The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp

by Thornton W. Burgess

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE SILVER FOX

  The log on which Sparrer was seated was near the edge of the swamp andcommanded a view of the small upper pond, while he himself was more orless screened from observation from that direction by a fringe of youngbirch and alders. He had sat there perhaps ten minutes, and was justbeginning to realize that he would have to move on in order to keep warmwhen his eyes, idly scanning the farther shore, detected somethingmoving among the trees beyond the farther end of the little dam.

  Instantly he was all attention, his eyes glued to the spot. He forgotthat he was beginning to feel chilled. A warm glow of excitement rushedover him. There was an animal of some kind over there, but what he couldnot tell at that distance. But one thing was certain, it was no rabbit,for it was dark in color, and it was too big. He could catch buttantalizing glimpses of it in the young growth along the edge of thepond, and presently it disappeared altogether behind a tangle of fallenbrush. Unconsciously he held his breath as he waited for it to reappear.Slowly the minutes slipped away. He began to think that his eyes musthave been playing him tricks. He was once more becoming conscious of thecold and had almost decided to cross over and investigate the brush pileinto which he thought the animal had vanished when a black form leapedlightly out on the farther end of the dam and paused with one fore footuplifted and head thrown up to test the wind.

  Sparrer needed but one look at the great plume of a tail to know that itwas a fox, but such a fox as he had never dreamed existed. It was biggerthan any fox he had ever seen, the great size being apparent even atthat distance. And instead of the red coat of the foxes with which theboy was familiar at the Bronx Zoo this fellow was robed in the blacknessof night, and this was intensified by contrast with the pure white ofhis surroundings.

  "It's him, de silver fox!" gasped Sparrer under his breath, and with therealization that here before his very eyes was the king of the NorthAmerican fur bearers, whose skin was worth a fabulous sum, according towhat he had heard, he began to shake as with the ague. What if he couldget him? A cold sweat broke out at the mere thought. There on the damwas what to him was nothing less than a fortune, and here was he shakinglike an aspen leaf in the wind. The distance was too great for a shot atpresent, but perhaps the fox would come nearer, and then a true eye andsteady nerves for just a matter of a few seconds and the prize might behis.

  With a quick intake of breath he tried to get a grip on himself. Hethought of the battles he had fought with bullies older and bigger thanhimself, and had won because he had kept his head in the heat of contestand had coolly taken advantage of every opening. But that was different.Then he was in action and it was easier to keep cool. Then, too, if hemissed one blow there was a chance for another. It was this sittingstill with the knowledge that there would be but one chance, and thatthis must be taken at just the right moment or be lost forever thatupset him so. Then curiously enough the motto of the Boy Scouts flashedinto his head--"Be prepared." It was like a tonic to his shaking nerves.Was not a Scout supposed to be prepared for all emergencies, and whatwas this but a form of emergency?

  He stopped shaking. He lifted his rifle ever so little and found that itremained steady and motionless in his hands. "It ain't no fox. It's justa rabbit and youse can't miss it," he whispered over and over tohimself, and experienced an odd sense of confidence. He was himself oncemore, the Sparrer of the streets, able to take care of himself and keephis head in any emergency; the Sparrer of the Blue Tortoise Patrol,noting the number of the fleeing machine at the time of the accident.

  Meanwhile the fox was leisurely crossing the dam, stopping now and thento sniff at the snow or to test the wind. Fortunately what little therewas of the latter was blowing toward the hidden watcher, a fact whichSparrer did not appreciate at the time. Had the wind been the other waythe fox would have caught the hated man smell and vanished like ashadow. As it was his every move denoted complete lack of suspicion sofar as a fox ever does lack this characteristic trait.

  Sparrer was at complete loss as to what he should do. The temptation tocrawl forward so as to get within easy range of the end of the dam wasalmost irresistible, but he realized that the first move on his partwould be likely to attract the keen eyes of his quarry, and arouse hissuspicions. Had the fringe of brush through which he was watching beenleaved out it might have been possible to successfully make this move,but as it was his dark body against the white background could hardlyfail of detection despite the screen of brush. He knew enough of animalsto know that so long as he was motionless he would appear to be no morethan a part of the log on which he sat, and wisely concluded to sittight and await developments.

  If the fox continued clear across the dam there was one point at whichhe would afford a clear shot through a little opening in the brush. Itwould be at long range, but the 22 was high powered, and if he couldjudge the distance aright and hold true there was a chance that hemight kill. So far as he could see this appeared to be his only chance,and he prepared to take advantage of it. Inch by inch he wormed himselfaround on the log so as to face this opening. Then estimating thedistance as best he could, a difficult matter across the snow, he sethis sights accordingly, cocked the rifle and held it in readiness. Allthe time he kept whispering to himself, "Nothin' but a rabbit. Nothin'to git excited about. Youse has got a dead cinch. Youse can't miss."Somehow this trying to think of the fox as a rabbit helped wonderfully.Anybody could hit a rabbit.

