The Farthing Wood Collection 1 (26 page)

All were silent, faced with a problem none of them had really considered. Badger thought of Ginger Cat’s rats but diplomatically decided to say nothing.

‘There can be no more raids on chicken coops,’ said Fox. ‘That would be suicidal.’

‘Was there no meat amongst the wasted food?’ Vixen asked.

‘I have to admit we didn’t really look,’ said Kestrel. ‘But that is easily remedied.’

‘Perhaps, Owl, you could investigate tomorrow night?’ Fox suggested.

‘Perhaps I could, perhaps I couldn’t,’ he answered grumpily. ‘I may have other plans.’

‘Don’t worry – I’ll go,’ said Kestrel in disgust. ‘I can fly there in the daytime. No-one will notice a hovering hawk.’

‘I didn’t say I
wouldn’t
go,’ Tawny Owl rejoined. ‘If you had waited, I no doubt would have offered.’

‘Can’t bear to be
asked
to do anything,’ Kestrel muttered. ‘Pompous old –’

He was interrupted by an unearthly scream outside the set.

‘Whatever’s that?’ he cried.

‘Have you never heard the scream of a captured hare?’ Weasel asked.

‘HARE!’ they all shouted and Fox and Badger went racing for the exit. The others followed. Outside they smelt blood and Fox snuffled the crisp, icy air. ‘This way!’ he called. A little further off there was a patch of blood on the snow, and a trail of drops leading away from it. They followed and, eventually, found what they were looking for. Under a holly bush a stoat was devouring the limp body of a young hare. It looked up in alarm at the approaching group and quickly snatched up its prey, preparatory to flight.

‘You needn’t run,’ said Fox. ‘If that is one of our friends you have killed, we are too late. And, if not, we don’t need the food.’

‘I’m afraid it’s one of the leverets, Hare’s offspring,’ Weasel announced.

‘I have to eat, too, you know,’ the stoat said defensively in a voice unnaturally shrill. ‘I hunt what I can. N-no offence meant.’

‘It’s the law of the Wild,’ said Badger. ‘We mean you no harm.’ He turned to the others. ‘I met this fellow once before,’ he said. ‘Like us, he’s finding it difficult to survive.’

‘Of course,’ said Fox. ‘Who are we to complain?’

‘What a strange world it is,’ murmured Vixen. ‘That poor little friend of ours came here, believing he had found safety, only to end up like this.’

The stoat was looking from one to the other, still unsure of its best action and half inclined to run.

‘What’s the difference?’ Tawny Owl shrugged. ‘He could as easily have been killed by the winter.’

‘For most of us no home is without its dangers,’ Fox observed. ‘It’s something we have to accept without question. However, my friend,’ he continued, looking at the stoat, ‘I wish you had hunted in another corner of the Park.’

The stoat seemed to sense it was safe now and increased in boldness. ‘And you foxes – you hunt too. Where do you go in the Park to find food?’

‘Yes, yes. We take the point,’ answered Fox. ‘Wherever we can find it – the same as you.’

‘Never have I known such a winter,’ the stoat went on. ‘My mate has already died. I can see by your leanness you have suffered as well. But the badger seems very sleek.’

Badger shifted his stance a little uncomfortably.

‘Yes, I saw you on another occasion,’ the stoat said. ‘You weren’t so stout then. You must have been luckier than the rest of us.’

‘If injuring myself severely can be called lucky, I have been,’ Badger said enigmatically.

The stoat, of course, looked puzzled.

‘He was discovered by the Warden and taken into care,’ Weasel explained.

‘A sort of fattening up process,’ said Tawny Owl mischievously.

‘All right, all right,’ said Badger. ‘Am I never to be allowed to forget it? Would you rather I hadn’t been found and frozen to death?’

‘Don’t be absurd, Badger,’ replied Tawny Owl. ‘Nobody was more pleased than I at your recovery.’

‘Well then, how much longer do I have to endure these carping comments?’ Badger said irritably.

‘Oh dear,’ said the stoat grinning. ‘The incident appears to be a bit of a bone of contention between you.’

