CHAPTER II.--A FOXY TRICK.
Now it was chiefly in a spirit of mischief that Father Red Fox decidedto chase the fawns. To tell the truth, the old fellow was proud of hiswits; and though he knew he could not hope to catch them and bring themdown by a straightaway race, he thought he might use some trickery onthem.
So, he watched and waited till he should find them alone. After an houror more in the racing meadow, Fleet Foot called to her little ones witha "He-eu" and a stamp of her little fore-hoof, and led them back to LoneLake, where they all waded out after their supper of lily pads. Everyminute of the time Father Red Fox was right behind, but always with thewind in his face, so that she wouldn't catch his musky scent on thebreeze with that wonderful nose of hers.
Now Father Red Fox knew one thing about Fleet Foot, the doe. He knewthat when she heard a sound that alarmed her, she always ran straightaway from the sound, without once stopping to see what made it. Nosooner, therefore, was she neck-deep in Lone Lake, with her back to theshore, than he cracked a twig behind her.
The doe, hearing that, supposed of course it must be Old Man Lynx, atleast, or perhaps a big black bear, as nothing so small and dainty as afox ever made a sound like that.
She was terribly frightened, and whistling the fawns to follow, she swamstraight across the Lake, never once stopping for breath till theyscrambled up the opposite bank.
But Father Red Fox had raced around the upper end of the Lake, just farenough back in the woods so that she couldn't see him. And the instantthe tired little family planted their hoofs on dry ground, Red Fox,hiding behind a boulder, cracked an even larger twig, and made themthink there was another bear on that side of the Lake.
So she had to lead them back across the Lake again, to the third line ofshore. But Father Red Fox was there before her and cracked another twigto make her think there was a bear on that side, too.
This time the fawns were fairly gasping for breath, their little spottedsides heaving painfully and their big eyes round with fright. But therewas no help for it; Fleet Foot had to make them swim back across theLake to the fourth bank, where she hoped to get into the woods beforethe three bears could catch her. She was quite worn out, herself, bynow, and it was only the fear of death that kept her in the race at all.But finally up the bank she stumbled, and on down a forest trail, herfawns following desperately.
Father Red Fox laughed as he ran around the Lake. They were all so wornout that it should be an easy matter to corner them. In fact, thatwicked fellow had one of the meanest plans in his black heart that everdeserved the name of a foxy trick. And so far it had worked.
Fleet Foot, believing she had nothing less than a bear on her trail,raced on and on till her flanks dripped foam and her legs felt weak andwobbly--which was just what the old fox intended. On he raced after her,knowing she wouldn't stop even to turn her head.
Then, suddenly, he made a short cut in the trail and headed her straighttoward a brush heap. The tired doe drew her trembling legs together forthe leap that would carry her over in safety. But there was not quiteenough spring left in those delicate hind quarters. She came down toosoon, catching one of her slim feet in the brush. It broke her leg.
Ah, but Red Fox had hoped it would be one of the fawns. Fleet Foot hedared not approach, because she could strike him with her sharpfore-hoofs, and punish him severely. In fact, had she known it was onlya fox behind her, she would have stopped to face him long ago.
The fawns--little rascals that they were--had not tried to leap thebrush heap; they had left the trail and gone around it, hiding--whentheir mother fell--by crawling under a juniper bush. And there theywaited, without so much as waggling an ear, till Red Fox had given uphis quest in disgust and trotted away home.
But their troubles were not ended. For one thing, they were hungry.Besides, what was Fleet Foot to do, helpless there where a real bearmight find her?
Just then they heard a cowbell.
Clover Blossom, the soft-eyed Jersey at the Valley Farm, must have founda broken place in the pasture fence, and wandered into the woods again.She loved to go exploring.
This time she gave the Boy a chase. Here it was, nearly dark! Straininghis ears to catch the sound, he decided he must creep very softly uponher, or she would never let him catch her.
The Boy, however, was not the only one to hear the tinkle of thecowbell. Though Clover Blossom grazed quite unaware that she was beingwatched, as an actual fact she had quite an audience of wood folk aroundher, peering and sniffing and studying the situation. Softly, silently,creeping through the hazel copse, came Frisky, the fox pup, as curiousas his nose was long. Then came Bobby, Madame Lynx's kitten, to whosenostrils the odor was most tempting, though he did not dare attack ananimal so large. Crouched flat along a low-hanging branch, he peered andpeered with his narrow gold-green eyes, his claws working nervously intothe bark.
Came also Unk-Wunk, the Porcupine, rattling his slow way up a beech treefrom whose top he could see all that was going on. He, too, watchedcuriously as the Jersey wandered from one huckleberry bush to another,lowing faintly now and then as she realized that she needed to bemilked.
But the two who were most interested as she came their way were thehungry fawns. They had waited hours for the familiar stamp of theirmother's foot that should call them to her, and for the warm milk thathad never failed them when they needed it, and their little stomachsached worse and worse.
The hot sun had crept across the sky, and the birds who had chirped andwarbled over their breakfast had come out again for the cool of the lateafternoon to chatter over their worms. Then the sun had grown large andred in the west, and the crickets had begun to chirp, and thewhite-footed deer mice to scuttle through the leaves in search ofbeetles. Finally the shadows had grown long and black, and the woodsfull of a breathing silence, and still they waited for their mother tocome and feed them.
Then, at last, they crept to where Clover Blossom mooed her invitationfor some one to relieve her udders of their creamy burden. And when theBoy finally peered through the bushes beyond which she stood, he stoppedamazed. For there on either side of her a tiny fawn stood nursing!
"Something must have happened to their mother," he told himself. "Iwonder if I could coax them to go home with Clover Blossom?"
Then he heard a rustle behind him. Bobby Lynx was slinking home. (He wasever a coward where human beings were concerned.) The next instant theboy spied Fleet Foot, lying helpless in the brush heap.
In her exhaustion after the chase, the pain of her broken leg, and herterror, as she listened, hour after hour, for the coming of stealthypadded feet, she had been too weak to struggle. Then had come a kindlystupor.
The Boy set about applying such first aid as he had at his command.First knotting her fore feet together with his handkerchief so that shecould not struggle, he searched until he found a cedar sapling verynearly the size of the leg that was broken. With his jack-knife he madetwo length-wise slits and removed the bark in two pieces, as nearly thesame size as he could make them. They were just long enough to reachbelow the foot of the deer and above the knee.
These he lined comfortably with dry moss and crumpled grass, for he wasgoing to be as tender of the doe as he would be of a person. Next hetore his shirt, which was an old one, into bandages the width of hiswrist, knotting their ends together. For splints he went down to LoneLake and gathered a bundle of good strong rushes.
But when he tried to set the bone, Fleet Foot struggled so that he hadto run home for his father.
The Valley Farmer was a man who could not see any creature suffer, so hecame straight back with his son. Lifting her to the ground, the farmerbraced himself and held the injured leg while the Boy gently but firmlygrasped it with one hand above the fracture and one below. My! How itmust have hurt! But his practised fingers pulled the two pieces of bonein opposite directions till he got them end to end! Fleet Foot triedhard to struggle free, for of course she did not understand. But she washelpless. Then the Boy worked the bones
, ever so gently, till a slightthud announced to his listening ear that they had fitted together right.Next, he applied the padded halves of the cedar bark, which--as he hadintended--did not reach quite around the leg. For, in this way, he couldtie them more firmly, as he bandaged them immovably in place with thestrips of his torn shirt.
"There!" the Farmer sighed at last. "That ought to heal. I don't see whya few weeks of rest and good feeding ought not to set her on her feetagain. But we'll have to make a litter to take her home."