by Colin Dann
‘Do you admire it?’ his uncle enquired.
‘Of course. Don’t you? If I were like that I’d be the envy of all.’
‘You’d have to learn a little more quietness then,’ Friendly chaffed him. The point was not lost on his young relative who was something of a chatterer. ‘And,’ he went on, ‘can you climb trees?’
‘I can climb a bit,’ the youngster declared. ‘I’m not sure about trees.’
While this conversation was proceeding, the elders of the Farthing Wood community were meeting specifically to discuss the threat from the super-predator. The talk seemed to go round and round in circles, without anything being resolved. At last Badger, who had held his peace for most of the time, murmured, ‘I can’t help thinking of cats.’
‘What? What did you say, Badger?’ Fox asked sharply.
‘Well, you see, Fox,’ Badger went on in his rather quavery voice, ‘I’m reminded of Ginger Cat. I spent a lot of time with him in the Warden’s home after my accident. You’ll remember that winter when I hurt my –’
‘Yes, yes,’ Fox cut in hurriedly. He knew how Badger was apt to wander off the point. ‘We all recall Ginger Cat. Now what about him?’
‘Well, the thing that struck me most about him was his stealth,’ Badger explained. ‘He could be so quiet in his movements, you wouldn’t know he was about. And . . . and . . . he could climb like anything. So I wonder if this stranger in our midst might be a cat?’
‘Oh, Badger, don’t be absurd!’ Tawny Owl scoffed. ‘How could a cat have slaughtered as this beast has done? It wouldn’t have the strength.’
‘I didn’t necessarily mean a cat like the Warden’s cat,’ Badger continued doggedly. ‘But – er – another sort of cat . . .’
Weasel said: ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it, Fox?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fox. ‘What other sorts of cats are there?’
None of them had an answer to that.
‘It’s not a cat,’ Tawny Owl declared peremptorily. ‘It’s a larger animal altogether.’
‘But if it’s so large, Owl,’ Weasel said cheekily, ‘why haven’t you been able to spot it?’
Tawny Owl looked awkward. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and shuffled his feet. ‘But Whistler looked too,’ he added quickly as if that helped his argument which, of course, it did not.
‘The fact is,’ said Toad, ‘we’re all completely in the dark. And we shall remain in the dark until one of us – or another animal – comes face to face with the creature.’
‘If that should happen, he won’t live to tell the tale,’ Fox reminded him.
‘He might – if he had wings,’ Toad suggested.
‘Wings haven’t been of much use so far,’ Whistler said. ‘Birds have been taken from their nests.’
‘Then the bird in question should remain in the air,’ Toad answered.
‘I think Toad has something,’ Vixen remarked. ‘Another search should be made. Tawny Owl and Whistler didn’t actually search the Reserve itself because the beast was believed to be outside it.’
‘Very true,’ said Fox. ‘No use looking by day, though. It keeps itself well hidden. Owl, if you were very clever and very quiet, you might catch a glimpse of it. It has to hunt.’
‘Oh, I can match the beast itself for quietness,’ Tawny Owl boasted. ‘No question of that. My flight is utterly noiseless. You see, my wing feathers –’
‘Yes, we’re all aware of your abilities,’ Weasel cut in, rather sourly.
‘Will you have another try?’ Fox asked hurriedly, before Owl reacted.
‘I certainly will,’ the bird answered at once. He was delighted to be relied upon, and flattered by Fox’s confidence in him.
‘I still think it’s a creature of the feline type,’ Badger muttered obstinately.
Tawny Owl stared at him. His hooked beak opened on a retort, but he closed it again without speaking. He would very soon prove Badger wrong about that.
The gathering began to break up, when Fox suddenly asked: ‘Has anyone seen Adder?’
It appeared that none of them had. Toad was usually the first to set eyes on him in the spring, for they often hibernated together. But even he had no idea where he was.
‘I don’t like to leave him out of our discussion,’ Fox remarked. ‘But he knows where we are so it’s easier for him to seek us out.’
‘Perhaps now it’s warmer he’ll turn up soon?’ suggested Whistler.
