extend their search to the open fields. There their efforts were rewarded with the capture of a cock pheasant.
As they trotted back up along the dry bank towards the earth, they came across another badger set. Hop-along was carrying the pheasant, and Fang decided to see if the set had been abandoned by badgers and perhaps occupied by rabbits. Hop-along dropped the pheasant and waited. Suddenly there were grunts and squeals from somewhere in the set, and a few moments later he was startled to see Fang sailing through the air and landing at his feet. The set was occupied all right, but by badgers which neither liked the smell nor the living habits of foxes. They weren’t going to share their home with any fox, be it Fang or anyone else.
With only his pride injured, Fang gathered himself up and departed from the scene as quickly as possible. Realising what had happened, Hop-along picked up the pheasant and followed him.
When they arrived back at the earth, they were concerned to hear that Vickey had somehow managed to slip away again. This time she appeared to have gone in the direction of Beech Paw, and Black Tip had gone after her. Knowing the great danger both of them faced, Old Sage Brush sent Fang to help them.
The urge to get home to Beech Paw for her cubbing time had driven Vickey to the point of desperation. Throwing caution to the wind, she had followed her instinct blindly. It is doubtful if she even considered that she or her unborn cubs might be in danger. All she knew was that she must get back, and somehow nothing else seemed to matter.
Foxes give off a much stronger scent as they approach cubbing time, and Black Tip had no difficulty following her. It was obvious where she was heading, and why. Normally, he knew, she would be preparing a nursery for her cubs at this time, and as he raced through the trees after her, he now realised that they had let her down by not getting her back to Beech Paw as promised. He just hoped he would find her before the fun dogs.
Coming to the edge of the evergreens, Black Tip heard a great commotion, and fearing he was too late, cautiously approached the place where the noise was coming from. It was a curious mixture of sound that puzzled him, He recognised the barking of a fox and a small dog, and thought of the ones that ran with the Alsatian. But there were other noises which he didn’t recognise, and which didn’t fit his fears.
Creeping towards a clearing in the trees, it all soon became clear to him. There, on a humpy piece of ground that was riddled with rabbit holes, were the stoat hunters. The great shaggy tom-cat was hissing and pawing savagely at one particular hole, and the terrier was running around, sticking his dead down other holes and scratching and barking madly. It soon became apparent to Black Tip that this time their quarry wasn’t a stoat. Now and then, he could see the face of a fox, soiled and bloody, eyes wide and terrified, snapping at its tormentors, while in the trees above, the barn owl shuffled and screamed as she watched another game.
Somehow, Black Tip knew, they had cornered Vickey. She had taken refuge in the largest burrow, and he wondered why they didn’t go into some of the smaller burrows and flush her out. Either they were too fat, he thought, or they just wanted to tease and torment her. In any event, they had her cornered, and he wondered how he could get her out. Perhaps if he ran close by they would follow him. He found himself doing so even as he was thinking about it, but it was no use. The dog and cat hesitated barely a moment to look at him before continuing with their deadly game of cat and mouse with Vickey.
So worried was Black Tip with Vickey’s plight, he could hardly think. He knew from what he had seen down in the farmyard that the cat and the little fun dog were experts at this game. Few animals could catch a stoat and most preferr
ed not to risk an encounter with one if it could be avoided. These two, however, seemed to enjoy it, and now they had cornered the fox who had dared deprive them of their fun. The fox would do until another stoat came along, and Black Tip knew there was no chance of that, unless … He thought of the little stoat he had seen farther down the plantation while out hunting with Skulking Dog, and wondered if he might somehow be able to use it.
Not quite knowing what he was going to do, Black Tip turned and ran as fast as he could back into the evergreens. A jumble of thoughts flashed through his mind as he streaked through the trees. Where would he find the stoat? And what could he do with it if he did find it? Could he kill it and take it back to the cat and the dog? He had never killed a stoat before, although he had heard of some foxes that could do it. He had always been told they were ferocious fighters for all their size and were not to be tangled with. But what else could he do? He pressed on.
