The Fox Cub Bold Page 7

  So determined was he to get under the fence that he would have failed to notice the vixen leaping over it, if he had not aroused her curiosity.

  ‘Can you not jump?’

  Bold started and looked up. The vixen was poised on the other side of the palings, ready to spring. Bold saw the tightened muscles in her powerful limbs. He felt ashamed of his damaged leg and tried to hide it by tucking it under his body. The vixen leapt the fence.

  ‘Er – no,’ Bold muttered. ‘No, I can’t jump.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Bold looked down, unable to meet her penetrating glance. ‘I – I was injured – er – a long time ago,’ he said, scarcely audibly.

  ‘Unfortunate,’ she commented. ‘I should save yourself the trouble, anyway. There’s very little worth foraging for, in there. Why are you so desperate to get in?’

  Bold was taken aback. ‘I – er – well, I wanted to – er – I was really trying to dig,’ he spluttered.

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ said the vixen, looking at him curiously. ‘But what’s so important about that garden?’

  ‘Nothing, now,’ Bold said in a not-at-all bold voice.

  The vixen sat down. ‘I think you were trying to get to me,’ she said quietly.

  Bold remained silent.

  ‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she went on. ‘Are you new in the area?’

  Bold didn’t remind her that she had seen him before. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I moved in from the country when food became scarce.’

  ‘Very wise,’ she replied. ‘I come around here quite often in the winter to supplement what would otherwise be a rather frugal diet. But for you, things must be doubly difficult.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bold asked defensively.

  ‘Why, if you can’t jump – you can’t run, I suppose?’ said the vixen.

  ‘No, I can’t,’ he snapped. ‘And nor could you, if you’d been shot in the leg.’

  ‘My, my, aren’t you touchy?’ she said. ‘Accidents will happen. Why are you so sensitive about it?’

  Bold said nothing.

  ‘If I were you, I’d be glad I’d survived,’ the vixen went on. ‘How did it happen?’

  Bold explained the circumstances. The vixen listened with evident sympathy. ‘Bad luck indeed,’ she said seriously. ‘Maybe those humans were avenging themselves on you for stealing the pheasants they wanted to kill.’

  Bold thought this a shrewd observation. He thought for a moment. ‘I’ve escaped death twice at their hands,’ he said. ‘Now it would be ironic indeed if I survived to an old age by living on their leavings.’

  ‘But a sort of justice,’ commented the vixen.

  Bold pulled himself out of the hole and shook his coat energetically. It wasn’t until he took a few steps that the vixen realized just how serious his injury was. Something moved within her. ‘If you’d accept help, I’d be glad to give it,’ she told him. ‘I could be your legs,’

  Bold winced internally. His pride took another blow. ‘I’m not quite helpless yet,’ he replied testily. ‘But I thank you for your offer,’ he added in a more gracious manner.

  The vixen realized she had touched him on a raw spot. She thought she had better leave him to his own devices. ‘Farewell, then,’ she said quickly. ‘And good luck.’

  Bold almost called her back. But again pride got in the way. He watched her supple young body slip away into the darkness and sighed. How he wished she could have seen him when he had been better favoured!

  Quite mechanically he set about finding his supper, his thoughts still full of the meeting he had sought for days. He ate without appetite and took more care over choosing a titbit for Robber than he did for his own meal. He returned home early, full of a sense of regret.

  Bold never saw the vixen in the garden again. But the two of them were destined to meet again in different surroundings. About a month after their last encounter, in the middle of winter, Bold was crossing the playing fields now covered by the first fall of snow. An intake of kitchen leavings combined with the exclusion of any fresh meat from his diet, had wrought its change in the fox’s appearance. He was thinner than ever and his coat mirrored the lack of really nutritious food. The severe cold heightened the stiffness of his old wound and in every way he looked like an animal who was struggling to hold the threads of its life together. Unknown to Bold, his faltering steps through the snow were witnessed by the vixen, who herself was finding the going more tough. But she had no thought for her own problems as she watched his progress.

