The Fox Cub Bold (2 page)

Later a sole human figure appeared on the horizon, accompanied by a dog no bigger than Bold himself. The fox did not even change his direction. His easy, even lope brought him within fifty metres of the two. The man watched him pass. The dog, intent on a particularly rich mix of scents on the ground, ignored him completely. Bold was exhilarated. He felt invincible; equal to any challenge.

He encountered no more human figures but, as he ran through some long grass, he flushed a skylark from its vulnerable nest on the open ground. The mother bird soared high into the air, uttering its cry of alarm. Bold had not yet tasted eggs so, fortunately for the lark, he did not know that they were good to eat. He ran on with an excited yap and the speckled, white eggs were soon once more covered by the warm breast feathers of their parent.

Everywhere he ran, birds would fly up out of his path. Rabbits, browsing close to their burrows, would bolt instantly at his approach. Bold came to feel the stature of being the most powerful member of the indigenous wildlife, feared and respected by all others. Only another fox or, perhaps, a badger could rival his position of supremacy. Small wonder that his self-confidence was unbounded. Should he see that magpie again he would laugh in its face!

By dusk he had travelled a considerable distance. He looked forward to the night’s hunt and hoped for more exciting prey than before to test his skills. But first he must rest. There was a tiny stream running across country at this point – just a ribbon of water over which he could easily leap. An ancient, solitary hawthorn stood on one bank, its lower boughs almost dipping themselves into the rivulet. Bold made straight for this tree and settled himself comfortably under its umbrella of foliage.

He did not sleep at once but remained watchful. The evening song of birds preparing to go to roost pierced the still air. The metallic cough of a pheasant rang out periodically. No thought of his friends, his brother and sister cubs, nor even of his redoubtable father, entered Bold’s thoughts. Only the vaguest picture of Vixen, his mother, flitted across his mind’s eye. He remembered the way she had taught him to stalk his quarry in the Nature Reserve as he remembered her lithe, supple motion.

He was startled from his drowsy state (though hoped he hadn’t shown it) by the sound of what was obviously a large bird making its landing in the crown of the hawthorn. Bold barked warningly but, to his surprise, the bird stayed where it was. It let out an answering ‘caw’, safe in the knowledge that it was well out of reach, and peered through the interlocking branches.

‘Oh-ho!’ it cried. ‘So here’s the bold young fox. I’ve seen you off and on today.’

Bold looked up, but the darkness of the bird’s body was almost totally obscured by the gathering night. He realized his companion was a Carrion Crow, as black as soot from its beak-tip to its feet.

‘You flatter me by your interest,’ replied Bold bluntly.

‘A large creature like you could hardly be missed in the daylight,’ returned the crow, ‘and I must express my gratitude to you.’

‘Gratitude? Whatever for?’

‘Finding a meal for me. The lark’s eggs you spurned soon filled
my
stomach.’

‘Each to his own habits,’ said Bold and yawned.

‘And
your
habits seem to be unique among foxes,’ remarked the crow.

Bold sighed. ‘You mean my daytime activity?’ he asked patiently.

‘Exactly.’

‘What’s so unusual about it?’ protested the fox cub. ‘It’s not unknown for foxes to be about in the daylight.’

‘Round here it is,’ said the crow succinctly.

‘Well, it isn’t where
I
come from,’ Bold persisted, ‘and I can see no reason why I shouldn’t continue to explore my surroundings whenever I feel like it. You birds are a nervous lot – always on the move, never still for more than a moment. You seem to read danger into everything.’

The crow ignored Bold’s last remarks. ‘Where
do
you come from?’ it inquired.

Bold hesitated. If he mentioned the Nature Reserve, he would only be inviting a sarcastic comment from the bird. ‘Oh – er – a good distance away,’ he said vaguely.

‘Things may be different there,’ said the crow. ‘There
are
places, I believe, where human beings are not allowed to intrude on the freedom of wild creatures. But I’ve never been in any.’

Bold did not know if the crow was making a clever guess at his origins. In any case he disregarded it. ‘Well, I’ve seen nothing to fear in these parts in the way of human presence,’ he boasted.

‘Then you’ve been very fortunate,’ the crow observed. ‘But I warn you – there are some days when the whole countryside is full of them.’

‘I’m grateful for your warning,’ said Bold. ‘But I’m quite able to look after myself. And now, if you have no objection, I’ll compose myself to sleep.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ said the crow. ‘I’m about to settle down as well.’

The next few days seemed to support Bold’s assertion that there was nothing to fear. As before, human appearances on the downland were restricted to infrequent sightings by the cub. Single figures, a couple or, at the most, three together. He kept well clear of those and on these times did not range so far. He had found a good hunting territory to which he returned again and again. The fine weather continued.

Then one day, while the cub was actually lying among some bracken sunning himself, his safe empty world suddenly took on a new character. He was at the top of a small rise of ground, and up this rise, coming straight towards him, was a large party of people, about thirty in number. They were a party of ramblers and they advanced quickly. Bold had no time to hide himself, and anyway the ferns thereabouts were neither thick enough nor tall enough to have served as a screen. For the first time the young fox knew himself to be frightened. He had never before in his life seen such a large number of people together.

As he jumped up to run, the first among the group spotted him and immediately pointed him out to all the rest, with enthusiastic cries and gestures. Of course they meant him no harm. He was merely an object of interest. The sound of their raised voices alarmed Bold even more and he dashed blindly hither and thither in panic, getting amongst their feet and almost succeeding in tripping some of them up. At last he saw a clear space ahead and raced towards it, expecting every moment that the terrifying mass of people would give chase. In his ignorance of humans he had absolutely no idea that he could easily outrun any of them.

