The Fox and the Hound (16 page)
Much as they loved them, the pups' irresponsible behavior often drove Tod and the vixen half mad with exasperation. The pups insisted on regarding rabbits as animated toys rather than as quarry to be caught and killed as expeditiously as possible. The older foxes knew only too well that there was a definite relationship between the amount of energy obtainable from a quarry and the amount of energy necessary to catch it - for example, there was no use spending half a winter's night tracking down a rabbit even if you got him in the end, for the amount of strength you used up would not equal the amount of strength you obtained from the rabbit. Both the adult foxes carried a sliding scale of Such values in their heads, gained from many a long winter's hunt when they had discovered they felt weaker after a prolonged though successful stalk than they had when they started. Yet lacking a system of vocal communication with the pups, there was no way they could pass this knowledge on. Perhaps this was just as well; otherwise the countryside should be thick with foxes, whereas even if a pair of foxes lived for fifteen years and had an average litter of five cubs a year, probably only two of the pups would survive - enough to take the place of their parents - unless some source of easily obtained food appeared to tide them over the winter.
The Tods, however, were intermixed only in the survival of their pups, and so it was maddening to see the half-grown idiots gaily chasing rabbits they could not hope to catch, and refusing to learn the skills of stalking, waiting by holes, or hedge-running. The pups soon learned the rabbits warning signal - a reverberating stamp on the ground with the hind legs - that sent every rabbi: within hearing tearing for cover. Instead of realizing that this meant they had been clumsy and made their presence known, the cubs knew only that it meant rabbits were about, and would lightheartedly run to the noise in hopes of an exciting chase. If any rabbits were to be caught, that was their parents' job - what else were parents for? It did no good for the Tods to refuse to feed them - they tried that early in the game-for the pups could exist very nicely on insects, grass, and an occasional mouse. As far as the pups were concerned, it would always be summer, and their parents were stupid old codgers to work so hard catching large and difficult quarry. The pups loved to chase birds - when the birds flew away they turned to some other sport - but acquiring the stiff-legged slink head high to see over the grass, tail straight cut taking advantage of every speck of cover and learning the final bound, not only leaping a good ten feet forward but going high enough to come down on the bird from on top as he rocketed into the air, were all a waste of time. If their parents choose to bring them birds, well and good, If they didn't, there were always helpless baby birds fallen out of the nest, the eggs of ground-nesting birds, and sometimes you could find starling and other hole-nesting birds sufficiently close to the ground so the holes could be torn open or the young scooped out with an agile paw.
The biggest pup was the first to kill large quarry. When the farmer planted corn, he had left a strip of plowed but unplanted land running parallel to the tall green rows. The chickens liked to scratch in the soft soil, and it was perfect for taking dust baths. The biggest pup soon discovered that these birds could not fly, and in the first flush of excitement, chased them wildly around the barn. Their frantic squawks brought the farm dog, a smallish cur, racing to the scene, and the fox pup had to run for his life, The nearest cover was the corn, and as scent would not hold on the plowed earth the dog was brought to his indifferent nose. He was unable to own the line, so the pup escaped.
After he had recovered from his fright, the pup was determined to get one of the chickens. Both his parents did all in their power to lure him away from the farm - Tod because he knew the menace of man from experience, the vixen because she instinctively distrusted human habitation. Overconfident, the pup refused to be diverted.
Through what he considered great cunning. he learned to crawl through the corn and wait in ambush at the edge of the rows in early morning when the hens were being released from the chicken house. Before long they would make their way to the plowed land and start scratching. Gathering himself together, the pup would make a lightning rush and has long, thin jaws would close over the back of a hen before she knew what was happening. One crunch, and the hen died almost instantly, both lungs crushed. The pup would be back in the corn and on his way to the den almost before the rest of the flock had recovered sufficiently from their shock to start cackling. Knowing that the dog could not trail him, the pup felt confident he had an unbeatable system and the anxiety of his parents merely amused him.
