So it was late when at last she came to the clearing, and Fireflame kissed the motherly Mrs. Bear good-by. And it was night before that good lady could tear herself from the berry patches and trundle herself home to her family.
Alas! She had lingered too long. Stray dogs from the farms had scented her presence; and although she had followed a brook until she was well on her way to the cliff, and her footsteps were hard to follow, they had soon learned her whereabouts. Back to their masters they had gone, and it was scarcely morning when the hunters set out. The dogs were barking and their great tongues were lolling from their mouths. And the men with their rifles, and the knives for skinning the bear when they got her, were striding up the mountain, laughing and shouting as they went. No sooner were they near the woods, however, than their laughter ceased and the hounds grew deathly quiet; for that is the way of the hunter. He must be quiet and quick, for he is the companion of death, and that terrible creature walks abroad only with cruel men who have learned his craft.
The foxes took in the situation at once. But none of them dared to stir. To cross the path of those hunters was a terrible risk. They shivered and shook in their deep burrows to hear the hounds.
"It's lucky for us that the wind blows up the mountain," was all they could say.
"And what are they after?" cried poor little Fireflame. "Whom are they hunting?"
But then the truth dawned on him. Old Grandpa Fox and good Mother Fox were quiet, for they did not dare to tell Fireflame that it was dear Mrs. Bear who was being trailed. Besides, they were ashamed; for it was plain that something must be done, yet no one dared to move.
"She ought to have crossed and recrossed the river," said Grandpa Fox. "That's the way to do it. But I mistrust she was engaged too long with those tempting berries. She was not discreet."
"They'll get her and her young ones too!" wailed Mrs. Fox, who was nearly beside herself. For it is a terrible thing to know what you ought to do, but to be lacking in the courage to do it.
Little Fireflame could stand it no longer. In a bound he was out of the burrow. The whole Fox family screamed after him to come back; but he paid no heed. He was well up the pasture, and far into the woods before their voices ceased to ring in his ears.
It was a test of his wits, and he was very young. No dog could overtake him if he ran, and he had the start; but to catch up to the hunters and pass them, and so reach Mrs. Bear in time, was a task that would try the wits of the wisest fox.