‘Huh! I suppose he might deign to show himself,’ Weasel retorted. ‘But as time goes by Adder gets crustier and crustier or, perhaps I should say in his case, scalier and scalier.’
‘He’ll be around,’ Toad affirmed. ‘I think I know him better than you do, Weasel. You’ve always taken his offhand manner too much to heart. It’s just his way. After all, he is a snake, not a warm-blooded mammal. And I can tell you, he’s just as loyal as any of us.’
The little group split up and went about their own concerns. As it turned out, talking about Adder seemed, though quite by chance, to hasten his arrival. The very next day Vixen found him coiled up by the entrance to her earth.
‘Ah, Vixen,’ said the snake. ‘Another spring and yet you look just the same.’
Compliments from Adder were few and far between. Vixen was conscious of the unusual distinction. ‘How nice to be greeted in such a charming way,’ she said graciously. ‘And how good to see you after all this time.’
Adder uncoiled himself and slid towards her. His thin body was blunt at the tail where some time ago he had lost about two centimetres of his length in a tussle with an enemy fox.
‘The Reserve is alive with frogs, it seems,’ he remarked with his infamous leer. ‘I must try to work up an appetite and make the most of them.’ His tongue flickered in and out as he tested the air.
‘That won’t be very difficult after your long fast, I should think.’
‘Oh, my cold blood needs time to heat up properly,’ he answered. ‘I’m always a bit sluggish at first.’
Vixen explained what had happened at the pond.
‘Yes, I’ve heard rumours,’ the snake drawled. ‘There seem to be all kinds of strange stories about. Some monster or other on the prowl, I believe?’
‘I think that’s an exaggeration,’ Vixen said. ‘But there is a fierce creature roaming the Park. None of us feels safe. And the worst of it is – we don’t know what this creature looks like.’
Fox, hearing Adder’s voice, had emerged from the earth. ‘Tawny Owl is keeping a lookout on his night travels,’ he added, after he and Adder had exchanged greetings.
‘Hm. Well, I’ve seen nothing,’ the snake said. ‘Except –’
The foxes waited but Adder seemed to have forgotten what he was going to say.
‘Except what?’ Fox prompted.
‘Oh, it’s of no importance,’ Adder hissed. He had quickly decided that something he had detected might alarm them further. ‘Have you seen Toad?’ he asked to divert them.
‘Oh yes. He steers clear of the pond too,’ Vixen told him.
‘Mmm. I hope I come across him,’ Adder murmured. ‘Well, I’m off to sun myself,’ he added abruptly. ‘Then I’ll be ready for those frogs.’
He disappeared rather hurriedly and Fox and Vixen looked at each other with wry expressions.
‘He doesn’t change,’ Vixen observed.
‘No, he doesn’t,’ Fox concurred. ‘And I wouldn’t want him to. But he’s keeping something from us. I know him.’
* * * * *
Adder was keeping something back. Before he would say more, he wanted his suspicions about what he had seen confirmed or allayed. Toad was the one to do that. So the snake went in search of him.
He had not been misleading the foxes about sunning himself. He needed the warmth from a long bask in the sun to get his muscles working properly in case there should be a bit of travelling for him to do. He found a patch of dead bracken which faced into the spring sunshine. The spot was dry and the ground felt quite warm
. It was ideal for him. While he enjoyed his sun-bath Adder reflected that it was just the opposite of the sort of place Toad would be seeking. Toad liked dampness and shelter from the sun’s rays, and preferred to move about after dark.
When Adder felt thoroughly warm and sufficiently lively, he moved off. He was still in the part of the Park originally colonized by the band of Farthing Wood animals, and so he hoped he might meet some old companions. As he rippled through the dry dead stalks of grass he saw an animal rise from the ground a few metres in front of him. It was Leveret who, in a typical attitude, was standing on hind legs to look about him. Adder hastened forward, calling in his rasping way. He knew that if Leveret bounded off there would be no hope of his catching him again. No animal in the Park could move so swiftly. Luckily Leveret detected the snake’s movement and dropped on all fours to await him.