One morning Tod and the vixen were lying out in front of the den with the other cubs when they heard the frenzied cackling of guinea hens from their nightly perch on the barn roof in the valley below them. Both foxes cocked their ears to listen'. Tod especially, for although the guinea hens often cackled when the pup made his morning kill, they were keeping up the noise, which meant they could continue to see the danger. Both he and the vixen with one accord rose and stood sniffing the morning breeze. An eddy brought them the information they wanted - the biggest pup was running and the farm dog was after him. Tod knew exactly what had happened. This was a day when scent held well, for it had rained during the night and the moisture still lay thick on the ground. Under these conditions the farm dog had been able to trail the pup notwithstanding his poor nose. A fox well understands the difference between good scenting days and poor, as any huntsman knows.
The vixen gave the bark that sent the rest of the litter running for the den and then she and Tod hurried toward the farm. They were guided by the baying of the dog who had started to throw his tongue. They ducked under the stake-and-rider fence and galloped to the top of a hill. A fearful sight met their eyes. The pup, still holding the chicken in his mouth was running wildly only a few yards ahead of the dog who was rapidly gaining on him.
Neither fox hesitated. Together they charged down the slope and went for the dog. Fast as Tod was, for once tine vixen was faster. She hit the cur so hard she rolled him over, and when he sprang to his feet, rolled him over again. He turned. on her but now Tod was on him. The fight raged up and down the pasture while the guinea hens went mad from their post on the barn. The dog snarled, growled, and yelped when the foxes' teeth went home, but they fought silently and even when he ripped their red coats made no noise. The pup had fled, at long last droppings the chicken in his panic.
The vixen and the dog were rolling together on the ground, and Tod had sprung back for a fresh hold when a movement by the barnyard caught his eye. There stood the farmer with a gun in his hands. Tod waited for nothing else, Regardless of the vixen or the cub, he turned and bolted for the fence - a flicker over the close-cropped grass. He heard the report of the gun and instinctively flinched, expecting to feel again the sting of the pellets, but the shot hit ahead - the farmer had led him a little too much. Still going at top speed, Tod swerved to avoid the tainted ground reeking with gunpowder, and flung himself under the fence. As he did so he heard the second barrel go off, but it was not aimed at him, for he was now out of range of the shotgun. The farmer had fired at the vixen, who was also running. Afraid of hitting the dog, he had again aimed too high and she also escaped.
Tod was too wise to go directly to the den with the dog involved, and took care to tangle his trail before heading for the cover. When he got there he found the exhausted pup and vixen already in the earth. He and the vixen licked each other’s wounds they had received from the dog, but Tod refused to stay long in the earth. He hated being underground anyhow, and ran about through the cover, constantly testing the wind and listening for distant sounds.
Two hours later, he heard the noise he feared more than anything else in the world except the crack of a gun - the deep, bell-like voice of Copper. Tod stopped frozen, one foot upraised. Then he ran to a hill where he could overlook the valley. He saw that Copper was on a trail, the trail of the pup. He must have been put on it by the fallen chicken. With him was Copper’s Master - even at that distance Tod recognized him by his movements. He had a gun. The farmer was also with him and had another gun, but for him Tod cared little.
Watching how the hound ran, Tod saw he was heading directly for the oak cover. Of course the frightened pup had made no effort to confuse his trail. The hound was well away from the men now, who were following leisurely. Tod waited until the hound was hidden from the hunters by a line of wild cherries, thickly overgrown with grapevines, and then ran toward him.
Beyond the cherries was a gravel road, and here Copper was brought to a momentary check. Without breaking his stride, Tod plunged down the high bank on the far side of the road and ran in front of the hound. When Copper did not lift his head, the fox gave a quick bark as he swung away.
Tod had deliberately crossed upwind of the hound, and now Copper got the full scent of the fox - and not only fox, but the accursed fox he and the Master had been after so long. He instantly burst into the “view-cry” and rushed after the fleeting form. Tod knew well that the clumsy half-bloodhound - unlike the fast Trigg or Hudspeth - could not possibly overtake him, and he ran just ahead of Copper, luring him away from the oak cover.
