Fox's Feud (7 page)

The following day the animals’ attention was completely occupied by the weather. An immensely strong wind had got up and was bellowing through the Park, snapping saplings and bending grass into great rolling waves of threshing green. Even great trees were shaken where they stood; the newly leafed branches tossed and cracked in anguish, unloosing a furious shower of twigs on to the ground.

The smaller creatures cowered in their homes, shivering as they listened to the howls and screeches of the rushing air. Birds flew wildly from tree to swaying tree, unable to find a secure foothold. Only Kestrel stayed aloft, buffeted all round the sky like a ball of paper, and revelling in the wildness.

Unable to rest, Fox emerged from his den to investigate, leaving Vixen in charge. Every tuft of his fur was instantly assailed by the wind and blown all over the place. He narrowed his eyes against its fury and set off at a trot in no specific direction. In the woods he saw the trees heaving at their roots, like boats straining at anchor in a storm-tossed harbour. A creaking and moaning were audible everywhere. One small hawthorn tree cracked in two and crashed to earth, sending a frightened rabbit skipping away through the undergrowth. Rooks where wheeling over the tree-tops, raucously bemoaning their wrecked nests.

Fox saw a brownish shape spread wings and flit from one tree to another in a restless, disconcerted manner. He recognized Tawny Owl. He ran after him silently, knowing that if he called his words would be dashed to pieces by the strength of the wind. He caught up with Tawny Owl who looked down at him with an expression of alarm. ‘This is terrible,’ the bird cried. ‘There’s just no shelter anywhere.’

‘You’d be better off on the ground,’ Fox shouted back. ‘It’s firmer footing than any tree.’

Tawny Owl took his advice and then stood in a hunched attitude, looking slightly ridiculous with his feathers blown all awry. ‘I hate this weather,’ he complained. ‘It’s most undignified.’

‘No good worrying about appearances,’ Fox told him. ‘You can’t escape Nature.’

Tawny Owl snorted. He was not prepared to be consoled. They walked to a clearing in the trees and Owl pointed upwards with a jerk of his head.

‘Look at that idiot Kestrel,’ he grumbled. ‘He’s been up there all day.’

‘He seems to be enjoying himself,’ Fox commented.

‘Precious little enjoyment in being blown to bits, I
should have thought,’ replied Tawny Owl. ‘Trust him to make a spectacle of himself.’

Fox chuckled at his friend’s bad temper. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘The wind’s bound to blow itself out eventually.’

Just then an animal raced past them, out of the wood into the clearing, and dashed about in every conceivable direction in a completely aimless way. Fox and Tawny Owl looked at each other. ‘Hare!’ they both exclaimed together and laughed.

‘He goes quite mad in this sort of weather,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘It’s the same for all his kind.’

They watched Hare racing and leaping about, as if exhilarated by the day. Sometimes he would stop briefly and rear up on his hind legs, but a second later he would dash off again. Once he stood up and seemed to look right at them, but if he did he paid them no more attention than if they had been a couple of the dead leaves that were chasing each other over the ground.

‘He wouldn’t have noticed us if we had been directly in front of him,’ Tawny Owl remarked. ‘Every thought goes out of his head on such occasions.’

As Hare raced off again they were startled to see another animal running after him.

‘It’s a fox,’ whispered Owl.

‘And I know which one,’ Fox answered grimly.

‘Well, Hare’s in no danger, anyway,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘There’s no catching him.’

‘Not if he runs in a straight line,’ said Fox. ‘But he’s veering all over the place. In this mood, as you say, he’s quite unaware of anything. He’s just as capable of running himself into that creature’s jaws as anything else.’

‘Well, there’s nothing we can do,’ said Tawny Owl with a shrug, ‘if he won’t see or hear us.’

But Fox’s fears proved to be groundless, for Hare had
evidently decided to finish capering for the time. He saw the alien fox as he stopped and lay down at a distance. Then he was up and bounding away at his matchless speed to complete safety.

Fox heaved a sigh of relief as Scarface, his enemy, consoled himself by lapping from a puddle in a hollow in the ground. His eyes looked straight ahead as he drank and, presently, he spotted his adversaries. With a muffled growl and a glare he slunk aside, eventually breaking into a slow trot.

