Vulpes, the Red Fox (American Woodland Tales) Read online

  The long-spaced yelps of the Red Bone rolled through the thickets. Buck waited until the yelps shortened and became more feverish. This was a fresher trail. He bent down and slipped the leash over Joe’s head.

  “Go help him, Joe,” he said. The Blue Tick hound darted down the road. He cut into the woods above the stream and disappeared in the matted blackberry and honeysuckle thickets.

  Presently Buck heard Joe’s voice as he joined Brownie on the hunt. Buck started down the road that circled around the foot of the hills. He was heading for a ravine where he knew the foxes often crossed. Buck had spent many years in the woods along the Potomac and had studied the trails the foxes traveled. Some days he would go out with his hounds just to watch the race. The next day he would return with his gun. He would take his station along the fox avenues and wait for them to retrace the route of the day before. In this way he had got many foxes.

  As he rounded a bend in the road he met the hounds coming out of the bottoms and heading up the hill. He judged the situation. The fox must be over near his farm. Probably on that hill above the chickenhouse.

  Over on the hill, Vulpes knew the hounds were on his trail. He thought of his den far down the river and dropped lightly from the stump and trotted off through the woods.

  At the top of the hill he paused. His black ears stood erect on his head as he sniffed the air. The wind was blowing up from the bottomlands and he caught the scent of the hounds and the hunter. For a moment he was frightened. His muscles grew tight and tense as he wondered what to do. Then he bolted down the side of the hill and slipped into the thickets along a stream bed.

  This was Vulpes’ first hunt. These deep-throated hounds, loose from their kennels and close on his trail, made him uneasy. What did their baying mean? Why did they hunt with such resounding noise? When he went out to hunt he went quietly. Nothing, not even Bubo, could hear him move as he stalked his prey. Procyon, the raccoon, moved silently when he searched the water’s edge for food. And Vison, the mink, made no sound as he hunted.

  But these hounds were betraying their position with their excited baying. Vulpes knew just where they were. He did not understand such antics.

  He sped up the stream bed and crossed another hill. If their baying was a challenge, he would meet it. He knew his own speed. He knew his own cunning. He knew his own endurance. He was certain he could more than hold his own with anything in the woods.

  Vulpes was far down the river when he stopped again. He listened. The baying of the hounds sounded faint in the distance. Now he was sure he was far swifter than the dogs, and grew even more confident of his abilities.

  He felt his first thrill of the chase. He thought he could lose the hounds any time he wished. So he decided to circle back along the bottoms and encourage the hunt for awhile.

  The young fox loped off the hill. He was in no hurry. He would let the dogs gain. Then he would lose them again in the lowlands. He crossed through the woods and skirted the edge of the canal.

  He could hear the baying of the hounds grow louder as they closed in upon him. He glanced up the ridge. Through the bare trees he could see them coming. They carried their heads high as they raced along the fresh track.

  When Vulpes reached the swamp he turned to follow a ravine. He stopped. There in the brushy valley was Buck Queen. Quickly he sensed the meaning of the baying hounds. They were bringing him to the hunter. Vulpes remembered the men along the river with their guns. In an instant he turned and flashed through the thickets, over the road and straight up the side of a steep hill.

  His frightened burst of speed carried him far through the woods. So fast did he run that the hounds were soon well behind him. No longer could he hear them since their voices did not carry out of the valleys. He slowed down. Then, as he topped the summit of a hill, he heard the dogs again. They were following him relentlessly. No distance seemed to discourage them. Though it was easy to put miles between himself and the dogs, they still stuck to his trail with determination. As the hours wore on to noon he wondered if he would ever lose them. Vulpes was worried.

  The baying of the hounds had aroused the woods. Vulpes saw a gray fox moving swiftly away from the chase. He skirted the area where one of his brothers had spent the night hunting. His brother was now moving overland to safety.

  Though he sped from the hounds, there were other dangers in the woods that even Vulpes did not sense. Beneath a light scattering of earth and leaves, steel traps were planted. Trappers had placed them well. They knew the runways of the fox and at intervals along them they had made their sets. They were baited with food and scents that attracted the fox.

