by Colin Dann
But the very next afternoon Fox saw what he had been waiting for. The children arrived, but found their skating restricted. Almost a third of the Pond now had to be avoided, and they soon left it altogether in favour of tobogganing. Fox knew it was time for him to re-visit the Stag.
The great beast listened silently while he unfolded his plan, then raised his head and bellowed a challenge to the air, ‘Now let them come,’ he roared. Fox waited no longer. There was much to do.
But first he wanted Vixen’s approval. During the journey to the Park he had relied a good deal on her judgement and had learnt to value it. She heard his plan and looked at him in admiration. Her enthusiasm did not need to be expressed in words. The Fox gathered all his friends together and put them in the picture also. They were totally in agreement save, predictably, for Tawny Owl who only gave grudging support.
‘Can’t see why you want to bother so much with a deer herd,’ he muttered. ‘As long as the humans are banging away at them, we’re that much safer.’
‘But safer still if they can’t “bang away” at anything Fox said coolly.
‘Very well,’ said Badger. ‘Now we must arrange for the sentries.’
So a system was arranged by which the animals were to watch the place where the poachers entered, the boundary between the Park and the road, and give early warning of their approach. Tawny Owl, Kestrel and Whistler were stationed at intervals along the fence. Along the ground Weasel, Hare, Badger and Vixen waited. Midway between the boundary and the Pond, Fox was stationed, while in the region of the Pond itself the Great Stag was patrolling in readiness to play his part in the Plan.
The first night passed without event, and at dawn the animals and birds returned to their homes. On the second night they were back at their posts. Although it was still cold, there was no longer the viciousness in the wind that had cut through their fur and feathers like a knife-blade. The snow that had covered the ground for so long had softened and, on the road outside the Park, had been churned into slush by motor vehicles. It was the noise of the steady squelch of steps through this slush that was the first sign to the waiting animals of the men’s approach.
Weasel’s sharp ears were the first to detect the sound. His small body, so close to the ground, had not the stature to see into the road. He ran quickly to the fence-post on which sat Tawny Owl. ‘I hear footsteps!’ he cried. ‘Is it them?’
‘I can see something coming,’ replied Owl. ‘Wait – yes, two figures … Yes! Yes! Quickly! Tell the others! I’m off to Fox!’ He flew up in a wide arc over the tree-tops and sped off in the direction of the waiting Fox. Weasel passed the word to the others and together they raced back through the Park. Fox saw Tawny Owl approaching him at speed and himself prepared to run.
‘To the Pond!’ cried Owl. ‘They’re on their way!’
At once Fox set off at a breakneck pace, his breath coming like small bursts of steam from his mouth. Whistler and Kestrel were first back to safety. Vixen, Weasel and Badger had a long run ahead of them to keep in front of the men. Only Hare was almost as swift overland as the birds through the air.
Fox had told them to hide themselves once he had received the message. Out of sight they were quite safe from the poachers’ guns. The men had come for larger game. But it was not in the nature of the animals of Farthing Wood to disassociate themselves from such an important event – and one in which the leader was placing himself in danger. So the slower animals had condemned themselves to run across an exhausting stretch of parkland to be in on things. Of the three Vixen was by far the fastest and she outdistanced Weasel and Badger as quickly as Hare had outdistanced her. Weasel, although far smaller than Badger, was much more lithe and had a far more elastic and rippling running pace. But he moderated his speed to suit the older animal’s comfort.
As his friends hastened back to join him, Fox was on his way to join the Stag. The scion of the deer herd had agreed to keep his station by the Pond each night until he saw Fox again. He lowered his head as he saw the familiar chestnut body racing towards him.
‘Hold – yourself – ready,’ gasped Fox, his tongue lolling painfully from his mouth. ‘They’re coming.’
‘So tonight is to be the night,’ the Stag intoned. ‘Rest awhile, my friend. You appear to be somewhat distressed.’
‘No, I – mustn’t stop – I must complete the – task,’ Fox panted. ‘I – have to make – sure they – find you.’ And he was off again, back in the direction from which he had come – back towards the men with guns. He passed a black poplar in whose boughs clustered Tawny Owl, Kestrel and Whistler. But they did not interrupt him and he did not see them. He did see Hare but there was no time to stop and he went by without a glance. Next he passed Vixen who gave him a longing look. He half looked back as he ran, but even she had to be ignored for the sake of the Plan. When he spotted Badger and Weasel in the distance he dropped on all fours, for behind them the two fateful shadows were approaching.