They had gone only a few hundred yards when from the road behind them came the commanding call of what seemed to be a horn. The Master had broken open his shotgun and was blowing across one of the barrels, producing a deep note with great carrying powers. For a little while Copper, with the fox still in full view, ignored the summons, but as the call was repeated insistently he reluctantly turned away and went back to the road. Frustrated, Tod circled back to try again. As he approached cautiously from downwind, he heard the trailing call of the hound and saw Copper once more following the pup’s line. The men were keeping with him this time and Tod dared not go in again.
Instead, he ran for the den. When he arrived panting, the vixen and the pups were outside, listening to the baying of the hound. Tod made a swing around his family and started away. Some of the pups tried to follow him but the frightened and hysterical vixen called them off. They obeyed her. Tod tried to show the vixen by his actions that their only safety lay in flight, but she ignored him. She had never been hunted by hounds and to her, Tod was little more than a pup himself and she had no confidence in him. Instead, she sent the pups into the den and when one did not go, angrily shoved him in with her nose. She had always found safety underground. Tod, with his childhood memories of the ravaged den, knew better.
The cry of the hound was growing nearer. Now came the terrible man scent, together with the stench of the hound. The vixen was frantic. Tod knew it was too late to save the litter; even if they all started running down, the hound could overtake the half-grown pups. He and the vixen would have to save themselves. He tried to entice her away, but she refused. She was utterly bewildered, running into the den to be with the pups and then bursting out again to sniff and listen.
Copper had reached the oak cover. At last the vixen made up her mind. Ignoring Tod, she dashed off recklessly in the hope of luring the hound away. Tod made a last effort to get the pups out of the den and start them running. He made a circle through the cover, keeping downwind of the dog. There might still be something he could do.
He heard Copper lead the men to the den, sniff at the mouth, and give the bark that meant the quarry had been found and brought to bay. One of the men stayed with the hound while the other went away. Tod heard the vixen running back and forth among the oaks, trying to decoy the hound away. At last she succeeded. Not even the Master's iron discipline could control the hound, and he took out after her, filling the cover with his baying. Slowly the noise faded away. There came the sound of a farm truck toiling up the hill. The farmer drove it as far into the cover as he could. Then the two men ran a long hose from the truck’s exhaust to the burrow, thrust the end into the hole, and padded it with old clothing. The engine of the truck was started and allowed to run. Soon the stink of the car fumes seeping up through the ground filled the cover.
Tod left and went to find the vixen. He barked from several hilltops, but there was no answer. At last, faint and far away, he heard the baying of the hound and ran toward the sound. Copper had checked momentarily where the vixen had run beside a stream and the cool water had sucked the scent out of her tracks down the shelving banks. Tod was able to cut ahead of him, and found his mate crouching in a ditch, absolutely exhausted, covered with mud and with a matted brush. He licked her face, but she was too beaten to respond. Tod ran back, easily taking the hound off her line, for she was so tired her scent was very faint and Copper switched to his fresh scent at once. Then Tod based the hound by running a wall and leaping into a tree that overhung it. Copper followed the line along the wall but was unable to find the fox curled up in the crotch over his head, for there was a complete break in the trail and no scent clue of any kind.
After nightfall, when the hound had given up and returned home, Tod sprang down a little stiffly and went back to the oak grove. The vixen was there. She had dug up the bodies of the cubs and laid them out in a row. Their coats were damp where she had licked and licked, trying to restore them to life. Beside the biggest pup was a fresh-killed chicken she had gotten from the barnyard, hoping the odor of his favorite quarry might bring him back to consciousness. All night she worked over them, and it was not until morning and the blowflies came that she would admit the tragic truth. And even then, for days afterward she returned to the den, hoping upon hope that a miracle had happened and that the cubs would once again run out to greet her.