The Farthing Wood Collection 1 Page 21

  ‘They’re after all the foxes,’ whispered Vixen. ‘I dreaded this.’

  ‘No,’ said Fox grimly. ‘They’re after me. It’s revenge they want for the trick I played them. They’ll kill every fox they can in the hope that one of them will be me.’

  Weasel nodded miserably. ‘That’s exactly the conclusion I came to,’ he said. ‘Please, Fox, take shelter.’

  With a dazed expression, Fox allowed himself to be led to his earth where he numbly followed Vixen underground.

  ‘We’d better make ourselves scarce, too,’ Weasel said to Badger. ‘We must have been seen at the pond-side along with Fox. We can’t be too careful.’

  In his den Fox was shaking his head and muttering, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’

  ‘You did what you thought best,’ Vixen soothed him. ‘And it was a brilliant plan.’

  ‘But what have I achieved?’ Fox demanded. ‘I’ve set our enemies more firmly against us. The deer might be saved – they can’t shoot them with pistols – but now I’ve brought even greater danger to us.’

  ‘You weren’t to know this would happen,’ she assured him. ‘You acted with the best intentions.’

  Fox stood up. ‘But how can I skulk around here while innocent creatures are being shot?’ he cried. ‘It’s me they want. How many other foxes have to die while I hide away? I’m putting every other fox in the Park at risk.’

  ‘And what do you intend to do?’ Vixen asked angrily. ‘Run up to the humans and offer yourself as a sacrifice?’

  ‘At least if they killed me they would be satisfied. Then the Park would be safe again.’

  ‘Don’t talk such foolishness, Fox,’ Vixen said in desperation, seeing the look on his face. ‘Will they recognize you as the fox who made fools of them? To a human we all look the same. You would be killed and still they would hunt for others.’

  ‘Then they will kill every fox,’ he said. ‘Only in that way can they be sure they have got rid of me.’

  ‘Is it likely with the sounds of guns again, that any wild creature will stay abroad? By now they’ll all be lying low,’ Vixen said.

  Fox looked at her and marvelled. ‘You are the wise one, dear Vixen,’ he said, ‘not I.’

  ‘Pooh, you’re merely blinded by your concern,’ she replied.

  ‘But what can I do?’ he moaned.

  Vixen knew how to handle her mate. ‘You devised a plan before. Now you must use your wits again,’ she said. ‘It’s your brain that’s our safety measure.’

  Fox smiled and was already calmer as he settled down to think. ‘Whatever did I do before we met?’ he murmured. ‘My brave counsellor.’

  Tawny Owl, feeling very aggrieved, had flown as far away from his friends in the Park as he could without actually flying over its boundaries. His pride was hurt and, as he moodily munched his supper, his indignation grew with every mouthful.

  ‘Serves them right if they never see me again,’ he muttered. ‘And a fat lot they’d care if they didn’t.’ He went and hunched himself up on a sycamore branch and brooded. With each minute he felt more and more unwanted. He had done the worst possible thing for himself by disassociating from all those he knew. For, on his own, he had nothing to do but brood over his misery; whereas in company a cheery word or two from someone would have made him forget his hurts far more quickly. However, in his own company, he had no appearances to keep up; no risk of losing face. He began to wonder after a while if he had over-reacted. He sat and thought.

  It was probably not true that all the animals had collaborated to make him look a fool. Fox, he was sure, would never be a party to such a thing. And neither would Badger, although he had chuckled at his discomfiture. The more he thought of Fox, of whom he was genuinely fond, the more guilty he felt. To what fate might he have consigned Fox and Vixen by not warning them of the return of the poachers? They surely had been on the way to the Park, and who could say for what purpose? He shifted about on the branch, feeling more and more uncomfortable and nervous. If anything had happened, he could never forgive himself. In the end he could stay put no longer. He leapt from the bough and sallied forth in the direction in which he had first spotted the men.

