Dodging bushes and shadowy places he started back. There was no sound, no movement anywhere ahead; the noise and fury of the fight had scared away the other wild things and even quieted the night singing insects. Red Ben himself felt the awe of it all. He moved without stirring a leaf, at first in a cautious trot, then a gallop and at last a full run. Faster, faster—until on the hard woods path he let out every ounce of speed he had. It was the wonderful speed of the red fox, no longer just a cub.
Red Ben
Gray Fox was left far behind: and to prevent his following the trail, Red Ben made circles in the dense swamp, circles that went around and around with apparently no end, for he leaped far to one side before shooting away to his old haunt by the fallen tree.
Here he crouched, waiting for whatever might happen next. Had Gray Fox been able to follow him, Red Ben would have fought to the death. He was on home ground here; he would run no more. His spirit had not been broken; far from it! From the bottom of his heart he despised the big gray bully. He hated the strong smell of him still lingering in his nostrils. But he knew Gray Fox was the stronger.
When, after hours of searching, his mother at last found him, the fierce glitter was still in his eyes. He was crouching in the same spot, watching with all the intense excitement of the young creature which, for the first time, is forced to take care of itself in a big world.
Anxiously sniffing his head and neck, the old fox quickly learned through the scent much of the story of the fight. She found the cuts about the throat and licked them free from poison. She also licked off the dirt that still clung to his soft fur, looked him all over for other scars, and then mothered him until his high strung nerves were soothed and he limped stiffly after her for a sleep under the fallen tree.
While he curled up in a round ball, with head buried between his fluffy tail and the even softer fur of his flank, the mother kept watch. She too was curled up in a tight, comfortable little ball, but she kept her chin resting on her fluffy tail so that her nose and eyes as well as both ears could be on guard.
The moon had gone down, and around them now were the blackness and the stillness of that weird part of the night which comes just before the light of day. Night prowlers, large and small, were resting, waiting for the Sun’s signal which would drive them to their beds. Day loving creatures felt the coming of the dawn, but dared not stir yet. The red fox’s eyes drowsily closed, then opened with a snap: from far away floated the clear baying of a hound.