  The vixen’s heart melted at the sight of him and she was filled with compassion. A few seconds longer she watched; then she hastened after him and, with a few bounds, drew alongside.

  Bold turned an astonished glance on her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘how goes it with you?’

  ‘Rather better than with you, I would think,’ she said softly. ‘I – I – want to help – or – I want to hunt with you,’ she corrected herself.

  Bold noticed the slip but he felt he couldn’t refuse her offer again – nor, indeed, did he want to. It seemed that, since his injury, he was fated to be helped by other creatures. His dreams of independence had turned sour. Yet, despite that, the prospect of the company of this young vixen caused a flicker of excitement inside him.

  ‘I should be glad of your company,’ he said diplomatically. ‘We might bring each other luck.’

  They reached the cover of the first buildings and the vixen stopped. ‘Let’s not go sniffing for scraps,’ she suggested. ‘I’ve discovered a place by the side of some water where there’s a colony of rats. But we have to go farther into the town. What do you think?’

  Bold began to drool at the idea of eating fresh meat again. ‘Lead the way,’ he said with bravado.

  The vixen looked at him for a moment as if to make certain of his true feelings. Bold licked his lips. ‘Very well then,’ she said and led off.

  Only now did Bold appreciate to the full her skill in hunting. She was so light-footed as to be noiseless; she followed unerringly the path of the thickest shadows, and when it was necessary to cross an open space she skimmed across it on her silken feet like a zephyr. Bold lumbered after her, feeling himself to be like a chain around her dainty legs, impeding her swiftness. She paused regularly to allow him to catch up. Neither spoke a word, but Bold’s eyes told her all. Eventually the gleam of water could be seen ahead, where it bathed itself in moonlight. The vixen seemed to melt into the darkness as she crept cautiously forward. Bold limped behind as quietly as he could, maintaining a discreet distance.

  ‘There!’ she hissed to him. ‘But wait – the water is higher now.’ She scanned its edge. ‘Yes, the colony is still there, but the water surrounds them now. They’ve become an island.’

  Bold peered over her flank. He was looking at a canal and its still, night-black water. Close to the bank a mound of debris, mud and vegetation was situated, and the beasts who favoured this site as their home were scuttling around it, some squeaking aggressively at others – perhaps at rivals.

  ‘The water level has risen,’ said the vixen. ‘That makes it easier, because their retreat is cut off.’

  ‘But you’ll have to swim?’ Bold asked.

  ‘Of course. But that’s simple enough, if you don’t mind the cold.’

  ‘I can’t swim,’ said Bold hurriedly, ‘with only three useful legs.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to,’ replied his companion. ‘I’ll bring enough for both.’ She moved to the edge of the bank and let her body sink into the icy water. Only her head showed above the surface as she paddled towards her victims, the ripples streaming back from her shoulders. Now the rats heard her and pandemonium ensued on their little island. The squeaks became shrieks and they dashed about, colliding with each other, and running this way and that in their terrified indecision. The next moment the female fox pulled herself from the canal and crashed amongst them, snapping to left and right as the rats scattered. Some of them leapt into the water to escape
the slaughter and began to strike out for the bank.

  Bold lay doggo, his muzzle protruding just an inch or two over the grassy edge. None of the escaping animals could suspect that there was another fox awaiting their arrival on land. As they tried to scramble clear of the canal, Bold felled the first two before those behind saw what fate awaited them. But some of the others hastily paddled further downstream and evaded their certain death.

  The vixen started to carry her prey back to land. Soon she and Bold were contemplating the results of their night’s work.

  ‘You’re a wily hunter,’ Bold commented with satisfaction.

  ‘You played your part too,’ she answered hastily. ‘We’ve more than enough here.’

  ‘Light as a whisper,’ he murmured to himself. ‘And so I shall call you.’

  ‘Whisper? Then I must have a name for you.’

  ‘I am called Bold,’ he said, ‘and bold I was. I wish you had known me then.’

  ‘I too,’ said Whisper. ‘Well, Bold – let’s eat.’

