Children of the Wild

by Sir Charles G. D. Roberts

"The Little Villager, who had just come out of his burrow, sat straight up on his hind-quarters, on the top of his hillock, with his forepaws hanging meekly over his breast, and glared all about him to see if any danger was in sight. The big rattler beside the door of the next hillock underwent his careful scrutiny, which convinced him that the reptile had recently made a good meal, and would not be dangerous until he had slept it off. Then he glanced skyward. A great hawk was winging its way up from the southern horizon, almost invisible in the strong, direct glare, but the Little Villager's keen eyes detected it. He barked a warning, and the sharp signal went around from hillock to hillock; and in half a minute all the big, babyish eyes were fixed upon the approach of the skying marauder. Everybody chattered about it shrilly till the hawk was straight over the village. Then suddenly the noise was hushed. The great bird half folded its wings and swooped, the air making a hissing hum in its rigid pinion tips. The swoop was lightning swift, but even swifter was the disappearance of the Little Villager, and of all his neighbors for fifty feet about him. Before the hawk reached earth they had dropped into their burrows.

"Checking himself abruptly, the hawk flew on over the tops of the hillocks, making unexpected zigzag rushes to right and left. But wherever he went, there the villagers had vanished, almost as if the wind of his approach had whisked them away. Baffled and indignant, he at last gave up the hope of a dinner of prairie dog, and dropped on a small rattler which was too sluggish from overeating to have noticed that there was any particular excitement in the village. Gripping the reptile in inexorable talons just behind its head, the great bird bit its backbone through, carried it to the nearest hillock, and proceeded to tear it to pieces. Calmly he made his meal, glancing around with eyes glassy hard and fiercely arrogant, while from every burrow in the neighborhood round, innocent heads peered forth, barking insult and defiance. They were willing enough that the rattler should be destroyed, but they wished the hawk to understand that his continued presence in the villages was not desired. Of the two foes, they preferred the rattler, to whose methods of administering fate they had grown so accustomed that they could regard them with something like philosophy, especially where only a neighborhood was concerned. But the hawk's attack was so abrupt and violent as to be upsetting to the nerves of the whole village.

"When the hawk had finished his meal and wiped his beak on the hard earth he flew off; and long before he was out of sight all the furry householders were out on top of their hillocks and chattering at the tops of their voices about the affair. The Little Villager himself, having been first to give the alarm, was particularly excited and important. But even he managed to calm himself down after a while. And then, feeling hungry from excess of emotion, he descended from his hillock and fell to nibbling grass stems.

"He had been but a few minutes at this engrossing occupation when from the door of a nearby burrow popped suddenly a small brown owl. The bird appeared with a haste which seemed to ruffle its dignity considerably. It was followed at once by its mate. The two blinked in the strong light, and turned to peer down the hole from which they emerged, as if expecting to be followed. They were snapping their strong hooked beaks like castanets, and hissing indignantly. But nothing more came out of the hole. They glared about them for several minutes with their immense, round, fiercely bright eyes. Then, lifting themselves like blown thistledown, with one waft of their broad, downy wings they floated over to the door of the Little Villager's burrow. They looked at it. They looked at the Little Villager where he sat holding a half-nibbled grass stem between his paws. They snapped their beaks once more, with angry decision, and with two or three awkward, scuttling steps, like a parrot walking on the floor of his cage, they plunged down, quite uninvited, into the burrow.

"The Little Villager sat just where he was for perhaps half a minute, barking with indignation. Then he followed the impertinent visitors. As he entered he heard a confused sound of shrill, angry chattering, explosive hissing, and savage snapping of beaks. Being able to see quite comfortably in the gloom, he distinguished his companion, the lady villager who was at that time occupying the burrow with him, doing her best to make the visitors understand that they were not welcome. Her language might have seemed clear enough. She made little rushes at them with open mouth and gnashing teeth, and her tones were just as unpleasant as she knew how to make them. But the guests confronted her with claws and beaks so ready and so formidable that she did not like to come to close quarters.

"Nor, indeed, when the Little Villager himself arrived was the situation very much altered. One of the owls turned and faced him, whereupon he, too, lost his resolution and confined himself to threats. The two owls, for their part, seemed to consider it wise to stand on the defensive rather than to force a battle to a finish with their unwilling hosts. For some minutes, therefore, the war of threats and bad language went on, without fur or feathers actually flying. Then at last the Little Villager, who was by nature an easy-going, unresentful soul, chanced to glance aside from his adversary; and it flashed into his mind that, after all, there was some room to spare in the burrow. Anyhow, he was tired of the argument. He turned away indifferently and began to nibble at some tough grass stems which he had brought down in case of a rainy day. Seeing him thus yield the point at issue, his mate was not going to fight it out alone. She, too, turned her back with ostentatious indifference upon her rude guests, and went out and sat on the top of the hillock to let her feelings calm down. The pair of owls, well satisfied to have forced themselves upon the Little Villager's hospitality, huddled together in their own corner, and resumed the nap which had been so unpleasantly interrupted in their previous residence."

"What was it that interrupted?" broke in the Child, glad that it was not he that could be accused of it, that time. "What was it that drove them out of their own burrow in such a hurry?"

"It was a big rattlesnake," answered Uncle Andy, quite politely, remembering that he himself had recently been guilty of an interruption. "I ought to have explained that before, but I was interested in the Little Villager and forgot it. It was a big rattlesnake which had got tired of its old hole and taken a fancy to that of the owls. So the owls had had nothing to do but get out, without even a half-minute to talk over the matter. And hating to stay out in the full glare of the sun, which was very hard on their eyes, they had invited themselves to live with the Little Villager just because his house was the first they came to.

"All the rest of the day the Little Villager and his companion were extremely discontented. Their burrow was a very roomy and comfortable one, but it was spoiled for them by the presence of those two moon-eyed, hook-beaked, solemn persons sitting side by side in the opposite corner. So they spent most of their time outside on the hillock, gossiping about it to their neighbors, who were extremely interested and full of suggestions, but showed no inclination whatever to come and help turn the intruders out. That was a thing which had never been attempted in their village, and the prairie dogs were not noted for their initiative. In learning to get together and live in villages they had apparently exhausted it all. They were always ready to chatter, from morning to night, about anything, and protest against it, and declare that it must not be permitted, but they always shirked the bother of united action, even to suppress the most dangerous and destructive of nuisances.

"When evening came, however, they had the house to themselves. The owls, getting lively as the sunset colors faded from the sky, scuttled forth and sat up side by side on the top of the hillock. As soon as it was full night, and the stars had come out clear and large in the deeply crystalline sky, they began hovering hither and thither on their wide, soundless wings, hunting the tiny prairie mice, which swarmed among the hillocks after dark.