He turned his head fearfully as he ran and was amazed to see his discoverers standing stock still, calmly watching his escape. The next time he turned they had gone on their way. Bold stopped running.

When he had recovered from the danger of his first encounter with man, he took stock of his situation. It seemed to him that, once again, the threat of danger had turned out to be groundless. His relief was tremendous. His self-confidence took another boost but this, for Bold, was to prove to be his real danger.

Over the next few weeks Bold ranged wide and far. He entered an area of human habitation – of farmland and scattered hamlets. He had attained his full size and was a splendid specimen of a male fox. He was well-built, muscular, with a beautifully healthy coat and brush; he was also clean-limbed and able to run quite tirelessly at a considerable speed. Though he had the sense not to stray too close to the man-made buildings and dwellings, he had developed a fearlessness of his only real enemy which amounted to arrogance. His innate cunning and cleverness were more than a match for Man’s.

Food was plentiful and his diet was a varied one. On one occasion he killed a cock partridge as it rose from the ground in front of him. From that moment on he acquired a taste for game. In his nightly hunting forays his continual searchings took him to every corner of the district, but he was not often successful. Then one evening he came to a place where the scent of game seemed to hang in the air. It was a wooded area entirely fenced off from the surrounding countryside, but the fence was old, warped and damaged and no obstacle to a determined young fox.

Inside the boundary there was evidence of the scent of Man. Where the ground was soft and damp the unmistakable marks of his trail were plain to see, but Bold had no concern for it. He was on the track of something of far more interest. His mouth watered freely in anticipation of the delicious meal that awaited him. Cautiously, noiselessly, he stole through the undergrowth. He knew his quarry was not far away.

Under a thick cover of bramble a hen pheasant was disturbed from her rest. Bold pounced and, with a quick snap of his powerful young jaws, all was over. That night he feasted handsomely.

There was a large beech tree standing on a hump of ground, the roots of which were partially exposed. Underneath the roots an invitingly secluded hole attracted Bold’s notice. He sniffed carefully all around and inside it. The smell of badger was very strong, but no sound could be heard and Bold decided the occupants were away from home. He had no fear of badger. An old male animal – a close companion of his father’s – had figured largely in his early life in the Reserve. Bold went inside the hole and along the tunnel for a few paces before curling up to sleep.

Towards morning he awoke instantly at the approach of the owner of the set. Bold prepared to leave his makeshift den – it had served his purpose well. At the entrance to the tunnel a sow badger was standing uncertainly, sniffing the air around her home with caution. An encounter with a fox was not one to be undertaken without hesitation.

But Bold was disposed to be friendly. ‘Please don’t be alarmed,’ he said. ‘I certainly mean no harm.’

‘Are you alone?’ the badger asked nervously.

‘Quite alone,’ Bold replied.

‘Foxes and badgers tend to keep apart in this wood,’ she went on. ‘That must be why I’ve never seen you before.’

‘No. I’m a stranger hereabouts,’ Bold told her. ‘I only found the spot by chance.’

‘Then I can guess your reason for coming here.’

‘I was led here by my nose.’ Bold explained jocularly.

‘Yes, a lot of foxes come for the same reason,’ remarked the badger. ‘Most of them don’t stay long, however.’

‘Competition?’ asked the cub.

‘You could say that,’ she answered, ‘though it’s not the sort of competition you’re thinking of.’

‘What then?’

‘Haven’t you seen the footprints?’

‘Oh, yes. But I paid no attention to them,’ he bragged.

‘You’d be foolish not to,’ she said. ‘They’re your real competition.’

‘Humans?’

‘Of course. Why do you think the wood is so rich in game birds?’

‘It didn’t occur to me.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you,’ said the badger. ‘They’re released here by men for
their
use.’

‘Use? I don’t understand,’ said Bold. ‘Do
they
eat them?’

‘I believe so. At any rate, they hunt them.’

‘Hm.’ Bold pondered. ‘No wonder foxes don’t often choose to stay. But you – you’ve made your home here!’

‘
I’m
comparatively safe,’ she said. ‘I’m not so inclined to drool over pheasant and they – the humans I mean – seem to know that.’

‘I see. But there don’t seem to be any men about at present, so perhaps I’ll risk staying on.’

‘They haven’t started hunting yet. But, let me warn you, you
would
be running a risk. There is one human who is always around here keeping an eye open for anything that might be after his precious birds.’

‘Oh – one! I’m sure I’m capable of dealing with him,’ Bold said easily.

‘Yes, well – maybe. But summer’s on the wane and
that’s
a sign that they’ll soon be coming in force. They flush the birds out of these coverts and shoot them in the open. And when
that
happens, woe betide any other creature who may be around. We’re
all
game then.’

‘I’ll worry about that when it happens,’ Bold said lightly. ‘Thank you for your advice – and your warm den.’

The badger brushed past him. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But just remember – it
is
my set.’

‘As you say,’ he acknowledged, and went on his way.

Bold paid some heed to the she-badger’s warning by leaving the enclosure during the daylight hours to continue his explorations. But when night fell again, he returned. Ears cocked for the faintest sound of human tread, the cub set out to track down his second victim.

Now that the scent of fox – a new fox – had spread through the wood, the nervous game birds were not so easily caught napping. But there was one creature who had been injured previously by a stoat and was unable to fly. Bold made short work of him. And, in the succeeding nights, Bold’s desire to test his hunting skills was more than satisfied.

As time went on he became expert in the pursuit of pheasant and, although he was not always successful in catching his favourite prey, his appetite was only increased by failure. So a pattern was established in his life which, for a week or two, did not change.

Each evening he left the wider area of farmland and entered the enclosed wood. He never came face to face with the gamekeeper, but both were very much aware of the other’s existence. When danger threatened, Bold always managed to elude his enemy.