‘Go to cover,’ he told his friends as they reached him. ‘No need to endanger more of us than necessary.’ They passed on and Fox waited to begin the gamble of his life.
Among the snow-coated sedges by the Pond lay Hare. He was watching the White Stag nervously tossing his head as he stood by the edge of the ice, his legs quivering. Vixen found him and lay down. She was unable to speak. Her heart was pounding unmercifully. Eventually Badger and Weasel tottered in to join them. There they waited and watched.
Twenty yards from the men, Fox stood up and yapped loudly. The signal was heard and out from the nearby copse came the White Deer herd, slowly, timidly, in knots of three and four. The men stopped. One pointed and their voices made themselves heard. They were looking among the herd and Fox knew who they were looking for. But the one they wanted was missing. The human voices were heard again – harsh, rough voices. The deer paused. Fox yapped again and started towards them. The deer scattered as instructed, running in the direction of the Pond. The men shouted angrily, now pointing at the fox. This was the animal that had frustrated them before. Fox ran behind the herd as if driving them. His back was to the men, and every nerve-end along his neck, his spine and his haunches was strung as taut as a guitar string. The hackles rose on his coat for he knew he was courting death. At last he had to glance back. He saw one of the men raise his gun. It was aimed at him, the cause of their wrath. But Fox had no intention of being shot. He wheeled away at a right-angle, running fast, then twisted and swerved, twisted and swerved, like a hare followed by hounds. A shot rang out but the bullet found no mark.
Now the men were running, for their quarry was escaping. They would have one deer, if not the one they were after. The herd reached the brink of the Pond and spread out, screening its edge. In front of them, on to the ice itself, stepped the Great Stag. Cautiously he went, pausing at each step, until he reached the limit of safety. As the men came up, the herd swung away to the right, leaving the Stag exposed – solitary, undefended, alone on the ice. The men saw their passage was clear on the left side of the Pond. The Stag’s head was turned away as if he were ignorant of their intention. They edged out, foot by foot, on the treacherous ice. They meant to have him this time. At the moment they raised their weapons Fox barked a third time. The Stag swung his great head round, saw the men and, with a tremendous bound leapt for the shore. But the poachers were committed now. They saw their target about to escape from their grip again. They ran forward to take aim at the retreating animal and then – crash! suddenly it was as if their feet were snatched from under them, and they were plunging down, down into black, icy water. Their guns were thrown away as they sought to save themselves, floundering and trying to find a handhold on something.
The Great Stag turned at the edge of the ice and saw the weapons meant for his death sink to the murky depths of the Pond’s bottom, abandoned without a thought by their owners. At this clear evidence that Fox’s plan had worked to perfection the Stag laid his head back and bellowed in triumph. Then Fox was surroun
ded by his jubilant friends – his old friends and the whole of the deer herd. The Great Stag joined them. ‘That,’ he boomed, ‘is a piece of animal cunning never likely to be surpassed.’
While the animals were milling around, the men were striking out for the shore. The Pond was not deep and they were in no danger save that of a severe ducking and a bad chill. Their cries of anger had changed to cries of distress before they had pulled their frozen, dripping bodies clear of the water on to the shore. They cast one look at the bevy of wild creatures who had bested them, and then set off at an uncomfortable trot. Their misery would not be over for a while, for back they had to go across the Park and along the slushy road before there was any hope of being dry and warm again. At every step the icy coldness of their drenched clothing chafed at their bodies and neither of them could imagine a discomfort existed that could be more severe.
‘I think we’ve seen the last of them,’ said Hare. ‘Fox, this is your greatest day. Even on our long journey you never reached these heights.’
Fox felt the admiration of all the creatures swell like a tide around him, but he was content to know that his plan had worked without mishap. Only Vixen, in all her fierce pride, felt a nagging doubt about what might be the reaction of two humans degraded and humiliated beyond belief by a fox.
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.’<
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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.