  The fox was trotting now with his nose to the snow. Sparrer wasconscious of a hope so great that it was almost a prayer that the animalwould stop when he reached the critical spot. It would be a hard enoughshot at a motionless mark, but to hit a mark moving as swiftly as thefox was now going was more than he dared even dream of doing. The trotbroke into a lope. Sparrer raised the rifle and sighted through theopening. It seemed to him that that swiftly moving form crossed theopening in one leap, a blur of black across his sights. Slowly helowered his rifle. His chance was gone.

  In the reaction that followed he realized how high his hopes had been.It seemed as if Fortune had but played with him, had put the prizealmost within his grasp and then as he reached for it had snatched itaway to tease and mock him. He could have cried with vexation anddisappointment had he been of the weeping kind. As it was he swallowed alump in his throat and leaned forward to peer through the brush for onelast glimpse of the royal animal.

  At the end of the dam the fox stopped. Sparrer could just make him outthrough the tangled screen of brush. For a moment he stood motionless.It seemed to the boy like adding insult to injury. Then with a longgraceful leap he landed on the snow of the swamp. A sudden hope causedSparrer to instinctively tighten his grip on the rifle and catch hisbreath. Perhaps the fox would come his way! If he should, well, he wouldat least find a true Scout--he would be prepared.

  But the fox did not turn in his direction. Instead he kept straight oninto the swamp as if he intended to cross it to the high land which madeup to the hills beyond. Sparrer caught occasional glimpses of himthrough the trees. He crossed the trail by which Sparrer had come in,sniffed at it, looked up in Sparrer's direction suspiciously, it seemedto him, sniffed again and then trotted on as if the matter were of nopresent interest. The dry snow had not held the scent sufficiently tocause alarm.

  Instead of continuing in a direct course for the hills the fox now beganto quarter the ground very much as a bird dog does in quest of quail. Inshort runs from side to side he advanced deeper into the swamp,investigating every bush and clump of trees in his course, pausing nowand then with head raised and ears cocked forward to listen, thenrunning on again. Gradually it dawned on Sparrer that Reynard hadcrossed the dam with a definite purpose. He had come over to the swampwith the same object in view that had brought Sparrer there--to huntrabbits.

  The sharp contrast between the snow and the black coat of the fox madeit possible for Sparrer to follow the animal's movements at a distancewhich under ordinary conditions would have been impossible. He hadturned and was working u
p wind, continually stopping to carefully testthe light air in the hope of scenting a hare. His course was nowdirectly away from Sparrer toward the lower end of the swamp. The boycould get only an occasional glimpse of him and presently lost himaltogether. Once more bitter disappointment rankled in his heart. Whatshould he do now? Should he remain where he was, or should he move on?How he wished that he knew more about hunting and the ways of animals,black foxes in particular. What would Pat do were he in his place? Wouldhe give up? Somehow he couldn't picture Pat as giving up without furthereffort to capture so great a prize.

  "He'd do somethin', but what?" Sparrer scowled in labored thought. Thefox was somewhere between him and the cabin. Should he turn back on thechance that he would jump the animal somewhere on the way and get arunning shot? "No chance," he decided, remembering the clack of hisshoes in walking. "He'd hear me a mile." He slipped his shoes off androse to his feet. The crust bore him, for he was a light weight. Then hetook a comprehensive survey of his surroundings. There was one otherchance. The fox might return. He would soon reach the lower edge of theswamp and failing to make a kill might decide to try his luck down windin the main body of the swamp.

  The more Sparrer thought of this the more likely it seemed. Perhapsunconsciously he was allowing hope to father the idea. Anyway it raisedhis spirits wonderfully. In such an event he must be ready. Once more helooked the ground over carefully. His present position was on the outeredge of the swamp. He quickly appreciated that if he were farther in hischances would be doubled in case the fox returned. If he remained wherehe was the fox might pass so far toward the other side that he would noteven see him, to say nothing of getting a shot, whereas if he could finda place farther in which would command a fairly open view in alldirections the chances of the animal passing unseen would be greatlyreduced. Slightly back of his present position and a good rifle shot into the swamp he noted a small mound crowned by a clump of young birches.He decided to take his stand there and await developments. Silently butvigorously he swung his arms to restore circulation, then picking up hisrifle and shoes he made his way quickly toward the new stand, taking theutmost care not to snap a twig or make the least noise.

  As he entered the clump of birches a white form leaped out from thelower side, ran ten or twelve yards and sat up, looking back with eyesin which fear and curiosity were strangely blended. It was a hare, orso-called snow-shoe rabbit, and a big one. Slowly and carefully Sparrerput down his shoes and then straightened up and raised his rifle.Silently he brought the sights to bear on the motionless white form. Hisfinger was already on the trigger when he remembered the fox. A shot nowwould effectually put an end to any possibility of getting the prince offur bearers that day, and what was a rabbit compared with the latter?

  Oddly enough the old adage "A bird in the hand is worth two in thebush" popped into his head, but this time the one in the bush was of somuch greater value that he promptly decided to let the one in hand go.At that distance he couldn't miss, for he had readjusted the sights andhe had but to press the trigger to put an end to bunny. A little sighescaped him as he lowered the rifle. The lowering of that rifle was thehardest thing he had done for a long time. It required considerablepower of self-restraint. The fox might not come back, and if he didmight not offer a shot, or he might miss him. Then the chances were thathe would have to return to the cabin empty handed.

