But the fox did not sleep, not yet anyway. For him food came before sleep. He went out hunting in the woods just above where Billy lay. He had been hunting before, but it was never as urgent then as it was now. He was slow and inexperienced, but hunger had sharpened his reactions, and after being given the run-around by an irritating fieldmouse that had mastered the art of vanishing, he cornered and at last exhausted a field vole and killed it. But this first kill seemed only to stimulate his appetite. He spent most of the night high up in the woods above where Billy slept, stalking and pouncing ineffectually, trying to repeat his early success; but with the dew coming down in the early morning the worms came wriggling to the surface in the soft earth of the forest tracks and the fox treated himself to a feast of them before he returned to snuggle up tight against Billy’s chest. He curled his tail over his nose and slept.
Morning came too soon for both of them. Billy had slept fitfully. Whichever side he chose to sleep on soon lost all feeling, and the pins and needles that followed were excrutiating. When he woke his neck was stiff and he was wet through and shivering with the cold. There were church bells ringing somewhere in the misty valley below him, and a cow lowing mournfully. A persistent invisible pigeon called gently from above him in the trees and a pair of circling buzzards mewed plaintively overhead. Billy watched as a gang of raucous rooks moved in to worry them.
The fox stiffened suddenly beside him at the bark of a dog. Billy was not alarmed for it seemed to him to be harmless enough and still far away. But then there was the murmur of voices, a hooting laugh, and Billy was on his feet and running. He followed the fox up the hillside and into the shelter of the trees. As they ran in under the trees a gunshot blasted behind them and the wood emptied itself noisily of every bird. The fox ran on ahead the way he had gone the night before, and Billy ran after him, stumbling over the dead branches that the fox leapt so easily. Another gunshot echoed along the valley behind them. Billy did not know whether the shots were aimed at them. The fox seemed to know and that was enough for him. Suddenly there were no more trees and Billy was out in the bright sunlight and tearing downhill towards a stream. Beyond the stream was a forest of conifer trees that climbed the hillside in serried lines. There was cover in there. If they could reach the trees Billy felt they had some chance. The fox loped across the open field, hesitated at the stream but then bounded across and up into the trees beyond. Billy splashed through the water after him and plunged into the forest before turning to see if they were being followed. He crouched in the shadows and watched.
Not fifty paces from them two men came out into the field, each of them carrying a gun, a little Jack Russell terrier sniffing the ground around them. ‘I saw it,’ said one of them. ‘Big it was and brown, I saw it, honest. Could’ve been a deer, even. Gone to cover in the Brigadier’s wood. He’s got dozens of them in there. He won’t notice if there’s one missing, will he? Come on, let’s go in after him. It’s worth a bit, is a deer. Look, the dog’s after him, he’s got his scent, I told you, I told you.’ And sure enough the little Jack Russell was bustling down through the grass towards them, yapping as he came.
Upward was the only way to go. Billy dug his toes into the soft earth and forced his legs to run. The fox needed no whistling on now. He trotted on easily in front, tongue hanging out. They could hear behind them that the hunters were in the woods too, and that the yapping terrier was coming even closer. Billy ran now because the fox ran. He drove himself on, pounding the air with his arms, whispering through gritted teeth, ‘Faster, faster, faster. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.’
With the forest behind them filling with excited voices they reached the forest path at the top of the hill. The fox immediately turned right as if he knew the way, so Billy followed him. Billy sensed that the fox was leading him somewhere, and he was far too tired to argue. When the fox left the track and bounded up the bank into more trees, Billy clambered after him.
It was a different forest now, with great tall oaks clinging dangerously to the hillside. Many had fallen, their roots ripped out, leaving vast craters where young saplings were sprouting again. As they ran on and up, Billy saw the fox slowing. He was looking around him as he went, no longer intent it seemed on escape. The measured rhythm was gone from his stride and Billy found himself running alongside him, even ahead of him sometimes. Fatigue overcame Billy now as he laboured on, fatigue brought on by the knowledge that he had not thrown off their pursuers. Below in the woods they could hear them crashing through the undergrowth and always that shrill incessant yapping that was leading the hunters inexorably towards them.