‘Let’s drop the subject,’ suggested Fox, ‘and leave our friend here to eat in peace. And I sincerely hope Hare is nowhere at hand to overhear my remarks. He’d never forgive me.’

‘I promise I’ll endeavour to keep away from this area,’ the stoat said agreeably. ‘You’ve been more than polite.’

‘Live and let live,’ answered Fox. ‘The Park belongs to all of us.’

He led the others away and they gradually dispersed to their own homes.

‘H’m, quite a philosophical evening,’ remarked Tawny Owl as he fluttered silently to his roost.

The winter wore relentlessly on, the old year fading into the new with no sign of change. The birds continued their trips to the food dump and were able to find a kind of meat – perhaps unwanted sausages or bacon or the like – to supplement what the meat-eaters were able to find in the Reserve. Now that the threat of imminent starvation had been lessened, the animals gritted their teeth, confident that it was now just a case of lasting out until the better weather came.

In other ways they were no more comfortable than before. They simply could not get used to the treacherous cold which never let up, nor the blizzards and snowfalls which occurred with monotonous regularity. But they had all learned to suffer in silence.

Then, when at last they had all begun to hope that they really must be approaching the end of the winter, an entirely new threat emerged. The Warden was taken ill and removed to hospital. Ginger Cat disappeared at the same time – presumably to a well-wisher. The Lodge fell empty and there was no longer any restriction to human access to the Nature Reserve. When the fact became known to the local human population, it was not long before gangs of boys with skates and toboggans were invading the Park, shattering its peace and quiet and destroying the freedom of its inhabitants. But, worse still, at night came poachers.

The first sounds of a gun came late one evening when Fox and Vixen were on the prowl. They stopped dead in their tracks, heads up sniffing the air, ears cocked for every slight sound.

‘It can’t be,’ muttered Fox, looking at his mate. They waited. Then another bang convinced them of their suspicions and they dived for cover.

Under some shrubbery they listened with racing hearts, their bellies pressed to the frozen ground. They were a long way from their earth. As each second passed their nerves quivered in trepidation. There were no more shots, but then they saw two dark figures moving like shadows across the snow, not twenty yards from where they lay. Instinctively their heads went down in an attempt to render themselves even less conspicuous. But they could see what the figures were carrying and at the sight of it they both gasped.

‘A deer!’ they both hissed under their breath.

‘And a large one, too,’ said Fox, watching how the men were bent beneath its weight. ‘Poor creature.’

‘Is there nothing these humans won’t stoop to?’ Vixen said furiously. ‘They know the very purpose of this Park is to preserve wildlife.’

‘More to the point,’ Fox reminded her, ‘it was created a Nature Reserve to protect the very White Deer herd they are attacking.’

‘Oh, where can our Warden have gone?’ Vixen wailed.

‘That we shan’t know,’ Fox said. ‘But it is enough to know he is absent, and we are all unprotected.’

‘The deer must be in a panic,’ said Vixen. ‘They’ve no experience of guns or of being hunted. And why
are
they hunted?’

‘They’re rare animals. Who knows what value the skin might have to a human who possesses one?’

‘Then can
we
take that as some consolation? If the humans are only hunting the deer, maybe the other creatures here are not at risk.’

Fox laughed hollowly. ‘It is my experience of such humans that all creatures are at risk as long as they have a gun in their hands.’

‘Will they be back, do you think?’ Vixen asked.

‘As long as they know there is no Warden around, I think we can expect them,’ Fox replied grimly.

His words were proved right. Although no guns were heard the next night, on the ensuing one they returned. The deer herd was frantic. Unlike their cousins in the unprotected wild and rugged areas of the country, they had nowhere to run to; no means of escape. What had been a haven of peace to them had now become a death-trap.