The bank where the stoat had been hunting for rabbits was now deserted. Quickly Black Tip searched the field on the other side of it. No sign of it there either. He scouted around under the trees, and near a pile of logs discovered the stoat face to face with a rat. There was a blur of sinuous bodies, and the rat lay dead, bitten in the back of the neck. Sensing it was being watched, the stoat stood up on his hind legs and looked around, only to duck from the ghostly white shape of the barn owl that had followed Black Tip and silently swooped down over a familiar enemy.
The stoat was annoyed. It didn’t like being watched, and it knew the owl would seize the rat if she could. The owl had now perched on a nearby branch, and the stoat made as if to pursue her, but quickly returned to the rat and placed its forepaws on it. The owl screeched and swooped again. The stoat leaped towards her, but missed and received a sharp clout on its head for its trouble. Now it really was angry, and as the owl landed on the branch of another tree, it streaked up the trunk with the speed of a squirrel, determined to get her.
Black Tip knew that the stoat still hadn’t seen him, and in that instant he saw his chance. He raced forward, picked up the rat, and made off as fast as he could go. Glancing back, he could see the stoat bounding after him in hot pursuit. It wasn’t going to let him get away with it this time.
Approaching the rabbit warren, Black Tip could tell by the barking and hissing that Vickey was still trapped. He saw the owl gliding ahead of him and perching on a branch at the edge of the plantation. The stoat, he knew, wasn’t far behind. He paused. He didn’t want the owl to get to the rat first. At the last moment, he dropped it and ran. The stoat was on it in an instant. The owl uttered a harsh scream, and the cat and the terrier stopped what they were doing and looked over. Seeing the stoat, they immediately raced towards it.
It was at that moment that Black Tip found Fang beside him, and together they rushed in to get Vickey out. Smeared with blood and stricken with terror, she was a pitiful sight, but the instinct of survival gave her the strength to run. Black Tip and Fang took off after her, and as Black Tip looked back, he could see the cat and the terrier engaging in their favourite game. The terrier was hopping around the stoat like a mongoose around a snake, barking and snapping, while the tom-cat crouched, ready to spring, and the owl watched and waited.
Even in her terror, Vickey had run away from the evergreens in the general direction of Beech Paw, and the two dog foxes knew better than to try and reason with her. At least, they thought, they might be able to keep her out of trouble and help her find a safe place to rest. Suddenly, however, they found themselves being mobbed by a number of rooks. They were trotting along under a row of beech trees that had once sheltered the lonely homestead of a sheep farmer. Perhaps the rooks had memories of foxes or stoats preying on young squabs that fell from their nests. Or perhaps they knew something was wrong. Creatures of the wild are quick to sense when other creatures are in trouble.
Whatever the reason, the rooks continued to mob them until they were well away from the trees. Black Tip thought of how he and Skulking Dog had caught one of the magpies when they were out hunting, and wondered if he might do the same now. The rooks, however, wheeled well out of range.
In a rocky depression some distance away, other eyes looked up at the rooks and wondered what they had found so interesting. The fun dogs had been resting after a sheep-hunting escapade, and sensing from the action of the crows that a stranger had strayed into their territory, they rose to investigate.
The first the foxes knew the fun dogs were searching for them, was when a snipe rose with a shriek from a marshy patch of hillside and spiralled into the sky. Looking back they immediately recognised their old enemies, the Alsatian and the three smaller dogs. They were fairly close, and whatever about Black Tip and Fang, it was obvious there was no way Vicky could outrun them.
‘There’s only one thing for it,’ Black Tip told Fang. ‘I’ll draw them off. You look after Vickey.’
Fang shook his head. ‘Your place is with Vickey. I’ll go.’
‘But your leg,’ Black Tip protested.
‘It’s as good as new,’ Fang assured him.
The two dog foxes looked at each other. They had become very firm friends since that day they had fought for the favours of Vickey back at Beech Paw. It was strange how jealousy had turned to resentment, resentment to admiration, and admiration to friendship.
‘There’s no other way,’ added Fang.