‘A nasty piece of animal flesh if ever I saw one,’ remarked Tawny Owl. ‘There’ll be no hope of taking our ease as long as he’s loose in the Park.’

‘H’m. I’m afraid his occupation here is likely to be a lengthy one,’ mused Fox. ‘As he’s told us, he’d been here a long time before we arrived. The Park is his home and must remain so, despite our wishes.’

‘He must be of a great age?’ wondered Owl.

‘Who can say? But a hardier, tougher creature you’d find it difficult to meet. If there were any weakness in him from old age, he couldn’t have survived that last terrible winter.’

‘Pity!’ ejaculated Tawny Owl. ‘I know I’m pessimistic, but I’ve got the feeling that that character won’t rest until he’s done us some real harm.’

Fox looked at him sadly. ‘You seem to forget, Owl,’ he said quietly, without a hint of bitterness, ‘that Scarface has already done that as far as Vixen and myself are concerned.’

‘Oh! No, I . . .’ stammered the bird, who
had
momentarily forgotten. ‘I – I – didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry, Fox,’ he finished weakly.

‘It’s all right,’ said his friend. ‘Even we try not to think too much about her.’

The wind continued to howl horribly through the tree-tops.
Weasel and Badger were the next to brave the elements, unable to rest. They came, complaining, up to the other two.

‘I’m surprised you notice anything,’ Tawny Owl said to Weasel. ‘You’re so slight and close to the ground.’

‘Obviously, then, it hasn’t occurred to you, that the frailer the body, the greater the damage,’ Weasel answered sourly.

‘Well, there
are
a lot of bad tempers being aired today,’ said Fox.

‘Wind creates bad temper,’ said Weasel. ‘A breeze is one thing, but this . . .’

He broke off as, just discernible through the wind’s roar, the steady whistling beat of their friend the heron’s wing could be detected. Presently his long body and thin trailing legs were seen approaching. He alighted and bowed to them in his old-world manner. ‘A wild sort of day,’ he commented.

‘Very pleasant to see you about,’ smiled Fox, as Whistler carefully arranged his one sound and one bullet-scarred wing across his back.

‘I am glad to have seen you so soon,’ the heron replied. ‘I’ve been looking for you. I’ve just seen the scarred fox on the prowl and, from the look of him, he’s up to no good.’

‘He never is,’ said Weasel. ‘That’s nothing new.’

‘He was here,’ Fox told them. ‘Stalking Hare – quite uselessly, as it turned out. But thanks for coming anyway, Whistler.’

‘He had an air about him,’ said Whistler. ‘An air of – er – how should I describe it? I think the word “wickedness” would suit as well as any other.’

‘I believe you are right about that,’ Tawny Owl agreed. ‘That was the same sort of impression I got. It’s as if he’s determined to stir up trouble somehow.’

‘Dear me. What can we do?’ asked Badger.

‘Nothing at all,’ said Fox. ‘He’s free to roam where he will.’

‘I hope the mice and voles are all under cover,’ said Badger. ‘They’re so vulnerable.’

‘At least Kestrel can keep a look-out while he’s up there,’ said Fox in rather a helpless sort of way.

‘Humph! Not him!’ grunted Tawny Owl disparagingly. ‘He’s too busy with his acrobatics to do anything useful. Such a show-off!’

‘Now, Owl, I’m sure he plays his part as we all do,’ Badger said. ‘These are dangerous times and everyone is expected to use extra caution.’

‘He never has a good word to say for Kestrel,’ Weasel remarked bluntly. ‘It’s perfectly obvious there’s a certain degree of jealousy in his attitude.’

‘Jealousy! Jealousy?’ expostulated Tawny Owl. ‘And what is there to be jealous of in his tomfoolery? When Kestrel learns how to hunt in pitch blackness with pinpoint accuracy or to fly in total silence through the length of the Reserve without so much as a bat knowing about it,
then
I might have cause to envy him. But all he can do is to make an exhibition of himself.’

‘Of course, you wouldn’t concede there is a certain amount of skill or speed in
his
flying?’ Weasel said sarcastically.

‘That’s enough, you two,’ Fox said quietly. ‘This is getting too ridiculous. If the wind puts you in this frame of mind, the best thing is to keep yourselves to yourselves.’