‘I thought it must be you,’ he said when Adder came up. ‘Well, it’s a sign Spring has really and truly arrived when you are seen moving about.’
‘I’m looking for Toad,’ Adder stated bluntly, without offering a greeting.
‘Yes. I see.’
‘Well, can you help me?’
‘I hope so, yes. What’s the problem?’ Leveret asked.
The snake’s tongue flickered faster than ever, a sure sign of his exasperation. It was always the same with this maddening animal, he thought. Everything had to be said twice. ‘Can you help me find Toad?’ he hissed slowly and emphatically.
‘If you wish it, Adder. Now where shall we begin?’
‘Oh, don’t bother!’ said the snake angrily. ‘Perhaps I’ll manage better on my own.’
Leveret looked surprised. ‘But I thought –’ he began.
‘Look,’ said Adder. ‘I’m going towards the pond. If you see Toad tell him to meet me there. I need his advice.’ He slid away in a bad humour. ‘Mammals!’ he muttered.
Leveret watched his departure. ‘Funny he should be going to the pond when everyone else has been moving away from it,’ he said to himself.
Adder took a roundabout route to the pond. Always one of the most secretive creatures in his movements, he now used extra care in view of the new air of uncertainty in the Reserve. It was a while before he reached the pond and his progress had been arrested twice on the way by two plump frogs who had presented to him irresistible reasons for delay. But once near the water’s edge in the early dusk, Adder was still able to see the strange signs he had detected before. He settled himself down amongst the reeds and sedges for what might prove to be a long wait. The surface of the pond was undisturbed in the evening calm and no sound – not a single croak or chirp – arose from the vegetation clothing its banks.
Toad had soon been rounded up by Leveret. He was puzzled by Adder’s message but, since he well knew that the snake was not prone to seek another’s company without a definite purpose, he agreed to set off for the rendezvous. It was with some considerable misgiving that Toad found himself returning to the scene of so much recent agitation. He decided to run no risks – even though he suspected a small creature like himself might be beneath the notice of the mysterious fierce hunter. He covered most of the distance to the pond in daylight, but as soon as he got close to the danger area he hid himself in some thick moss to await darkness. Then, with the benefit of its screen, he continued rather more confidently. However, he was still wary, and he paused often to listen. He reached the pond without noticing any evidence of an unusual presence abroad that night.
Toad gave a muffled croak once or twice in the hope that only the waiting Adder would recognize it. The snake had expected him to arrive after dark and had remained alert, so the ploy worked.
‘Well, you’ve taken a chance,’ Toad said in a low voice as he pulled himself into the waterside screen from which Adder hissed his position.
‘Only a slender one if there’s no chance of discovery,’ Adder observed wryly. ‘I want you to look at something, Toad, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That patch of mud,’ Adder indicated in front of them. ‘What do you make of it?’
Toad looked where he was bidden. After a while he said, ‘Nothing much. Unless you mean – oh!’ a little croak of alarm escaped him involuntarily.
‘You see them then?’
‘Paw prints!’
‘I thought as much,’ hissed the snake. ‘But, you understand, Toad, someone who relies on my sort of locomotion can’t claim to be an expert in such matters.’
‘I take your point,’ said Toad. ‘But there can be no doubt. The frightening thing is –’
‘I know – the size of them. I suppose they’ve been made by a mammal?’
‘Oh yes. No frog or toad in existence could make marks like that.’
‘I first saw them a day or so ago,’ Adder said, ‘and didn’t pay much attention. It’s only now I realize their significance.’
‘Do the others know?’
‘I’ve said nothing. I wasn’t sure. Well, Toad, this will put their fur into a bristle.’
‘I wonder if we should tell them? I mean, LOOK! What size must the creature be?’
‘Big enough to kill a deer. No, we can’t leave them in ignorance. They should be prepared.’
‘Prepared for what, Adder? What can they do?’
‘Nothing, I imagine,’ the snake answered bluntly, ‘except – keep their wits about them.’
Toad recalled the birds’ mission. ‘The animal might have been seen by now. Tawny Owl is combing the park.’
‘This creature’s too clever to be found by an owl,’ Adder remarked with a hint of contempt. ‘It’s a master of concealment.’