  Vulpes’ brother moved far ahead of the hunt. On a distant hill he stopped and rested on a rock. He felt at ease. No longer could he hear the baying of the hounds. He stretched out in the autumn sun and licked his fur until it was free and fluffy. Overhead a gray squirrel scolded him. He glanced at the squirrel, got up and trotted to the edge of the woods.

  Near-by a trap was set. He caught the scent of its lure. He moved closer. He could smell the rabbit used as bait. Vulpes’ brother approached the food. There was a sharp bite of steel on steel. The jaws of the trap closed painfully on his foot, yet the fox did not utter a sound. He carried his hurt silently after the manner of a fox.

  Meanwhile Vulpes had been relieved of the chase. When he had seen Buck Queen he had raced across the hills with one idea in mind: to put as much space between himself and the hounds and the hunter as he possibly could. He streaked through the woods like an arrow, moving swiftly and evenly over the hills, down the valleys and out of the area.

  As he ran, widening the distance, the hounds slowed down. His trail was becoming fainter and fainter and they were having difficulty finding it in places.

  Just about this time Urocyon, the gray fox, who had been aroused by the chase, crossed the hill in the path of the hounds. He was heading for the bottoms. When the hounds came to the spot where Urocyon had crossed Vulpes’ trail, they picked up the newer, fresher scent of the gray fox and turned to follow him.

  Buck Queen saw the switch from Vulpes to Urocyon. The fox hunter had hurried up the brushy valley with the long swinging strides of the woodsman. From the head of the ravine he had followed the chase by the baying of the hounds. Then he took his post along the side of the trail on the crest of the hill. His quiet erect figure and the mellowed tones of his garments blended smoothly into the woodland scene. He was as much a part of it as the lichen-covered oak behind him. He seemed to stand motionless, yet an easy motion moved his head from side to side. His glance swept across the floor of the open woodland and up and down the trail. It centered for an instant on each flurry of movement he discovered. He saw Urocyon silently thread his way through the trees. The gray fox stopped at the trail and studied the scene about him much as the woodsman had done.

  He looked at the now motionless hunter but found nothing to alarm him. Had Buck Queen moved a hand, the fox would have darted for cover. Upwind, there was no telltale scent to reveal the man’s presence to the fox. Urocyon moved on into the glade. Then the old hunter saw his laboring Red Bone come baying through the woods and turn to follow the fresh trail of Urocyon. His heart warmed as he heard the tired hound break into full cry on the hot scent.

  Vulpes sensed the change in the chase. He eased his pace that had sped him far across the hills. He picked up his brother’s trail and followed it leisurely. The exhilaration of the hunt slowly waned, leaving him weary and hungry.

  He reached the point where his brother had paused to rest. He was about to curl up on a stump for a nap when the rattle of a chain sent him silently to cover. Then he caught the scent of his brother. He moved forward cautiously. His keen senses were alert. As he reached the edge of the woods he saw his brother in the trap. Nervously he edged closer. His brother clawed the leaves in a frantic effort to free himself. Then Vulpes caught the scent of the trappers coming across the field that bordered the woods. He bolted to cover. A short distance away he
met his father. The old fox had come to help his son as he had so many times in the past. But the chain was strong and there was nothing he could do. With the approach of the trappers they knew they must flee.

  They dashed away together and did not stop until they reached an open spot on the crest of a hill far away. Vulpes looked at his father. He felt the sadness that gripped his heart. He knew there were things his father could not do.

  The old fox glanced at his son. Vulpes had outgrown his protection. He was no longer an unschooled pup. He had proved himself on the hunt. He stood quietly before him with the assurance of the experienced fox.

  Then the old fox turned and glided into the woods. Soon he disappeared in the growing dusk. Vulpes stood fast, realizing he would never see his father again. The gathering darkness enveloped him. He was alone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  VULPES BEGAN HIS bachelor winter. The first snows found him well prepared for his rigorous outdoor life. His deep bushy fur with its dense undercoat was as warm and fine as any that could be found in the woodland. As he moved across the winter scene few animals could match the splendor of the colorful picture he made. His fur had taken on the rich lustrous beauty of the blended burnt orange, tawny yellows, ebony black and creamy whites of the mature fox. The golds and red browns of his thick bushy tail were flecked with black. The tip of his tail was white.