  The darkness was fading as he flew over the Park, and he spied the poachers in the act of clambering back through the fence before they jumped the ditch. He was glad they were leaving, but was fearful of what they might have left behind them. A little further on he saw something that made his stomach turn over. The body of a fox lay crumpled on the snow, its red blood mingling with the white ground. Tawny Owl, of course, immediately thought the worst. He had murdered Fox. He fluttered to a tree and sank down, overcome by weakness. Drained of all feeling, he contemplated his own selfishness. It was a long time before he could force himself to approach the body. At length, with a heavy heart and wings of lead, he managed to fly over to it.

  As he came close he knew it was not Fox; neither was it Vixen. His spirits lifted, but only for a few brief minutes. Because, not very much further away, a second fox corpse greeted his sight. This time he examined it at once. A second time he was relieved. But now he wondered how many deaths had occurred. Was his friend lying dead somewhere after all? He flew off again, combing the ground afresh as he went. He went this way and that, and then back again, frantically searching the Reserve yard by yard for the sight he dreaded to see. None of the night creatures watched Tawny Owl’s agony. For a long time they had been in refuge. But as the sun came up, Tawny Owl dropped with exhaustion. And there – high, high up in the glittering blue of the winter sky Kestrel soared, and saw him fall.

  Later in the day Mole, whose joy in tunnelling had been unindulged while the ground had been at its hardest, now found his freedom restored. Where the snow had melted the ground was very soft once any overnight frost had disappeared. Mole had made a new shaft that ran up to the surface, and was poking his head into the open, his pink snout quivering excitedly. As it happened he was almost squashed by a hoof of the Great Stag who was walking that way.

  The giant animal looked down at the tiny velvet-clad body beneath him. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see you at first. I’m looking for your friend Fox. I understand the humans returned to the Park last night.’

  ‘Yes, Badger told me of it,’ replied Mole. ‘We all thought we’d seen the last of them.’

  ‘Your leader is very brave and doesn’t always think of himself. It appears that he may have piled up some trouble for his efforts the other night. It is now our turn to assist him. Hence the reason for my visit.’

  Mole gave the Stag directions to Fox’s earth, and went to tell Badger of his encounter.

  Fox and Vixen were not in their den. They were out foraging, for it had now become unsafe to leave shelter at night. So the Great Stag, having assured himself of their absence, passed the time by grazing where he could until they should return. Eventually he saw them coming as he chewed a mouthful of moss.

  ‘Greetings,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve come to inform you that the entire deer herd is at your disposal if you need us in your new dispute with the human killers.’

  Fox listened to the Stag’s gentle tone of irony. ‘I fear there’s nothing new about it,’ he replied. ‘I have always looked upon them as our enemies as well as yours.’

  ‘Have you decided on any course of action should they return again?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll be back,’ Fox said. ‘I hardly think they’ll be satisfied with their work so far. Kestrel tells me there are two dead foxes. The men must know there are many more than that still living.’

  ‘My advice would be for us to stay under cover every night until they decide to come no more,’ said Vixen, ‘but Fox won’t listen.’

  ‘Simply because we have no way of knowing their intentions,’ he explained. ‘How long would it be before they came looking for us in our earths? Then there would be no escape.’

  ‘You have a plan then?’ the Stag asked.

  ‘Only a poor one, I’m afraid. Bu
t it may work.’

  ‘I am all ears.’

  ‘To be honest,’ began Fox, ‘it isn’t really a plan at all. I’ve merely been thinking along the lines of finding the safest spot in the Park and then going there. It occurred to me that there is one place these poaching humans might perhaps not care to venture to, and that is the grounds of the Warden’s own garden, around the Lodge. If we holed up in there we might avoid them.’

  ‘Hm,’ the Stag murmured, considering. ‘And what of the other foxes in the Reserve?’

  ‘My immediate concern, naturally, is for my mate and my friends,’ Fox said. ‘But it would, no doubt, be possible to pass the word to them, in case they should feel like joining us.’

  ‘I can foresee problems,’ the Stag commented. ‘These other foxes haven’t the same feelings for your friends as you have. I should imagine they would look upon the presence of your mouse and rabbit friends as a readymade food supply.’

  ‘There would be no need for the voles and fieldmice to leave their homes,’ answered Fox. ‘The humans are not interested in small fry like them. But it’s true; the question of the rabbits needs some thought.’