  They took as much as they wanted and ate in a dark, concealed spot without fear of interruption.

  ‘Tomorrow we can come back for the rest,’ said Bold. ‘We must hide our catch away.’

  This they did, and covered it with earth and twigs. But Bold kept one of the rats back.

  ‘Haven’t you had enough then?’ Whisper asked him with surprise.

  ‘It’s not for me,’ he explained.

  ‘Then for whom?’

  ‘Robber – the crow.’

  ‘Crow?’ she echoed. ‘How absurd.’

  ‘No, not absurd,’ Bold said patiently. ‘We have a bargain between us. He brings me food – and I him. He kept me alive on more than one occasion.’

  ‘Well, this is strange,’ said Whisper uncomprehendingly. ‘But I didn’t go rat-catching for the sake of a bird.’

  ‘Then it is one I caught,’ said Bold pointedly.

  ‘Indeed.’ She stared at him. ‘But your unusual arrangement can end now. You have no need of such an ally any longer.’

  Bold held his tongue. He was not prepared to dispute the case. Robber was his friend and he had no intention of deserting him. It seemed that Whisper might be a little jealous.

  There came the point on their return journey when their ways lay in different directions.

  ‘Where do you sleep?’ Whisper wanted to know.

  Bold explained. ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ he added. ‘And you?’

  ‘I have an earth,’ she answered. ‘You would be safer still there.’

  ‘I’m most grateful, Whisper,’ he said. ‘But tonight I must return to my usual place. Robber will be looking for his titbit at daybreak.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ she said shortly. ‘I’ll be at the waterside tomorrow night.’

  ‘And so will I,’ said Bold.

  —— 13 ——

  The Changes of a Season

  Robber was delighted and amazed with Bold’s present and croaked a harsh little song to himself in his pleasure. ‘Things are looking up, Bold, my young friend,’ he said afterwards. ‘You’re a hunter again!’

  Bold had to deny his prowess. ‘I had help,’ he said.

  ‘Oh-ho. It isn’t a certain young – er – ’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Bold cut in good-humouredly. ‘A young female. After today you won’t see me here, Robber. She has her own den – with room for me.’

  ‘Well, well, that is good news,’ remarked Robber. ‘Er–I suppose you’ll still be hereabouts, will you? I shall stay on till the spring.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Hereabouts,’ Bold assented. ‘From now on I’ll leave you your share of the catch under the privet hedge.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said the crow. ‘Forget about me. No need to worry. I can manage. You’ll have other things to do now.’

  ‘Well, if you want to see me, or need me for anything,’ said Bold, ‘leave a message under the hedge. Do you follow me?’

  ‘I do indeed, my friend. And you will do likewise?’

  ‘I most certainly will.’

  ‘Good. Then that’s settled,’ said Robber, ‘and very amicably too. And now for that rat.’

  The next night Bold and Whisper unearthed their cache of food by the canal and enjoyed their second meal together. This time Bold did not reserve a portion for the crow, and the pair of foxes demolished the remainder of their catch. Whisper was quick to notice this point and the significance of it was not lost upon her.

  ‘You’ll be returning with me to my den?’ she asked her companion.

  ‘Yes, I shall,’ Bold answered diffidently.

  ‘You’ll find it a deal more comfortable than sleeping above ground – and warmer too,’ she remarked.

  They went together to the canal bank to lap at the inky water. There was no sign of activity on the rats’ island. It seemed those that had escaped the foxes’ hungry jaws had deserted the site. Whisper led Bold away from the canal and along different paths towards the other side of the town. They came to a large churchyard enclosed by an old stone wall. Now they were suddenly faced with a problem, since Whisper’s earth lay within this boundary and she had been accustomed to jump the wall at a low point to reach it.

  ‘There must be another way in?’ Bold asked her hopefully.

  ‘I don’t think so. I completely forgot about your difficulty in jumping. Oh, Bold, what a stupid creature I am! But we’re not beaten yet.’

  ‘Of course we’re not. You know I can dig.’

  ‘It may be the only way; but let me do a bit of reconnoitring.’

