Dusty Star

by Olaf Baker

When Dusty Star and Kiopo, after many long days of journeying came into the valley below the den of the Silver Fox, they saw that there was water, and a good place for rest. They did not waste any time in discussing its advantages or drawbacks. They simply decided at once that here was the goal of their wandering and that here they would make their camp. That is to say, Dusty Star would make it. Kiopo would look on and, if he approved, would consent to making it his temporary home. If he did not approve, he would show his dislike and uneasiness in so many plain ways that Dusty Star had no peace until they moved elsewhere. Even if the wolf was satisfied that no hidden danger lurked in the neighbourhood, and that they might safely settle down for a time, he could never take kindly to a sitting-down existence. For the great life that he had was always in his feet, so that he must be continually on the move, or going long journeys or short ones, as the case might be, but sooner or later, always coming back. So while Dusty Star built the tepee, Kiopo went exploring up and down the valley, getting every point of it well into his eyes, and every drifting smell it had well up his nose. And more than once, when he tried the wind suspiciously, he caught a faint yet unmistakedly musky odour that suggested a fox.

That night they slept soundly; Dusty Star in the bough-built tepee, Kiopo stretched full length across its entrance. And all night long, Carboona, the old savage home of countless lives, gloomed darkly above them, though they did not even know its name. Still less had either of them the least idea that they had chosen their resting-place within the borders of that very region where Kiopo had first drawn breath.

Next morning Dusty Star woke up well pleased with his new home. The day passed quietly, and the inhabitants of the neighbourhood kept well out of the way. Kiopo did his hunting at a distance, and supplied the camp with food. Besides that, there was nothing particular to do. That was the joy of living where the world forgot to get civilized. After you had caught your meat and cooked it, the days and nights were very wide, because there were no clocks to make them narrow, and to chop them up into little bits called Time.

So because there really was nothing particular to do, Dusty Star on the fourth day after settling down in the new home, thought he would climb up Carboona in the climbing afternoon.

Now the same idea, almost at the same moment happened to come to another dweller upon Carboona, and that was the Catamount, or great wild cat, which had its lair in a hollow tree less than half-a-mile from the camp, and carried the dull green fire in his cruel eyes to make the leafy shadows a terror to all lesser forest folk.

He had slept most of the day in his tree after a good kill the night before, and was not feeling especially hungry. Still, to a blood-loving creature like the Catamount, there was always a pleasure in tracking fresh meat even if it was not needed. So the great cat set out for a leisurely stroll across Carboona to find if any new smells had been spilt along the world since he had gone to sleep.

For some time he got nothing that particularly interested his nose. There were smells of course. But some were old, and some were unpleasant, and one or two were really dangerous. Among these last, was one of the big wolf which had recently come to harry Carboona, as if he were its rightful lord. The Catamount's eyes gleamed with an ugly light as he recognised Kiopo's hated scent, and went a little more warily on his way. Unlike Dusty Star, he did not immediately seek the upper sunny slopes. The green glooms of the evening shadows pleased him more. As he slunk along, lifting and setting his cushioned feet so delicately that his coming was like that of a piece of drifting thistledown, he looked as evil a presence as could be found abroad in the ending of the day.

When he reached the last ravine, above the further side of which the foxes had their den, he paused. A faint, unusual sound reached his ears at irregular intervals. At first it sounded like some small creature in distress. That was the very sort of prey the Catamount enjoyed. He began, very cautiously, to make his way across the ravine. When he was half-way up the opposite side, the sound came again. This time he heard not one voice, but several—and the notes were not those of creatures in distress. He was plainly puzzled. He had reached the sunlight now, and partly because of that, partly because every step brought him nearer to possible danger, he went with even greater caution than before. All at once the meaning of the commotion became clear to him. He heard; he smelt; he saw!

All this time, Dusty Star had gone on steadily climbing till he had caught up, as it were, with the very middle of the afternoon. But for all he knew, he mounted alone, and never once got a glimpse of that other stealthy climber who stole up like a furry shadow of the evening itself into the golden places of the afternoon. And the Catamount was equally unaware of the neighbourhood of the boy.

Suddenly Dusty Star came upon one of the surprises which Carboona keeps in its most secret spots. In an open space between a mass of thickets he found a family of fox-cubs playing in the sun. Five, fat, funny little bodies, tumbled and sprawled and tussled and rolled in a frenzied frolic which, if you looked closely, was really a furious battle over the leg-bone of a grouse. Sometimes they bit the bone; sometimes each other. It really didn't seem to matter, so long as somebody bit something. It was the triumphant glory of being able to bite! The fight raged first to one side, then to the other. There were little yelps and squeals, and miniature growls, like fairy thunder. Once the tide of battle rolled almost to Dusty Star's feet. The excitement was so great, and Dusty Star so still, that the cubs saw nothing and smelt nothing.