  He was a magnificent fox. Large for his kind, he was almost three and a half feet long, and weighed over thirteen pounds.

  Beneath his fluffy coat the trim lines of his body lay hidden. His deep chest, narrow waist and bulging thighs were mellowed by the softer contours of his long fur. These hidden lines gave Vulpes the speed and endurance of the fox. His muscles were steeled by his active life, and he covered the woods with a swift, tireless trot.

  Vulpes had moved to Muddy Branch. In his evening travels he would frequently sit above the Queen farm, and there on the lonely hill, he would challenge the dogs with his eery squall. The dogs would answer and strain eagerly upon their leashes.

  Above the howls of the many dogs, Vulpes would hear Brownie, the Red Bone. And Brownie knew it was Vulpes, the swift-footed red fox that was taunting him. He was anxious to break away and begin the chase.

  Now that it was winter, the foxes were scattered and the hunts were going on in earnest. Every few days Vulpes could hear the “hymn” of the hounds as they bayed through the woods in pursuit of one of his kind. On these occasions Vulpes would sit alert, listening to see if Brownie or Joe were on his trail. If several days passed without a challenge, Vulpes would go down to the farm and call to Brownie. Brownie would answer the wild call.

  The Red Bone was Vulpes’ only friend. The other animals of the woods feared him. The crows screamed when he passed through the fields; the rabbits darted for cover when he came near. Clever and cunning, he lived by his wits and speed, and he lived alone. So it was that the fox was drawn to the one animal that would challenge him and meet him on his own terms.

  Brownie was in his prime. He was five years old and was built sturdily in comparison with the slim sleek form of the fox. The hound had been hardened by many hunts. His short hair was reddish brown except for his white belly and black back, and like Vulpes, he had black feet. He had sad brown eyes.

  One day when Buck Queen was out hunting with his hounds, Vulpes awoke from a nap to hear Brownie coming down through the hills to Muddy Branch. He wondered if Brownie had found his trail as he waited for him to come nearer. While he waited he saw Urocyon, the gray fox, slip through the trees. Urocyon was smaller and not as swift as Vulpes, but his gray fur blended well with the winter landscape. This made it difficult for the hunters to see him. Vulpes knew that Brownie and Joe had found Urocyon’s trail and were after him.

  He stood still and watched. The gray fox ran up the side of an uprooted tree and, easily as a cat, came down a big limb to the ground again. He stole off along the edge of the stream and slipped back through the woods behind the dogs.

  When Brownie and Joe reached the fallen elm, they lost the trail. In this way Urocyon slowed down the hounds. But Brownie had played this game before. He was not to be deluded so easily. He swung in a circle from the spot where the gray fox had climbed the tree. Joe crossed the creek and with his nose close to the ground, swiftly covered another area. Brownie continued his circle until he hit the creek. Here he picked up the scent and was off through the woods faster than before.

  Vulpes was anxious to watch the chase and if possible to join it. He skirted the edge of the hill and followed the baying hounds. Presently he saw the fury of the hunt again. The hounds were not far behind the gray fox. He changed his course and sped into a thicket of greenbrier and tangled honeysuckle. The thicket checked the hounds. Slowly they fought their way through the dense brambles. Meanwhile, Urocyon was through the tangle and zig-zagging through the forest.

  Held back by the trap only a few minutes, the hounds burst into a run again and took out after the fox.

  Urocyon was beginning to tire. He did not have the endurance of Vulpes. After the race went on to its second hour, he could feel his breath coming in short snaps. Even the slipping leaves under his feet were enemies. The gray fox made a last spurt of energy and leapt into a tree that leaned heavily over a creek. He scuttled up the dark bark. In the first crotch he rested as Joe and Brownie rushed the tree. The dogs leapt at him. They jumped high into the air and clawed the bark in a furious attempt to reach him. Urocyon moved on up. He edged out on a slender limb and looked down at the hounds, panting and wild-eyed.

  By the change in the hounds’ voices Buck knew they had treed a fox. He knew it was a gray fox for Vulpes and his kin rarely climbed trees. They would stick to the trails and open fields and outrun the dogs. Buck Queen left the road and started up the hill to find the fox.

