The Fox That Wanted Nine Golden Tails

by Kathleen Gray Nelson

But he had no time to bother with a fox when his loved one was lost in this queer and dangerous place, and he rushed frantically about the forest calling, “Wild Flower! Wild Flower! Dear Wild Flower!” But though he sought her for many days, and all the rowers joined in the hunt, he never saw her again. So he went back to the Bamboo Castle very sad and lonely, but every one there, tired of her airs and her temper, said she was a witch and he was well rid of her. When he thought over how peevish she had become he was inclined to agree with them, and finally he married a pretty and amiable little Princess and Wild Flower was forgotten.

And out in the shadowy depths of a certain wood a cunning gray fox smiled until he showed his shining teeth when a saucy bird, mocking the Prince’s call, repeated, “Wild Flower! Wild Flower! Dear Wild Flower!” in its merry song. Then he lay down and rolled over in the wet leaves and licked his fur contentedly.

“I’m glad I’m out of that,” he said. “Now I’ll wait until the thousand years are up. Nothing will satisfy me except to be a fox with nine golden tails.”

With never a regret he went back to the old life, and hunted mice and creeping things when he got hungry, and when there was neither moon nor stars, ran through the black night to the farm house far beyond the edge of the forest, and came back in the gray of the morning with his lips all bloody and his paws as well—the signs of his midnight feast in the chicken yard.

The wonderful wood, so dark, so still, so cool, put on patches of color with the passing month, and in the few spots where the sunshine sometimes crept, the trees grew vivid with the burning glory of autumn or pale and cold with the first blue blossoms of spring, then softly pink with azalea blooms or bright as a glowing sunset with the flowers of peach and cherry.

And in the Period of Greatest Light the leaves would cover the ground and make soft beds where all the wild things could sleep snug and warm during the Period of Greatest Cold. As for the fox, though he was a bit quarrelsome, the years passed pleasantly and peacefully. No one ever again came there to hunt, and such queer things had been whispered abroad about what happened in this pathless country, where lived such strange creatures as never man had seen, that travelers went far out of their way rather than pass through it.

And on stormy nights, when the wind howled and windows rattled and the tempest-torn trees swayed and groaned, people all over the island barred their doors tight and fast, for they said: “The spirits of the wood are out to-night.” And they lit incense sticks to keep them from coming in, and as they sipped their tea, told stories about the weird wood. A favorite one was that a beautiful Princess was kept there a prisoner by a cruel dragon, and of how a mighty Prince once found her and carried her away to his castle, but she heard the dragon calling, calling, calling her all the day and all the night, and at last either she slipped out of the castle and went to him or else he came and stole her away, no one knew just which way it was.

And while other brave men would willingly go to rescue her, yet they all agreed what was the use, for the dragon would get her again and they would have their trouble for nothing. So she had been there now for hundreds and hundreds of years, but was still young and lovely—so the story ran. But like all legends, it got a little twisted in the telling.

So many summers and winters came and went that every one except the fox forgot to count them. At last a famine spread over all the land. It was the Period of Greatest Heat. No rain had fallen for many a week. The earth was dry as a dead leaf, the grass turned brown, the streams dried up, the birds all died or went away, one by one the animals perished, and the once beautiful Napatantutu was grim and desolate.

The fox was now five hundred years old. His coat of fur was whiter than when he was young, his legs were not so nimble and some of his teeth were gone. He searched the wood for food and water and could find neither. He grew so thin that his ribs stuck through the skin, so weak he trembled like the aspen when he walked. The pains of hunger gnawed him day and night and he felt as if he must surely die.