The Squirrel stamped and spat at him. "Wait till I grow," he spluttered. "Wait till my head's as big as yours. Wait till I give up nuts."
"Oh, do be quiet," said the Cub. "I want to think."
"It might be worth my while," he mused. "I like this wood."
Badger was grunting softly to himself. His head still swayed and nodded. Now and again he scratched the ground before him. The Fox Cub rose up cautiously, and sat back on his haunches. He saw the whole of Badger now, the iron-grey back, the magpie head, the stumpy tarbrush tail.
He stole two stealthy paces down the slope, but checked as Badger squared himself. Two paces more—and Badger ducked his head, and charged full drive uphill at him.
The Fox Cub bolted straightway, turned sharp upon the hill-crest, ran half the length of it, slid headlong down the sand-cliff (the stones rattling about him), followed the ride for fifty yards, swung sharply to the right, and so, by some strange instinct, reached the gorse-clump.
Marten has seen You
He was quite badly scared. His tongue lolled dripping from his mouth; his sides heaved painfully; he felt that, come what may, he must lie down. So he squirmed, eel-like, underneath the furze, twisted himself about, and, with his head thrust outwards, snuffed and listened. He had outdistanced Badger—of that he soon assured himself. Yet there was something watching him, something whose curious stare he felt. His eyes ranged anxiously from point to point, dwelt on each tuft and hummock in the grass, dwelt long upon a jerking patch of moss, which in due course revealed a white-legged mouse, and in the end cast upwards.