The fox had paused by one of the craters, and quite suddenly vanished among the roots. Billy whistled for him but the fox did not reappear, so Billy went down into the crater after him. The earth still clung to the roots that towered now over Billy, an earth wall of twisted roots, and at the base of it a hole that must have been torn out of the hillside when the tree fell. It seemed to lead in behind the wall of roots, and at the mouth of the hole he saw the white muzzle of the fox. Billy had no idea how big the hole might be inside, but the hunters were so close now that there was no time for debate. He thrust himself into the hole, arms and head first, but his shoulders stuck fast. He kicked out furiously with his legs and groped in the dark for something on which he could haul himself in, and he found it, a gnarled root that was strong enough to take all his weight. Once inside he looked for the fox and found two eyes staring back at him out of the dark. He gathered the fox to him and crawled to the back of the earth cave and waited. Whatever happened he would never allow the fox to be taken from him.
CHAPTER NINE
THE TERRIER CAME STRAIGHT TO THE HOLE and would have come in after them had not Billy hurled a clod of earth and stones at his snarling snout. It took a broadside to drive him away and he backed off, yelping in surprise. Billy crouched in the dark with the fox breathing heavily against him, and they heard the hunters’ voices as they toiled up the hillside towards the dog that stood quivering and barking at the bottom of the crater.
‘Ain’t no deer down there. You and your deer, Jack. Run me ruddy legs off I did, and for what?’ said one of them. ‘Rabbits, that’s all there is in there. Came all this way for a ruddy rabbit we did. Lost the scent, didn’t he, the useless mutt.’
‘He’s after something though, isn’t he?’ said another voice. ‘There’s a hole down there, see? Big enough for a fox, that is. P’raps it was a fox after all, p’raps he’s after a fox. Let’s put him in there and see, eh? We came all this way, didn’t we? Worth a try.’ And Billy heard them slithering down into the crater. He grabbed the biggest stone he could find from the floor of the cave and watched for the terrier’s nose to appear again. But instead of the dog it was a face they saw, a woolly head of ginger hair and a red face. ‘Pitch black in there, can’t see a thing. Give me the dog. If anything’s in there he’ll soon bring it out. You’ll see.’
But nothing would persuade the terrier to put its nose to the hole again. More than once they dragged the wretched animal choking to the mouth of the hole and held it there, pushing it from behind, but the dog dug its front feet into the ground obstinately and backed out yelping just as soon as they let go of his collar. Billy held his fire and hoped.
‘There’s something in there, got to be. Got to be something in there to make the dog turn tail.’
‘He’s a useless mutt, Jack, like I said. You should get yourself a proper dog. Yellow as a buttercup he is.’
‘Look, if he’s frightened, then he’s frightened of something, right? So there’s got to be something down there, hasn’t there? Now if he won’t go in after it and drag it out, then we’ve got to persuade whatever’s in there to come out, haven’t we?’
‘Yeah, but how’re we gonna do that, Jack?’
‘I’m coming to that. First we got to make sure there isn’t another way out of there. We got to block off any other way out. So you get round the other side of that old root and if you find another hole, kick it in so’s he can’t get out. Then we got him trapped, see?’
Billy listened to the scrambling feet clambering about outside. ‘Nothing here,’ came a voice from behind the earth wall at the back of the cave. Under Billy’s arm the fox licked his lips, gathered his tongue in and listened for a moment, then began to pant in short sharp bursts, every so often pausing to listen again. ‘Hey, I think I can hear something. I can, I can. There’s breathing inside there.’ Billy clasped his hand over the fox’s snout to close it and stroked his ears gently to calm him down. ‘There’s something in there, Jack, I heard it, clear as day. I heard it.’
‘If there’s something inside there, then it won’t want to be there for long. Got a little surprise for it, a nice little surprise. Come back here, and give me a hand. A few twigs and dry leaves – ’s all we need.’ And Billy heard them climbing up out of the crater sending little avalanches of earth and stones tumbling down behind them, a few of them finding their way into the mouth of the cave.