  ‘Well, I have an idea that might make yours unnecessary,’ the Great Stag told him, ‘if you are willing to go along with it. It is perfectly simple. If the humans return, and appear to be bent on killing again, I have orders for the whole of my herd to charge them en masse. With that sort of force arraigned against them, I don’t think they will need a lot of persuading to leave.’

  ‘What if they use their pistols on the deer?’ asked Fox.

  ‘We’re quite prepared for the possibility,’ answered the Stag. ‘But it’s a risk we must take. We feel it is time we repaid your good turn to us. In any case, I honestly doubt if these wretched humans will stand still long enough when they see us all thundering towards them. There will be more than a few pairs of lowered antlers for them to negotiate.’

  Fox and Vixen could not help but chuckle as they pictured the scene. ‘I think it’s an admirable and very generous idea,’ said Vixen.

  ‘It’s certainly that,’ agreed Fox. ‘The only thing that comes into my mind is, that it could only work once. If they are still determined to enter the Park after that, they would make sure of the herd’s whereabouts first. You can’t cover every corner.’

  ‘Then we must make sure our charge is so terrifying that they are dissuaded for good from coming back,’ the Stag said. ‘Are you willing to give it a try?’

  ‘Assuredly, yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to make preparations.’

  ‘I will arrange for sentries along the perimeter as before,’ Fox said. He turned to Vixen. ‘I wonder what happened to Tawny Owl?’

  Kestrel knew. He had found the exhausted owl on the open ground, without even the strength to fly up into a tree.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come back,’ said the hawk, ‘but sorry to see you in this state.’

  Tawny Owl slowly shook his head, too weak to reply.

  ‘I have an apology to make,’ Kestrel went on. ‘At Fox’s insistence. I’m afraid I’m to blame for not telling you to stop flying to the dump. It was a rotten trick and I very much regret it.’

  Tawny Owl blinked once or twice and nodded. ‘All – for – gotten,’ he gasped.

  ‘You need something to eat to restore your strength,’ said Kestrel. ‘I’ll see if I can –’

  ‘No,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘Just rest.’

  ‘But you can’t stay on the ground – too vulnerable,’ insisted the hawk.

  ‘Can’t – fly. Too – weak,’ came the reply.

  ‘I see. Well, I’ll keep a look-out until you’ve recovered a bit.’

  From the sky, where he floated effortlessly on air currents or hovered in his inimitable way, Kestrel could see Mole, the Great Stag, Fox and Vixen. He wondered what was afoot. After checking once or twice on Tawny Owl’s progress, he swooped down to speak to Fox.

  ‘I’ve found Owl,’ he said. ‘Goodness knows where he’s been. He’s completely exhausted.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Fox asked. ‘I need him tonight.’

  ‘Don’t know if he’s much use at the moment,’ said Kestrel. ‘What’s astir?’

  Fox explained the Great Stag’s idea.

  ‘I understand,’ said the hawk. ‘I’ll take you to Tawny Owl.’

  The sight of Fox approaching him across the parkland was the best medicine for Tawny Owl that could have been produced. Now, at last, he knew his friend was safe. He tottered to his feet and stood, a little unsteadily.

  ‘My dear Owl,’ Fox said in great distress. ‘Whatever has happened? You look dreadful.’

  ‘It’s all right – now,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘Thank heaven you’re still alive. And Vixen too?’

  ‘Yes. She’s well.’

  ‘I’m so glad. I saw the men last night – with guns. I meant to tell you, but – well, you know how I react when my pride takes a blow. I’m sure Badger has told you he saw me carrying the – er – well, you know,’ he finished lamely.

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ said Fox. ‘I won’t question you any further. None of us will. But you must rest all you can. I shall need you as a look-out again tonight. Will you be able?’

  ‘By then I shall have recovered,’ Tawny Owl assured him. ‘I think I can fly a little now. I’ll go home and sleep properly. Where will you need me?’

  ‘The same place as before. Our friends the deer are preparing a little reception committee.’

