A swirl near Red Ben showed him where Muskrat entered the under-water burrow in the bank, leading to his home. In the clear stream the fox had a glimpse of the brown body with forepaws held against its sides, driving itself through the water by great strokes of its webbed hind feet. Its long, flat, almost hairless tail acted as a rudder to guide its course.
Seeing nothing more of either animal, Red Ben trotted on. Ahead was a dead tree on which were large, black objects. These he knew were turkey buzzards which by day soared far and wide over the Barrens, searching for any dead animals that would afford them a feast. Here they gathered in the evening, a gruesome, ill smelling assemblage.
The fox avoided the tree and swung into the old wood path. It was the best thing he could have done that night, for it brought him face to face with a meal. Trotting along quite unconcernedly, his attention held by the buzzard tree, he was met by an explosion of rage, almost under his nose. He leaped wildly, to avoid he knew not what. Almost at the same moment he recognized the big gray tom-cat which had treated him so uncivilly when he visited Ben Slown’s farm.
His dignity had been badly jarred, and he felt angry all over. This stealthy, hostile creature, which belonged at the farm, had no right to dispute his way in the wild Barrens. Besides which it had a freshly killed wild rabbit under its paws.
As the two eyed each other, Red Ben felt the fur tingling along his spine. The alluring scent of the rabbit filled his hungry nostrils. He stepped closer—yes, the rabbit certainly was a fat one! Still nearer he went, always watching the furious eyes that glared at him. How the cat could growl! Now his nose was within a few inches of the rabbit. His eyes dropped for the fraction of a second, just to have one good look at it, and in that instant the raging cat struck with both front paws.
But Red Ben was not there. He had been quick enough to leap away from those claws. Back he circled and again dodged a furious blow. The hateful growl of the cat rose into a high pitched shriek of rage. Losing all caution, he made a spring after the fox, who neatly side stepped it and picked up the rabbit on the run. A yowl followed him, but as he looked over his shoulder, he saw the cowardly cat actually turn tail and dash for home.
This was the beginning of Red Ben’s rule over Oak Ridge and Cranberry Swamp. Before October ended, every animal who lived there had learned not to trifle with him. He knew them all by that time and respected their rights, but woe to the one that tried any mean tricks on him. He was growing big and strong, and very wonderful looking, in his orange-red fur, which, responding to the first frosts, was becoming long and rich. The most conspicuous thing to be seen on the Ridge was Red Ben, but he took care that he seldom was seen. Nevertheless his fame was growing.
CHAPTER XII
BEN’S HUNDRED DOLLAR FOX
Ben Slown had a good many days of corn husking ahead of him that Autumn. Every morning he carried his gun out to the field, turned loose the eager black and white hound with instructions to “sick ’em,” then busied himself in the profitable task of stripping the long yellow ears.
The hound would hunt through the woods, and, by the manner of his yelping, tell Ben Slown what he was finding there. A quick short yelp or two meant he had scared up a rabbit. An angry, loud baying in one spot meant that Gray Squirrel, or Red Squirrel, had been treed and was making fun of him from a safe height.