Black Tip nodded. ‘I wish I could go with you.’
‘So do I, but Vickey needs you.’
‘You must take great care,’ warned Black Tip. ‘You’ll be up against greater odds than you’ve ever faced before.’
Fang laughed. ‘They’ll have to have their wits about them if they want to catch me.’
Black Tip knew Fang was trying to make light of the danger. Then a familiar bark of excitement told them the fun dogs had picked up their scent.
‘I’ll be off then,’ said Fang.
‘Take care,’ cautioned Black Tip. ‘And don’t forget, run with the wind.’
A short distance away, Fang stopped and looked back. He saw Black Tip leading Vickey to the shelter of some rocks. The fun dogs hadn’t seen them, but their barking was getting louder now. Fang knew he must show himself, otherwise the scent would lead them to Black Tip and Vickey. He made his way across a stony slope. Small stones began to roll down the hill, taking others with them in a noisy stream of rubble. The fun dogs looked up. They saw him. They squealed with excitement and bounded after him. Pausing only long enough to make sure they didn’t abandon him and return to the stronger scent of Black Tip and Vickey he turned and sped in the general direction of Beech Paw.
Man wasn’t to be seen much in this hill country, and Fang was glad. It was bleak and sparse, but it enabled him to move fast. It was so long since he had been on his own, he was reminded of the days before Beech Paw when he had hunted by himself. Those were good days, he thought, but so were the days with Old Sage Brush and the others. He had enjoyed those too. The adventures had been good, and he had learned a lot. Now they were depending on him. He must not let them down.
The fun dogs were barking loudly as they launched themselves into the chase. How, Fang wondered, was he going to out-run them? What if the old fox was right and he couldn’t? If they killed him, they would surely get the others. Yet he did have the advantage of being on his own. On the way from Beech Paw, they had been delayed by Old Sage Brush and Hop-along, and there was no way they could have out-run the fun dogs. Black Tip’s unfortunate tussle with the choking hedge-trap hadn’t helped either. Dogs with a taste for blood could read the signs of a tussle like that. It was just as well they hadn’t seen Vickey. They’d have sensed she was in trouble, and that would have been the end for her. He had never said it to Black Tip but he still had a great liking for her, and still wished he could have had her for his mate.
The barking of the fun dogs brought him back to reality with a jolt. They were gaining on him. Black Tip’s parting words ran through his mind. ‘Take care,’ Bl
ack Tip had said, ‘and run with the wind.’ It was the same advice Old Sage Brush had given them when they had set out from Beech Paw. The problem was that unless the wind changed direction, he must run into it to make sure the fun dogs followed him. On the other hand, he couldn’t risk letting them get too close to him, so he circled with the wind to slow them down and give himself time to think. He wished Black Tip was with him. What would he do if he was in this situation? He’d do what Old Sage Brush had taught him to do — use his cunning where courage wasn’t enough.
Thinking of Black Tip made Fang wonder if the choking hedge-trap had been re-set. Surely it would, since it would have been obvious that a fox had been caught in it. This gave him an idea. He would now use the wind to even greater advantage.
Turning into the wind again. He headed for the area where Black Tip had been caught in the choking hedge-trap. He could hear from the barking that the fun dogs had picked up his scent again and were gaining on him. That was what he wanted. A short time later he found the field and then the hedge where he had struggled to free Black Tip. Just as he had anticipated, the choking hedge-trap was back in position. He paused and looked behind him. He could hear the fun dogs crashing through the gorse at the top of the field. Then they burst out into the open, and on seeing him began barking with greater excitement than ever. Quickly he hopped over the hedge-trap and disappeared from their view.
Unaware that they were running into a trap, the dogs careered down the field and into the gap in the hedge. A loud yelping told Fang his plan had worked. Looking back, he saw the Alsatian struggling to free itself. However, he could also see that because of the dog’s height, it wasn’t its head but its forelegs that had been caught. This meant it would soon free itself and come after him again, but at least he had earned himself a breathing space. He chuckled. Old Sage Brush would have liked that one.
Run with the Wind Page 13