  With the lowering of the rifle the rabbit dropped to a crouch, thumpedthe snow smartly, and then slowly hopped away to a point twenty yardsdistant in the direction in which the fox had gone, and there crouchedunder a bush, an inconspicuous lump of white. Sparrer noted withsatisfaction that she was still within good range, and made up his mindthat if there were no signs of the fox within fifteen or twenty minutesand the rabbit still remained where she was he would shoot.

  Now be it known that the thump of a rabbit can be heard a long distance.It was so unexpected and so loud that it fairly startled Sparrer, whowas wholly unfamiliar with this method of rabbit signaling. The groundis an excellent transmitter of sound and the heavy snow crust was hardlyless effective. Other ears than Sparrer's heard, and for them thatsignal was pregnant with meaning and possibilities. Not two minuteslater Sparrer caught sight of a black spot moving swiftly in hisdirection. It was the fox.

  As he drew nearer he moved more slowly and with characteristic cunningand caution. Every few steps he paused to listen and to look sharplyunder every tree and bush. He no longer tested the air as when Sparrerhad last seen him, for now he was working down wind and must trust toeyes and ears rather than to his nose. But he was no less thorough inthe way in which he covered the ground. Back and forth across Sparrer'sfield of vision he wove, investigating every likely hiding-place,approaching each with infinite care, tense, alert, the picture ofeagerness, prepared to spring at the first move of his quarry.

  As he approached Sparrer could read in every move and attitude of theblack hunter expectancy and confidence. That he knew to a reasonablecertainty the approximate location from which that signal thump hadsounded was clearly evident. That he also knew that the rabbit mighthave, and very likely had, moved since thumping was also clear and hewas taking no chance of over-running his game. If he kept on as he wascoming he would be within shooting distance within a few minutes. Inchby inch Sparrer raised the rifle and then, hardly daring to breathe,tense, as motionless as the trees among which he stood, he waited.

  The fox was now within thirty yards, and still coming. It was plain thathe was unsuspicious of danger and intent wholly on the hunt. At thispoint he turned obliquely to the left to investigate an old log. Sparrerwas tempted to shoot, but a clump of alders was in the way and he wellknew that even a small twig would be almost sure to deflect the bullet.He would wait. Finding nothing at the log the fox turned and quarteredto the right, which brought him into the open between the rabbit andthe hunter and but a few yards from the former. The angle at which hewas approaching was such as to offer the smallest mark possible and makethe shot uncertain for such a novice as Sparrer. By a great effort thelatter overcame the almost overwhelming temptation to shoot and waited,hoping that the animal would turn broadside.

  Suddenly he whirled like a flash. The boy's first thought was that hehad been discovered, but the next move of the fox explained his action.Crouching so that he appeared to move on his belly he began to creeptoward the rabbit, which still sat motionless. The fox had caught thescent of the latter at the instant he turned and he had but to followhis nose straight to his victim. Meanwhile he presented no better markthan before, as he was now moving straight away, and Sparrer held hisfire. By this time he was so interested in the tragedy that was beingenacted before him that he almost forgot his own immediate purpose.

  Inch by inch the black hunter crept forward, hugging the snow. ThenSparrer saw him gather his muscular hindlegs under him. There was aswift leap and at the same instant the rabbit left her form in a longjump. Before she could make another the fox was upon her. There was ashrill scream, a crunching of teeth and it was over. For an instant thefox stood with one foot on the still white form, a black statue oftriumph. Then he picked the rabbit up by the middle and the limp formhung transversely in his jaws, the long legs hanging on one side and thedrooping head with ridiculously long ears on the other. It was clearthat Reynard did not intend to enjoy his feast on the spot.

  In executing this last move he had turned broadside. It was now or neverfor Sparrer. With infinite care he lined his sights just back of theshoulder and pulled the trigger. Simultaneously with the sharp crack ofthe rifle the fox made a convulsive spring and then crumpled in a blackheap on the snow. Shaking so that he could hardly manipulate the leverSparrer ejected the empty shell and threw another cartridge into place.Then with the rifle at his shoulder, covering the pathetic black heap asbest he could, he slowly advanced. Somewhere he had read or heard thatit was an old fox trick to simulate death, and he was taking no chances.

  But his precautions were needless. The bullet had severed the spinalcolumn. The
silver fox of Smugglers' Hollow had stalked his last rabbitand made his last kill. In the revulsion of feeling from the reactionfollowing the long nervous strain Sparrer hardly knew whether to laughor cry. As he stretched the black form out on the snow and ran his handsthrough the wonderful soft black fur and admired the great tail with itstip of snowy white he had for the moment almost a feeling of regret thathe had been the means of destroying so beautiful a creature. Then thetrue significance of his achievement, luck he called it, swept over himand his eyes shone as he pictured his reception at the cabin.

  In the midst of his triumphant thoughts a guttural voice broke in:"White boy heap good shot."

  Sparrer whirled to find himself staring into a dark coppery countenancewith beady eyes, low brow and high cheek bones. It was an Indian.