by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIX.
A FOX-SQUIRREL IN A FIX.
Francois soon finished dressing his pigeons, and plunged them into theboiling-water. A piece of dried meat was added, and then some salt andpepper, drawn from the store-bag, for it was the intention of Francoisto make pigeon-soup. He next proceeded to beat up a little flour withwater, in order to give consistency to the soup.
"What a pity," said he, "we have no vegetables!"
"Hold!" cried Lucien, who overheard him. "There appears to be a varietyof green stuff in this neighbourhood. Let me see what can be done."
So saying, Lucien walked about the glade with his eyes bent upon theground. He seemed to find nothing among the grass and herbs that woulddo; and presently he strayed off among trees, towards the banks of alittle stream that ran close by. In a few minutes he was seen returningwith both his hands full of vegetables. He made no remark, but flungthem down before Francois. There were two species--one that resembled asmall turnip, and, in fact, was the Indian turnip (_psoraleaesculenta_), while the other was the wild onion found in many parts ofAmerica.
"Ha!" cried Francois, who at once recognised them, "what luck!_pomme-blanche_, and wild onions too, as I live! Now I shall make asoup worth tasting."
And he proceeded with great glee to cut up the vegetables, and flingthem into the steaming kettle.
In a short while the meat and pigeons were boiled, and the soup wasready. The kettle was taken from the crane; and the three brothers,seating themselves on the grass, filled their tin cups, and set toeating. They had brought a supply of hard bread to last for a few days.When that should give out, they would draw upon their bag of flour; andwhen this, too, should be exhausted, it was their intention to gowithout bread altogether, as they had often done on like excursionsbefore.
While thus enjoying their pigeon-soup and picking the bones of the plumpbirds, the attention of all three was suddenly arrested by a movementnear one side of the glade. They had just caught a glimpse of somethingthat looked like a flash of yellow light shooting up in a straightdirection from the ground.
All three guessed what it was--the lightning passage of a squirrel upthe trunk of a tree; and there was the animal itself, clinging flatagainst the bark, having paused a moment--as is usual with squirrels--before making another rush upward.
"Oh!" cried Lucien, in a suppressed voice, "it is a fox-squirrel, andsuch a beauty! See! it is marked like a tortoise-shell cat! Papa wouldgive twenty dollars for such a skin."
"He shall have it for far less," rejoined Francois, stealing towards hisgun.
"Stop, Francois!" said Lucien. "Let Basil try it with his rifle--he isa surer shot than you."
"Very well," replied Francois; "but if he should miss, it's no harm forme to be ready."
Basil had already risen, and was silently making for the guns. Onreaching them, he took the long rifle, and turned in the direction ofthe game. At the same moment Francois armed himself with hisdouble-barrel.
The tree up which the squirrel had run was what is termed a "dead-wood."It was a decaying tulip-tree--scathed by lightning or storm--and stoodsomewhat apart from the others, out in the open ground. There waslittle else standing but the naked trunks, which rose like a column tothe height of sixty feet. The branches had all been swept away by thewind, with one exception; and this was a long limb that stretcheddiagonally upward from the top of the trunk. The limb, although crookedand forking in several places, was not very thick. It was without twigsor leaves, being of course, like the tree itself, dead.
Whilst Basil and Francois were preparing their guns, the squirrel hadmade a second rush to the top of this limb; where it sat itself down ina fork, and appeared to contemplate the setting sun. No better markcould have been desired for a shot, provided they could get near enough;and that they were likely to do, for the little animal did not appear toregard the presence either of them or their horses--thus showing that ithad never been hunted. With its bushy tail erect, and spread like afan, it sat upon its haunches, appearing to enjoy the warm beams thatcame from the west.
The boys moved softly around the glade, Basil going foremost. Whenwithin range, as he thought, he raised his rifle, levelled it, and wasabout to pull trigger, when the squirrel, that up to this moment had notnoticed him, gave a sudden start, dropped its tail, and ran down thelimb as if terrified. It did not stop until it had reached the maintrunk. There it halted, a foot or two from the head, and lay flatagainst the bark.