The notion entered Toad’s head that the Beast might be lying hidden nearby at that moment, and keeping them under observation. He became very nervous. ‘I – I – think we shouldn’t stay here,’ he chattered. ‘It might come back at any moment and – and – we know it’s active at night. Let’s separate.’
‘I think we’re safe enough,’ Adder drawled affectedly, ‘But all right, Toad. Thanks for your advice. My fears were well founded.’
Toad muttered something about seeing Adder again ‘in the usual place’ and hopped hurriedly away. The snake made up his mind to stay awhile in case he might be able to add some more evidence to the existing clues.
In the meantime Tawny Owl was on his second reconnaissance flight. He combed the park methodically, concentrating on the areas most fitted to an animal who wanted to hide itself. But, like the first, this second night of searching produced nothing. Before dawn, Tawny Owl flew wearily to a favourite perch in a beech copse. He was very tired indeed, but was pleased with the way he had carried out his mission. He felt he had left, as it were, no stone unturned. He settled his wings sleepily and, little by little, his big round eyes closed.
The Moon shone brightly over the countryside. White Deer Park shimmered in its glow. Once or twice the owl shifted his grip on the beech bough. It was a bright night, and each branch of the tree was picked out sharply in the moonlight. Tawny Owl dozed. But something – some influence or other – prevented him from sleeping properly, despite his tiredness. He opened one eye and, from his high perch, looked down towards the ground. What he saw nearly caused him to fall from the branch. A huge face, with eyes glinting in the moonlight like live coals, stared up at him.
Tawny Owl lost his grip, overbalanced, flapped his wings frantically and just saved himself from plunging downwards head first. He let out a screech and fought his way awkwardly up through the branches, at last gaining sufficient height to feel safe. He veered away from the copse and steadied himself as he recovered from his sudden shock. The Beast!
As Tawny Owl calmed down he wondered if any other creature had seen his frightened reaction. He looked all round to see if he was watched and then alighted elsewhere, far enough away from his first spot to be comfortable. Now he wondered if he had imagined what he’d seen. It was so sudden – had he been dreaming? He did not think so,
but he knew he ought to go back for a second look. After all, he was quite safe in the air. He thought about it for a while, trying to find valid reasons for not going back. But he could not think of any.
‘Still. It’s probably moved by now. Not much point,’ he told himself unconvincingly. Then he thought of his friends. He owed it to them to make a proper report. He hesitated. Tawny Owl was not lacking in courage, but he really had had a bad fright. The Beast had been so close! At last he stiffened his resolve and took to the air once more, flying on a circular course which eventually brought him back to the borders of the beech copse. He fluttered to and fro uncertainly. Actually to enter the little wood again was extraordinarily difficult.
When he finally did fly in, he went cautiously from one tree to another, stopping each time before moving on. When the tree from which he had seen the Beast came into view, of course there was no sign of any animal, large or small, in its branches. A feeling of great relief flooded over the owl and now he flew right up to the tree for a closer look. Nothing!
‘I shouldn’t have delayed,’ he muttered. ‘It was wrong of me. Two great eyes – that’s not much to go on. Now I suppose the thing’s got well away from this place.’ He flew about the copse, examining everything that might yield a clue. But there were no clues, not even footprints, for last year’s dry leaves were still thick on the ground. And not the slightest rustle disturbed them.
Tawny Owl left the copse and directed his flight towards Fox’s earth. He began to feel quite proud of his news. He, alone of all the Park’s inhabitants, had had a glimpse of the stranger who had come to dominate their lives. It made him very important.
Day broke as he arrived. He called to Fox and Vixen peremptorily. Already his mind was beginning to exaggerate the little he had seen. There were stirrings in the foxes’ den. Vixen peered out.
‘Oh, hallo, Owl,’ she murmured and went promptly back inside again.
‘Wait!’ cried the bird. ‘I’ve news that –’
But Vixen was not listening. Tawny Owl could hear voices inside the earth. He hooted with frustration. He was bursting to tell them of his experience. Then Fox emerged on his own.