When the voices were far enough away Billy crawled forward to take a look. There was just a chance, he thought, they might be able to escape before the hunters came back. He could not think why they had gone off to gather twigs and leaves, but whatever it was he did not want to be trapped in that cave when the hunters came back again. When he was sure it was all clear he pushed the fox out in front of him and prepared to follow him out. But the fox seemed reluctant to go and struggled to turn round. As Billy pushed him again, there was a hideous growl and suddenly the terrier was there in front of them, stocky on its four little legs, its lips curled back over its teeth that snapped out its machine-gun rattle of a bark. The fox did not hesitate, he was back through the hole and at the back of the cave before Billy could hurl the stone he still held in his hand. He missed, but it was enough to persuade the terrier to retreat again while he gathered some more ammunition. And then the hunters were coming back, slithering down the slope and laughing as they came.
‘All talk, that dog of yours, Jack – all mouth, he is.’
‘This’ll do the trick, you’ll see. Just put it down by the hole there. That’s it, a nice pile – only the dry stuff mind you. Don’t want anything wet. Now give us that bit of cord you got holding your trousers up.’
‘But they’ll fall down.’
‘Don’t matter about that. Who’s to see? Come on, give it here. Plenty more of it back at the farm. Can’t get a fire lit without it, can we? And it’s got to be a good fire. Then we put the leaves on it and push it down that hole and whatever’s in there will either be smoked like a kipper or come running out. And when it comes out, which it will, we’ll be waiting for it, won’t we, to blast it to kingdom come.’
Billy heard a match strike and then the twigs begin to crackle. Then he could smell the smoke. The fox wanted to run and began to struggle. But Billy held on tight. He thought of kicking out the back of the cave but knew it was pointless even to begin. There was no time. The game was up and Billy knew it. He was about to call out and surrender when he heard a different voice outside, the quiet voice of an older man that demanded and was used to instant obedience.
‘Put that fire out ’fore you set the whole wood alight, you idiots. Stamp it out I tell you, or I’ll get ugly. And you wouldn’t like me ugly. I don’t even like myself when I’m ugly, so just do as you’re told and put out that fire!’ The voice rose to a sharp command. There was much scuffling outside in the crater. Billy lowered his head to the floor of the cave and could just see their boots stamping out the last of the fire. ‘Very well. That will do. Over here the two of you so you can hear me. I’m not going to say this twice. First, you are trespassing on my land. You know who I am and you know you are trespassing. Second, you are poaching. Why else would you have your guns and that little rat of a dog?’
‘Only came after a rabbit, didn’t we, Jack?’
‘That’s all, Brigadier, honest.’
‘You even lie badly. Is it likely you would go to all that trouble, come all the way up here, to smoke out a rabbit when there’s thousands of them hopping about down in the fields? There’s more rabbits this year than there’s been for years. It’s lucky for you I came when I did, ’cos if you’d have caught what you were after then you’d have been up before the Magistrates Monday morning for poaching. Now this time, and only this time, I’ll overlook the trespassing; but if I find you in my woods again I’ll get ugly, ugly as sin. Now take that horrible little dog and get yourselves out of here before I change my mind. And one more thing before you go; there’s been a swan flying around here the last day or so – seen it myself. Easy things to shoot, swans. If you take a potshot at her, I’ll know who it is, remember? If you see it you leave it alone, understand? They’re protected, a protected species swans are; but you’re not, so get going before my trigger finger gets twitchy.’
Billy’s hunched shoulders relaxed as he heard the hunters running off down the hill, the terrier yapping as they went. But he could see one pair of boots were still in the crater and a stick walking with them, and they were coming towards the hole. There was a sound of sniffing and the light was blocked out by a face peering in at them. ‘Can’t see you,’ said the face, that sported a neat white moustache, ‘but I know you’re in there. Smell a fox a mile away, I can. ’Spect you’re out of that earth over in Innocents Copse – saw you when you were little, six of you there were, weren’t there? Dashed lucky for you I came by. Only came this way to find that swan. Saw it come down in the woods this morning – funny place for a swan to come down, I thought. Then I spotted the smoke. Came just in time, didn’t I? Come September you’ll make fine sport for the hounds. So I’ll be seeing you again, my fine foxy friend. I’ll be the one on the chestnut mare leading the hunt. First over every fence I am: the Master they call me. Be all in pink so you can’t miss me. We’ll meet again, you can be sure of that. And don’t go getting yourself shot in the meantime will you? Always a pity to waste a good fox.’