What could have alarmed it? Not the boys, for it had not minded thembefore; moreover, it still kept upon their side of the tree, offering asfair a mark as ever. Had it feared them it would, as all squirrels do,have hidden from them behind the trunk. But no, it was not afraid ofthem; for, as it lay horizontally along the bark, its head was turnedupward, and showed, by a peculiar motion, that it dreaded some enemyfrom above. And this was the fact, for high up and directly over thetree, a large bird of prey was seen circling in the air.
"Hold!" whispered Lucien, laying his hand upon Basil's arm--"hold,brother! it is the red-tailed hawk. See, he is going to swoop down.Let us watch him."
Basil lowered his rifle, and all three stood waiting. A leafy branchwas over their heads, so that the bird did not see them, or, intent uponstriking his prey, did not care for their presence at the moment.
Lucien had scarcely spoken, when the hawk, that had hitherto beensailing with his broad wings expanded, suddenly narrowed his tail, drewin his wings, and came down with a loud "whish-sh-sh!" He droppedalmost perpendicularly, grazing the squirrel so closely, that all threelooked for it in his talons as he flew off again. Not so, however. Thesquirrel had been upon his guard; and, as the hawk swooped down, haddoubled around the tree with the quickness of a flash of lightning. Bythe guidance of his rudder-like tail the hawk soon turned, and flewround to that side of the tree on which the squirrel had now settled. Afew strokes of his powerful wings soon enabled him to reach the properelevation; and again he swooped downward at his intended victim. Thesquirrel avoided him as before, and came back on the other side of thetrunk. Again the hawk doubled, rose, darted downward at his prey,missed it, and swept on. A fourth attempt met with like success, andthe bird once more flew back into the air, but still kept circling overthe tree.
"It's a wonder old foxy doesn't take to another tree," mutteredFrancois; "one with branches enough to shelter him, or to his own treewhere his hole is. There he would be safe."
"That's exactly what he wishes to do," replied Lucien. "But see! hisenemy is directly over him. There's no tree near enough, and if heattempted to run along the open ground, the hawk would be down upon himlike a shot. You saw how suddenly he dropped before?"
This was, in fact, the situation in which the squirrel was. It wasevident he regarded the trees at some distance with a wistful andanxious look; for, although he had succeeded so far in baffling hisenemy, he still appeared to suffer from suspense and fear.
As soon as the hawk had risen a dozen yards or so above the tree, heagain commenced wheeling in circles, uttering a strange cry as he flew.It was not a scream--as is often heard with these birds--but a cry ofdifferent import, as if a call to some comrade. It was so in fact, forin a moment it was answered from a distant part of the woods; and thenext moment, another hawk--red-tailed like himself, but much larger--wasseen soaring upwards. This was evidently his mate--for the female ofthese birds is always much larger than the males. The two soon cametogether, and wheeled above the tree, crossing each other's orbit, andlooking downward. The squirrel now appeared doubly terrified--for hewell knew their intent. He began to run around the trunk, lookingoutward at intervals, as though he intended to leap off and take to thethick woods.
The hawks did not allow him long time to make up his mind. The smallerone swooped first, but missed the squirrel as before, driving him aroundthe trunk. There the frightened creature had scarcely halted, when thegreat hen-hawk came at him with a whistling rush, and sent him back tothe other side.
The male bird had by this time turned and now dartedwith such suddenness and precision, that the squirrel, unable to passround the tree again, sprang off into the air. Guided by his broad tailthe hawk followed, and before the squirrel could reach the ground, thebird was seen to strike. Then with a loud scream he rose into the air,with the squirrel struggling in his talons.
His triumph was a short one. The crack of a shot gun was heard frombehind, and both hawk and squirrel fell heavily to the earth. Anothercrack followed, almost instantaneously, and his mate, the greathen-hawk, came tumbling down with a broken wing, and fluttered over thegrass, screaming like a cat. She was soon silenced by a stroke from thebutt of Francois' gun--both barrels of which were now empty--for it wasFrancois that had done the business for the red-tails.
What was most singular of all, the squirrel was not killed either by theshot or the fall. On the contrary, as Lucien was deliberately stoopingto pick it up--congratulating himself all the while upon his prize--itsuddenly made a spring, shook itself clear of the claws of the deadhawk; and, streaking off into the woods, ran up a tall tree. All threefollowed as fast as they could run; but on reaching the tree--an oakfive feet thick--they saw, to their mortification, the squirrel's holeabout fifty feet from the ground, which, of course, brought thatsquirrel hunt to its termination.