‘Well, well,’ intoned Whistler. ‘And I’ve always looked upon you Farthing Wood creatures as inseparable. Perhaps a certain degree of tension in the air accounts for this contretemps?’

‘I think there’s a lot to be said for that observation,’ said
Fox. ‘Weasel, Owl, please – don’t let’s fall out amongst ourselves. There’s never been a time when we should stick together more than now.’

‘Yes, of course, Fox. I apologize,’ said Weasel to Tawny Owl who looked away, ruffling his feathers.

‘Owl?’

‘Oh, very well. Er – sorry. To
Kestrel
I mean,’ he said defiantly, glaring at Weasel.

The others laughed. Tawny Owl shuffled his feet, aware that he had ended up looking absurd again. But his discomfiture was soon forgotten. The unmistakable scream of a hare pierced even the deafening wind’s bluster. The animals at once set off in a run towards the sound, while Tawny Owl and Whistler took to the air, the wind’s fury forgotten.

Soon they saw Hare and his remaining leveret, now grown as big as himself, hurtling towards them. Their long elastic legs bounded over the ground.

‘What is it?’ Fox called. ‘What’s happened?’

Hare collapsed in a heap at his feet, great shuddering moans coming from him. He was unable to speak.

‘It’s my mother,’ panted Leveret. ‘Killed by Scarface.’

The animal’s expressions on hearing the news showed a mixture of anguish and rage. But none of them appeared shocked. It was almost as if they had expected something of the kind to happen. Compassion for the two hares was their immediate concern, and they gave all the comfort they could which, for the most part, was unavailing.

Weasel was the first to voice all their thoughts. ‘Now it’s no longer just a quarrel between foxes,’ he said. ‘Whether we like it or not, we’ve all become implicated.’

Through his misery Hare said brokenly: ‘This calls for revenge. She – she was slaughtered – just where she lay on her form. There was no warning. No scent, you see – the wind took that away . . .’

‘Two deaths now in our community,’ said Weasel, ‘and the cause of both of them – Scarface.’

‘We can’t let this pass,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘We must fight back.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Badger worriedly. ‘We mustn’t do anything hastily. We have to be so careful. We’re in the minority.’

‘We will do nothing rash,’ Fox said quietly. ‘We shall plan properly. But Hare’s mate didn’t travel all that great distance from Farthing Wood to be savaged to death in her new home. If we have no security here we have nothing. This bloodthirsty creature doesn’t kill for food but from envy and hatred of us.’

‘I believe there is an element of fear in his behaviour,’ observed Whistler.

‘Yes,’ agreed Fox. ‘And he will have
reason
to fear us, too. I can promise him that.’

‘Don’t forget, Fox, our little band is weak compared with the forces Scarface can draw on,’ warned Badger. ‘We don’t want to bite off more than we can chew. Wouldn’t it, perhaps, be better to invoke the authority of the Great Stag in the affair?’

‘Stuff and nonsense, Badger!’ snorted Tawny Owl. ‘What could he do? Scarface has just given the best possible demonstration of what he thinks of the Great Stag’s authority!’

‘Quite right, Owl,’ said Fox. ‘But there will be no pitched battle between the Farthing Wood animals and Scarface’s army of foxes. Never fear, Badger,’ he added reassuringly. ‘It is subtlety that’s called for here and that’s where we have the advantage.’

No one paid any attention to the indirect compliment Fox paid himself, for they all knew he was the master of cunning. Only Tawny Owl liked to believe his own wits were a match for Fox’s and he prepared himself to give
the advice that would be needed.

But Fox continued: ‘Scarface is our enemy. We have no real quarrel with his subordinates. I’m sure that they would do nothing on their own. That means we must eliminate their leader.’

‘Do you mean
kill
him?’ Leveret asked.

‘Of course he does,’ Tawny Owl chipped in. ‘It’s obvious that must be our first move.’

‘Not first move, Owl.
Only
move,’ said Fox calmly.

‘Oh – um – yes, naturally. Er – would that be sufficient, do you think?’ Tawny Owl answered, trying hard to appear full of wisdom.

‘I think so,’ replied Fox. ‘Scarface is the trouble-maker. Without his presence, I am convinced the other foxes wouldn’t interfere any further with us. So we have to find a way of removing that presence.’