  Vulpes saw the hunter coming. He jumped from a rock hidden in a laurel patch and bounded up the creek. Brownie turned on Vulpes. Like a flash the two darted off through the woods, up the ravine across the creek, over the hill and out to the fields.

  Joe paused, glanced at the tired Urocyon, and left for the more vigorous sport—Vulpes.

  Joe had hardly left before Urocyon leapt from his perch to the earth. Buck Queen raised his shotgun. The fox was gone. He had glided through the laurel thickets and denned in the rocks. Buck followed him but the game was over. Neither Buck nor his dogs went after a fox in his den.

  Far away he could hear Vulpes and the hounds. Vulpes was fresh. No telling how long this would last. He looked up at the sky. It was growing dark and the clouds were heavy. It would probably snow before morning. The old hunter slung his gun through his arm and quietly headed back for the road. He followed it home, prepared some food for Brownie and Joe, set it out and went to bed.

  After Vulpes had run for three or four hours and the Maryland countryside was turning dark, he decided to lose the hounds. He remembered the tricks of Urocyon, and ran down to a broad shallow stream about a half mile from the Queen farm. When he had put about three-quarters of a mile between himself and the dogs, Vulpes stepped into the creek and ran through it, following the shallow patches. His trail was lost in the water. Farther up, he stepped out and trotted up to the road. This he followed past Buck Queen’s house. For a moment he hesitated, listening. Brownie and Joe had just reached the creek. Their confused voices told the fox they were bewildered and would be some time trying to find his scent in the cold, icy glade. Vulpes turned off the road and went into Buck Queen’s yard. Silently he raced across to the apple tree and picked up a frozen fruit. He crossed the yard, slipped under the fence and leisurely climbed the hill with the prize in his mouth. When he reached his favorite resting place in a laurel thicket, he dropped the fruit. It was too old to eat.

  It was snowing now. Vulpes curled up on the rock and wrapped his brushy tail around his feet to keep them warm. Meanwhile, below him, Brownie was coming home through the stillness of the snowy night. The hound was tired as he reached the gate and turned int
o his yard. Somehow he sensed that Vulpes was near, although the falling snow had covered all the trails. He stood still and looked toward the hill. Then he lifted his head and howled into the night.

  Vulpes did not answer. He had had enough of a chase for this day. The Red Bone trotted up on the porch and barked. Buck got up and opened the door to welcome his tired hound. He gave him his plate of food, patted him on the head and when he had eaten, took him to his kennel. Brownie fell asleep with his nose out the door. He would find Vulpes in the morning when his tracks would be sharp in the fallen snow.

  In a few hours Vulpes awoke and shook the light blanket of snow off his orange-red fur. He stood up and looked into the white woods. Nothing was stirring. The chase had whetted his appetite and he was feeling vigorous and full of life after the short nap.

  He liked the snow. It outlined the hills with soft white lines. The trees stood black and delicate against them. The trails were buried and the road lay smooth and clean. Vulpes started off to Muddy Branch where the night hunting was excellent.

  As he walked across the snow to find the trail that led to his hunting grounds, Vulpes heard the call of Bubo, the great horned owl. He no longer feared the fierce bird, but he never forgot how the owl had killed his brother. Bubo knew that he was no match for the sly, red fox, and many times was sorry that he ever had bothered the two young brothers, for Vulpes had made him pay for his crime many times over. Vulpes always teased the old owl, by snatching his food away from him when he caught a rabbit or other game too big to carry off, or he would scare his game before he had a chance to strike.

  Tonight Vulpes listened to Bubo and snarled softly at him. The old owl heard and stopped booming. He shoved off and flew quietly through the woods. Vulpes watched him. He knew that he would head for the abandoned field where he usually hunted. Tonight with the snow falling, it would probably be difficult for Bubo to find food. Vulpes thought he would make it all the harder. He left the trail he was following, went down the side of the hill, over the road and into the field. Bubo was sitting on the white limb of an old sycamore tree, watching eagerly for some movement in the field. The long clusters of sedge broom that filled the land were bending low with their burden of snowflakes. Vulpes sniffed the air. Bubo would not eat well tonight, he thought.