  Tawny Owl nodded and, still bleary-eyed, took his leave.

  ‘Kestrel,’ said Fox. ‘I’m relying on you to get the others to their places by the fence. They must be there by dusk.’

  ‘Your wish,’ answered Kestrel, ‘is my command.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Fox. ‘And tonight I, for once, shall stay firmly in the background.’

  Sure enough, Fox’s belief in the poachers’ persistence in revenge was proved well-founded. This time they were spotted early on in the evening and the message was passed back along the lines to the Great Stag who quickly mustered his herd. It was then necessary for Fox, Vixen, Badger and Weasel to make themselves scarce before the advance of the men. Along with Hare and the birds, they decided to watch events from the Hollow from where, if necessary, they could make a quick escape to their homes.

  The poachers seemed to be in a very ugly mood. Any sign of movement anywhere was enough to set them shooting and, at each report, the watching Farthing Wood animals shuddered at what might have been the fate of some unsuspecting night creature.

  Foot by foot, the men entered further into the Park. Foot by foot they decreased the distance between themselves and the White Deer. The deer waited in some agitation. They disliked standing still as danger approached. Some cropped the grass nervously, while others tossed their heads and flicked their short tails. Only the Great Stag, at their head, stood impassive.

  They saw the men getting closer from behind the line of trees that helped to screen them. The Great Stag’s eyes narrowed as he waited for the right moment. The men remained ignorant. Then he threw his head back and roared like a stag in rut. The deer herd bounded through the trees and raced towards the poachers. The men looked up, startled, at the white mass that galloped towards them, their hooves thundering as in a stampede; a forest of antlers lowered in line. With shouts the men turned and began to run hell for leather back across the grassland. Neither paused a second to take aim. They could only run and run, as fast as they could, away from the white animal tide that threatened to engulf them. Fear lent wings to their feet, for otherwise they must have been caught.

  As they neared the Park fence, the deer slackened their pace and swept round in a circle, back towards the open land where they usually stayed, the Great Stag still leading them. The men had gone.

  From the Hollow came excited voices.

  ‘Did it work? Have they gone?’ asked Hare.

  Tawny Owl flew to see. ‘Yes, they’ve gone,’ he reported.

 
; ‘And this time for good,’ said Badger.

  ‘How are you so sure?’ Weasel wanted to know. ‘We all believed that last time.’

  ‘Twice they’ve been defeated by animals,’ said Badger. ‘Are they prepared to risk a third tussle?’

  ‘Only if,’ said Tawny Owl slowly, ‘they are sure they can win.’

  Fox looked at him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we still have my idea in reserve.’

  All was quiet again in White Deer Park for some days. But in the last invasion by the poachers another of the Farthing Wood rabbits had lost its life – this time by the gun, for the men had shot indiscriminately. Fox felt this loss more deeply than any, for he knew that it was he that had, indirectly, caused the death of one of his friends. Rabbit had come to inform him of the death.

  ‘Another one of our does gone,’ he had said after explaining how he had found the body. ‘And this Park was to be a haven for us! What sort of a haven is it when we rabbits have been thinned out to a mere remnant of those that lived in Farthing Wood?’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Fox answered miserably. ‘I’ve had the same from Vole and Fieldmouse. It’s very distressing. We couldn’t have expected such a terrible winter – nor this other threat to our survival. The idea of a Nature Reserve is that it should be a sanctuary for all wildlife within. These murderous humans seem to have no respect even for their own laws.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope the winter has sent its worst,’ rejoined Rabbit. ‘But what can we expect from the humans?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Fox answered frankly. ‘They may be back again. They may not. Shall we try and be optimistic about it?’

  ‘I suppose it’s all we can do,’ agreed Rabbit.

  ‘At any rate,’ Fox said brightly, ‘you rabbits will soon be back at your usual numbers, I’ll warrant. Your powers of recovery, you know ….’

  ‘Why is it the only thing we seem to be renowned for is how fast we breed?’ Rabbit wanted to know. ‘I bet we’re no more prolific than the mice. But, you see, Fox, any danger that’s around inhibits our desire to breed. You know how timid we are.’