The Farthing Wood Collection 1 (28 page)

Fox’s courage and ingenuity were now the byword of the inhabitants of White Deer Park. It was no new discovery for his old friends from Farthing Wood, but he was the acknowledged hero of the deer herd, and even those creatures who had not been witness to the events at the Pond heard the story and marvelled. Once again he was brimful of confidence after his successes with the chickens and now the poachers. In both instances he had pitted his wits against humans and each time emerged triumphant.

So Fox had a special status in the Reserve and, although still underweight from the rigours of the winter, he carried his head more erect, his gait was looser and the sparkle had returned to his eyes. Vixen was delighted.
‘You’re your old self again,’ she told him. Yet still that unnameable thought lurked in her mind.

For the next few weeks the weather fluctuated. Warm spells were followed by cold spells which then gave way to milder temperatures again. Most of the old snow had melted, but there were still heavy frosts at night and new, but slighter, falls of snow still occurred. But the Park no longer seemed to be deserted. The inhabitants were out and about again when it was safe, and all sensed the coming of Spring. Food was easier to find for all creatures and health and appearance improved.

One day in late February Whistler found Squirrel, Vole and Fieldmouse enjoying together some nuts which Squirrel had been able to dig up from the softer ground.

‘I don’t think you need me any more, do you?’ he asked, referring to the trips the birds were still making to the general store’s dump.

‘Not really,’ replied Squirrel. ‘But we’re most grateful. You may have kept us alive.’

‘It’s not quite Spring yet,’ Vole pointed out, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t like to say for sure –’

‘Nonsense,’ cut in the more reasonable Fieldmouse. ‘Whistler and Kestrel – and Tawny Owl too – have done more than enough for us. It’s time they had a rest.’

Vole was outnumbered and conceded defeat. ‘At any rate,’ he persisted, ‘if things should get difficult again I imagine we can still call on you?’

Whistler bowed elaborately and winked at the other two animals. ‘Always at your service,’ he answered with a hint of sarcasm. ‘I’ll tell Kestrel the news.’

The hawk had been on a similar errand to Rabbit and Hare. ‘So we’ve both been released?’ he said as Whistler concurred.

‘I can’t say I’m sorry,’ Whistler admitted. ‘The job
was definitely acquiring a considerable degree of tedium.’

‘Well, I think we can say no-one ever heard a word of complaint from us,’ Kestrel remarked. ‘Though the same couldn’t be said of Owl. His constant grumbling is enough to wear you down. Some days I simply can’t bring myself to talk to him.’

‘Oh, it’s only his way,’ laughed the good-natured heron. ‘His heart’s in the right place really.’

‘D’you think so? I sometimes wonder. But I suppose you’re right.’ Kestrel gave Whistler a mischievous glance. ‘Er – have you told Tawny Owl yet?’ he asked.

‘No,’ replied Whistler. ‘I suppose we’d better go and –’ He broke off as he noticed Kestrel’s expression. ‘Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking, Kestrel?’

Kestrel screeched with laughter. ‘Undoubtedly,’ he said.

‘Well, I don’t know.…’ Whistler said hesitantly.

‘Pah! Teach him a lesson!’ Kestrel said shortly. ‘He won’t know we’ve stopped because he sleeps during the day.’

Whistler reluctantly agreed. He was not one for perpetrating jokes on others. ‘But we mustn’t let him continue for long,’ he insisted.

So poor Tawny Owl carried on flying outside the Park at night to fetch what he could from the usual spot. The animals the food was destined for said nothing as they never saw him arrive with it, and assumed all the birds had changed their minds. Then one night, as he was flying over the road, Tawny Owl saw two figures which he thought he recognized. He paused with his load on a nearby bough to make sure. He did not need long to ascertain that it was the two poachers abroad again and seemingly on their way to the Park. He watched them long enough to see that they appeared to be unarmed,
but decided to fly straight to Fox to warn him of their approach.

On his way he saw Badger ambling along. ‘Good gracious!’ Badger called up, seeing the bird with his load. ‘Are you still doing that, Owl?’