  She left him lying, rather too conspicuously for his liking, against the wall where a growth of ivy provided only a scant cover. After making a quick circuit, she came back.

  ‘I think I’ve found the answer,’ said Whisper. ‘Follow me.’

  She took Bold to a spot where the stones of the ancient wall had started to crumble. She began to scratch at the falling blocks with a backward, kicking motion, and succeeded in making a small hole in the stonework.

  ‘Only big enough for a weasel to get through,’ Bold muttered unhelpfully.

  ‘Be patient,’ said Whisper and recommenced scratching at the surrounding stones with her front paws. The wall continued to crumble and the hole grew gradually in size. Whisper paused, panting with the effort.

  ‘My turn now,’ said Bold and scrabbled vigorously with his claws until the hole was large enough to push his head through. ‘Only a little more, I think,’ he said, and soon he could slip his body through so that the hairs of his coat just brushed the sides. Whisper followed him. She trotted through the tombstones, this way and that, until, under the lee of the wall on the far side of the churchyard, she reached the entrance to her earth.

  Bold looked at it. ‘It’s well concealed,’ he observed. There was thick ground-ivy, and piles of dead leaves that had fallen from an overhanging horse-chestnut lay all around. ‘How did you find it?’ He followed her inside.

  ‘Oh, in the course of my travels,’ she told him.

  It was a few degrees warmer inside the earth than the outside air. To a fox that meant everything. Bold stretched himself luxuriously. The smell of the vixen was strong, along with the usual musty dampness of an underground home.

  ‘Are you tired?’ Whisper asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Bold replied. ‘And content.’

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve found life very hard recently?’

  ‘I have,’ Bold admitted. ‘I didn’t expect to find Death staring me in the face quite so soon.’

  Whisper pondered awhile. ‘You must have seen several winters, I suppose?’ she murmured drowsily.

  Bold, already half-asleep, thought he had misheard. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, I was only wondering about your life before you got hurt,’ she said. ‘Did you range far over the seasons?’

  Now Bold sat up. ‘You mistake me,’ he said. ‘I’ve yet to survive my first winter.’ He was most indignant.

  Whisper’s
mouth dropped open. She was stunned. ‘But – but,’ she stammered. ‘Can this be true? I am – ’

  ‘It’s certainly true,’ Bold snapped. ‘I opened my eyes for the first time last spring.’

  ‘You must forgive me,’ Whisper answered. ‘I had no idea. You seem so . . . But you’re not much more than a cub then? I myself am a season older!’

  ‘This is your second winter?’ Bold asked. Now he was surprised, though he didn’t really know why.

  ‘Indeed it is. You see, I thought . . . Of course, your injury . . .’ she broke off in embarrassment.

  ‘I hadn’t realized I’d aged quite so much,’ Bold remarked sourly. He was quite taken aback by the revelation. What had happened to his appearance?

  ‘Then you were born nearby, perhaps?’ Whisper ventured to ask.

  ‘No, no – a long way away. I roamed wide and far in the early days. It was my idea to be part of the real world . . .’ The words were out before Bold could stop them.

  ‘The real world?’ she queried. ‘What do you mean?’

  Bold took a deep breath. ‘I was born in a Nature Reserve: a place called White Deer Park.’

  ‘A strange choice – to leave a Reserve for the world outside,’ Whisper commented. ‘What could be better than such protection; such a safe haven?’

  ‘You are right, Whisper,’ Bold acknowledged. ‘I left my family behind – my brother and sister cubs – and other friendly creatures. I left the Park of my own free will, alone, in a spirit of adventure. I wanted to discover the things that lay outside the Reserve. But all I succeeded in doing was to become a challenge to Man and – and – suffered for my arrogance. Oh, I admit it! And now it’s too late to change course. I shall never again be the strong, healthy animal my father himself was proud to have sired.’

  ‘Alas! Poor Bold,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘But tell me about your father.’

  Bold grunted. ‘What is there to tell about him that’s not known already? It seems everyone knows his history.’