CHAPTER XII. Ben's Hundred Dollar Fox

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.

When the hound ran Woodchuck, or Muskrat, into a burrow, his baying was muffled, on account of his nose being in the mouth of the hole. But when he rushed full tilt through the woods with a musical "wu--uh, wu-uh, wu--uh" at regular intervals, that meant fox; and, near the Ridge, fox meant Red Ben.

Ben Slown no sooner would hear that, than down he would throw the corn bundle and off he would run for his gun, which was never left very far from his hands. Off, too, would dash Shep and the fox terrier, who ordinarily busied themselves with digging for mice around the corn shocks.

In the excitement, Red Ben always managed to get away, usually by hunting up Gray Fox, or some other member of the gray family, whom he had learned to find in the Pine Barrens a mile down Goose Creek. The hound had discovered that any other fox was easier to follow than Red Ben, so he gladly changed trails.

On one occasion, after a long, hard run, Red Ben, circling back by a new route, came across the scent of a fox entirely a stranger to him. With his usual caution he looked about and presently caught sight of a red creature like himself, watching him intently.

For a full minute he and the other fox studied each other without moving. Not since his mother vanished had Red Ben seen a red fox, and never before had he seen an animal quite so unkempt looking as this one. The red fur was all mangy and torn, the tail almost a stick.

Red Ben, in all the magnificence of his perfect coat, seemed like a different kind of animal from this wretched little she-fox. And yet there was a brightness of eye, as well as an alertness about her which commanded attention.

The baying of the hound close by changed the scene all too quickly. Red Ben went on his way in graceful bounds, the little she-fox watching him till out of sight, then herself vanishing in the wood.

This kind of daily persecution by Ben Slown and his hound wore heavily on Red Ben. The sleepless days, hard runs and constant worry made him unfit for hunting during the night. Often he went hungry. He quickly became embittered and reckless. Instead of running after swift rabbits and spending hours in digging out mice, he fell into the easy habit of catching the fat, stupid chickens and ducks that could be picked up at any farm yard without his expending much energy.

His cunning in work of this kind seemed endless. He learned how to catch the guinea hens in the gray light of early morning, how to climb over and under chicken yard fences and how to enter hen houses through windows. He became the vexation and terror of every poultry man within three or four miles of the Ridge. Bounties were offered in three villages for his capture. One hundred dollars in all hung over his head; and still he somehow managed to live on his much loved Ridge--the only place he knew as home.

To children Red Ben naturally became a real hero; stories of his cunning took the place of fairy tales, besides which he seemed to have a friendly as well as inquisitive feeling towards them which led him to follow them about in the woods on their winter-green and holly picking expeditions, cautiously of course, but showing in one so wild an interesting trustfulness.

Sometimes he would be glimpsed as he watched them from some thicket, far enough away to satisfy his shyness; at other times his orange colored form would slip past as silently as a shadow, to be swallowed immediately in the tangles all about. So the children, with their sharp eyes, had the thrill of seeing him more often than anyone else; and of all the hungry woods creatures he had first choice of crusts and lunch scraps they dropped.

Every fox is likely sooner or later to do something foolish that gets him into trouble, but Red Ben's wonderful luck seemed unending. He was often seen when running ahead of the dogs. Perhaps some old farmer would be driving home his cows, when into the country road ahead would plunge the fox, his bright fur and big, bushy tail leaving no doubt as to his identity.

"Ah, there goes a hundred dollars," the old man would sigh, as he thought of the reward, then he would admiringly watch the graceful fox until out of sight around the bend in the road, and pray that the dogs might not get him after all.

Red Ben of course jumped into the road ahead of the cows so that these big footed creatures, which kicked up the dust so plentifully as they walked, would spoil his trail before the dogs would get there. It was one of his ways of eluding them.

Everyone who saw the red fox talked about it and about the reward, and though to the children he was always Red Ben, to the farmers he was now Ben's Hundred Dollar Fox.

"He's the most valuable thing on your old farm, Ben," some neighbor would tell Farmer Slown.

"And he won't be there much longer," Ben would answer in his usual ugly manner.

"How's that? Are you going to try sticky fly paper next?" But Ben would stalk off without answer.

The answer came when five of the village dogs died from some mysterious poison for foxes they had picked up in the fields. After that people began to pass Ben Slown on the road without speaking.