Tawny Owl dropped what he was carrying at once and landed by Badger. ‘
What
did you say?’ he demanded.

Badger unfortunately began to laugh. ‘I think you’ve been the victim of someone’s joke,’ he chuckled. ‘The other birds stopped flying to the dump days ago.’

Tawny Owl’s beak dropped open. Then he snorted angrily. ‘So that’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s how I’m treated for trying to help others.’

‘Oh dear,’ Badger muttered to himself. He thought quickly. ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘they just forgot to tell you, I expect. Er – don’t take it amiss,’ he added hastily.

But Tawny Owl was in high dudgeon. He stalked round and round Badger, rustling his wings furiously and a hard glint came into his huge eyes. ‘So they forgot, did they?’ he hissed. ‘We’ll see how much forgetting
I
can do, then.’ His last words were uttered with a menace that alarmed Badger, though he did not know that Tawny Owl was referring to the warning he had meant to bring. Then the bird flew off, climbing higher and higher in the sky until he was far away from any of his companions.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ wailed Badger. ‘He’s really angry now. I wish I hadn’t laughed. Whatever did he mean by his last remark? I shall never know now, and it might have been important.’

‘And after all,’ he thought to himself as he trotted homeward, ‘it wasn’t a very nice trick. He
was
doing it for others. I wonder who’s behind it?’ He made his way to Fox’s earth but Fox and Vixen were missing. Badger decided to wait.

When his friends eventually returned, Badger told them of Tawny Owl’s feelings. Fox shook his head. ‘He hates being made a fool of,’ he said. ‘He won’t forget this for a long time. He’s a very proud bird – and I think he’s sensitive too, underneath. We’ve not been very kind to him.’

‘
I
didn’t know he was still collecting food,’ Badger said.

‘Neither did we,’ said Vixen. ‘It must be Kestrel’s idea. He and Tawny Owl don’t always see eye to eye.’

‘But he’ll be blaming
all
of us,’ Fox said. ‘He’ll feel we’ve ganged up on him. I know him.’

‘What can we do?’ Badger asked. ‘He flew a long way off. We may not see him for days.’

‘Kestrel must apologise,’ Fox said firmly. ‘I shall tell him so.’

‘Poor old Owl,’ said kindly Vixen. ‘It’s not fair.’

As they conversed, none of them was aware that the poachers had entered the Park once again. It was Weasel who saw them approaching, but he stayed to watch. He knew where their guns lay and thought the men no longer posed a threat.

They seemed to be searching for
something
though, Weasel was sure, it could not be for the White Deer. He followed them, and was relieved to see they were going away from his and his friends’ area of the Park. Suddenly one of the men nudged his companion and pointed. An animal was trotting briskly over the snowy patches only some ten yards away. Weasel could see plainly it was a fox. He knew it was not his fox because of the gait. Both men had pulled pistols from their pockets. One of them fired immediately at the animal but missed. The fox stopped in its tracks and, for a second, glanced back. It saw the men and started to run. But it was not quick
enough. Another shot, this time from the other pistol, brought it down.

Weasel, keeping well out of sight and with a fiercely pounding heart, saw the men walk over to the stricken creature and examine it. One of them put a boot under its body and turned it over. It was quite dead. But the men were not satisfied. They did not turn back as if intending to leave the Park, but continued on their way in the same furtive, searching manner. Weasel followed them no longer. He needed to see no more to recognize the men’s purpose. It was imperative to find Fox and Vixen.

Luckily the two distant cracks of the pistols had been heard by them and Badger, and they were debating what the new sounds of guns could mean when the breathless Weasel found them.

‘It’s the same two men,’ he told them. ‘But they’re not after deer. They’ve got small guns and they’ve just shot a fox.’

Fox and Vixen both gulped nervously.

‘You
must
take cover underground,’ Weasel went on. ‘They –’ he broke off as another shot was heard. The four animals looked at each other in horror.

‘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.