Benny Badger could scarcely believe what his own ears told him. He thought there must be a mistake somewhere. And when the rancher declared that the badger that dug those holes was worse than a whole village of prairie dogs, Benny was tempted, for one wild moment, to dash up to the men and tell them exactly what he thought.
But he remembered, in time, what the rancher had just said about trapping him. And he never stirred until the two riders had moved along.
When they had ridden beyond the next rise Benny Badger made a rush for his hole. And there he stayed all the rest of that day.
He didn't quite know what to do. And a little later he felt more uncomfortable than ever when the rancher began to build his new fence around the prairie dog village, without using a single one of the post-holes that Benny had dug for him.
All Benny's neighbors noticed what was happening. And they no longer told Benny what a clever fellow he was. On the contrary, they laughed slyly, and said things to one another whenever Benny Badger came near them.
When he growled at them they always pretended to be surprised to see him, and asked him if he had "dug any post-holes lately."
But Benny Badger never answered that question. Every time he heard it he felt like moving away from the neighborhood. And when he came home early one morning and found a trap right in his doorway he made up his mind then and there that matters had gone far enough.
He turned away. And without stopping to tell anybody what he intended to do, or where he was going—without even saying good-by—he stole away across the plains to hunt for a new home.