The dog fox had eaten nothing. Now, while his lazy family rested in a thicket, he was out to find a meal for himself.
He walked openly, depending on his nose to guide him to food, because he knew and did not fear the swamp. Since attaining full growth, the only natural enemies that had ever challenged him were occasional coyotes, and if the fox did not choose to run from them, or fight, he could always climb a tree. Andy Gates was the only human being who ever penetrated very deeply into the swamp, and Andy was confined to certain paths and trails which the fox did not have to travel. However, his nose had already told him that Andy was not in the swamp today.
The muskrats were new to the swamp. Yet, to the experienced fox, they were an old story. Among any young animals, there were always a certain number of unwise or incautious. They seldom lasted long, but after catching the pair of youngsters, the fox had wasted no time hunting more because all the others had stayed out of reach in the water.
He was on his way to a rabbit colony of which he knew when Frosty's scent crossed his nostrils. He stopped at once, knowing it for an alien scent; then followed his nose toward it. Six feet away, he stopped again.
Frosty's jaws framed a snarl, and a warning growl rumbled in his chest. Every hair on his body was fluffed, making him seem twice his actual size. His tail was stiffly erect and fluffed, too, and his muscles were ready to carry him into battle. For a moment the fox regarded him closely, then circled and trotted on. The fox was wise enough to know that Frosty did not merely look dangerous. He was dangerous.
Frosty resumed his own course toward the gopher colony. He remembered it to the last detail, and he had not forgotten the rattlesnake that lived there. The snake was still present, but it had recently fed and was sluggish. Frosty settled himself in front of a gopher's den.
He held perfectly still, eyes fixed on the burrow's mouth, and presently, deep in the earth, he heard a gopher moving. He remained quiet until the little rodent emerged from its den, then pounced. He caught his prey, devoured it and made a half-hearted pass at the snake. But he did not continue the battle because he was anxious to see Andy, and, now that he had eaten, he could go find his partner. Frosty made his way toward the house.
He knew before he emerged from the swamp that Andy was not there. Though the kitten lacked a keen sense of smell, wood smoke had a pungent odor that lingered for a long time, and there had been no recent fire in the stove. Frosty came out of the swamp to see the persistent doe, that had not yet given up hope of getting into the garden, resting beside it. A crow sat on the house's ridgepole and croaked raucous insults to the four winds. Scurrying across the porch, a striped chipmunk dived into a crevice. Frosty marked him down; the gopher had not filled his stomach.
As soon as he climbed onto the porch, he knew that the house had been unoccupied for several days. It had a cold and deserted air, like a frame from which the picture had been removed, and the odors that seeped under the door were cold ones. Frosty cried his loneliness, but he did not question his friend's absence. He reserved for himself the right to go prowling and to stay for as long as it suited him. It naturally followed that Andy had the same privilege, and sooner or later he would come back.
Frosty settled beside the crevice in which the chipmunk had disappeared. He caught the furry little animal, ate it, and his hunger was satisfied. Curling up in his favorite place, he settled himself for a nap. All about were familiar things, and even while he napped, his ears brought him their story. He heard the doe rise and begin to crop grass, birds crying in the swamp, the murmur of the wind, muskrats swimming in the slough, and he awakened to none of it because it was familiar. But an hour later, when he heard a man walking, he glided silently under the porch and waited there. He'd heard those footsteps before, and he knew who was coming.