As Red Ben now rolled himself into the usual tight little ball, for sleep, he heard once more the joyous “Caw—caw—caw” of the old black sentinel and, with that ringing in his ears, contentedly closed his eyes.
CHAPTER XI
HOW OTHERS HUNT
With the first signs of darkness, Red Ben uncurled himself and took a long stretch. Then he gaped until nearly every tooth in his head was bared. After that he realized how ravenously hungry he felt, also how bad this dry, hot night would be for hunting.
Far away he heard a great horned owl hooting. “Who—who, who—whoo,” it said, over and over again. Nearby, Screech Owl was crooning to his little mate, very softly. They, too, were hunters and knew that there was little use in settling down to work until the dew had gathered in the fields and made the withered grass luscious enough to entice the rabbits and mice into the open. All had to have water, and for most of the little creatures that gnaw, it was safer to sip the dew than to take the long trip to Goose Creek.
Suddenly a weird scream filled the woods. It had scarcely ceased when another pierced the air, this time much closer to Red Ben. The fox cowered back and waited. Again the scream, and then a ghostlike, whitish shadow flitting between the trees.
Barn Owl, strangest of all the creatures of the night, was flying to his hunting ground. Many a silly ghost story has been started by a glimpse of him—innocent old mouse eater—in his moonlight travels through the woods. By day he rested in a hollow tree, or hid in dense tangles high above the ground. Now and then he found a roosting place on the rafters of some tumble down barn. By night he searched the meadows for mice and moles, doing great good to the lands of the farmers.
Red Ben had often seen Barn Owl’s white form, but never before heard his call so near at hand. In the summer he had come across two of the old bird’s youngsters squatting forlornly beside the stump of an old hollow tree, which had been their home until a woodcutter had felled it the day before.
“They sat on their tails and held hands”
The fox had come too close to the suspicious birds and had nearly been caught by the quick blow both aimed at him with their long talons. One reached out so far that he lost his balance and toppled over. Struggling violently to get on his feet, he clawed his brother, by mistake, and received a sound whack in punishment.