The other animals of the Park, who had always enjoyed a security from human intervention which was owed principally to the existence of the White Deer herd, forgot any obligation they should have felt. They only counted themselves lucky not to be the hunted ones. But the animals of Farthing Wood – the newcomers – were of a different mettle. From many different loyalties in their old home they had forged themselves into a unit
on their long march across country. They had learnt during that period that the good of the individual usually meant the good of the majority. The Park was now their home, as it was the deer’s, and they all of them felt some responsibility towards their fellow inhabitants in fighting their common enemy. But none of them could think of anything they could do to prevent the poaching.

Fox and Vixen were again out foraging when the next visit of the men with guns took place. This time they were in a position to see everything. The deer herd were, as usual, in the open part of the Park. In the absence of the Warden they had lost their supplies of hay, and were now reduced to digging beneath the snow with their hooves as best they could to reach the grass and mosses underneath. From the cover of a nearby clump of trees, two men were creeping stealthily towards them.

The noble figure of the Great Stag himself towered over the other deer, making a clear target for the guns. Fox saw the men raising their weapons to take aim. Without thinking, he commenced barking with an abruptness that startled the already nervous deer. They began to mill about, sensing danger again. When Vixen joined in, Fox started to run towards the deer barking as he went. He hoped the deer would take alarm and run. The trick paid off. The more nervous of the deer bolted, which alarmed the rest and they were soon running in all directions. Even the Great Stag ran, with a backward glance at Fox over his shoulder. But, although Fox may have saved the overlord of the Park, which had been his main thought, he unconsciously hastened the end of another. Unfortunately some of the deer ran straight towards the trees where the men were hidden, and so on to their guns. One was shot as they approached, causing the others to veer away. Then the whole herd raced in panic as far as they could go, away
from the noise. But the men were satisfied with their stalking, and another white deer was removed from the Reserve.

‘I hope my motives won’t be misunderstood,’ Fox said ruefully to Vixen. ‘It might have looked as if I was in league with the killers.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Vixen. ‘Is that likely? You aren’t a man’s pet but a creature of the Wild. You saved the Great Stag and he knows it.’

‘But they still had their taste of blood. The herd is yet one fewer in number.’

‘What can we do against the intelligence of humans?’ Vixen asked. ‘If they decided to slaughter every creature in the Park we could do nothing to stop it.’

‘I’m not so pessimistic,’ Fox said. ‘All we have to do is to think of a way of preventing them getting into the Reserve.’

‘Utterly impossible,’ she replied flatly. ‘How could we achieve that?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps we could, at least, arrange a warning system at their approach so that we’re not to be found when the men arrive.’

‘And what would you do with the deer herd? Take them all underground?’

‘All right,’ Fox said wistfully. ‘I suppose it’s just wishful thinking, but there must be something that can be done to make them less vulnerable.’

‘Oh, I know you when you’re in this mood.’ Vixen looked at him, and her great affection shone out of her eyes. ‘You won’t rest now. But thinking for a party of small animals that can hide themselves away is a far cry from causing a herd of deer to vanish.’

‘I think I’ll go and have a talk with the Great Stag,’ Fox replied.

‘I’ll leave you then,’ said Vixen. ‘You won’t want me around.’

‘You couldn’t be more wrong, my beloved Vixen,’ he told her. ‘I need you with me. You are my partner in everything.’

The Great Stag had not run far. He had been trying to muster the herd together again after the alarm. ‘I am indebted to you,’ he said to Fox at once. ‘We only lost one. There was no scent of Man. We could have lost more.’ He did not have the conceit to own that it was he who had been the prime target.

‘We have to devise a way of preventing any more deaths,’ Fox said earnestly.

‘I spend all my waking hours trying to do so,’ said the Stag. ‘The fact is, without our supply of hay we may lose more animals from starvation than from the gun.’

‘I can see it must be very difficult for the older and weaker among your herd to cope,’ Fox agreed. ‘But I am convinced we’ve seen the worst of the winter. The threat from Man, in my opinion, is far more severe.’

‘You talk wisely,’ said the Stag. ‘I know you to be the intelligent animal who brought your friends here last summer from a great distance. But you didn’t have large animals like us to contend with. I’m afraid the problem of ensuring our safety is well-nigh impossible.’