“Yeah,” Flip agreed. “They’re really nasty.”
Ereth studied the faces of the young foxes. They were looking at him as if he knew what to do, as if he had answers. “Do you do any hunting for yourselves?” he asked.
“I . . . I caught a grasshopper once,” Flip said with pride. “It was crunchy.”
Ereth almost threw up.
“Did your mother hide any food?” he asked. “Foxes do that, you know.”
“They do?” Nimble said. She turned to her brothers with a questioning look. They seemed equally surprised.
“’Course they do,” Ereth snarled. “Everybody knows that. She probably had another den, too. Or more. A just-in-case den. Am I right?”
“Oh, that,” Nimble replied. “Sure. It’s down along the bluff a bit. Not too far from here.”
“Would there be any food there?”
Nimble shrugged. “Mom only told us what we needed to know.”
“Can you find it?”
The foxes exchanged glances again. “Yes . . . I suppose. Maybe.”
“Then why the mangy muskrat mites, if you were so hungry, didn’t you go look there for food?”
There was a moment of embarrassed silence. “I guess we didn’t think of it,” Flip offered after a moment.
“We were waiting for Mom,” Tumble said belligerently. “The way she told us to.”
“And we always do what she tells us,” Nimble explained more softly.
“Anyway, the . . . white stuff came,” Flip added.
“Snow,” Nimble reminded him.
Ereth said, “I suppose we’d better check that place. Now you, Nimble, take the lead. You seem to know where this place is. Then Tumble, Flip, you follow. I’ll come behind. Come on, let’s hit it.”
For a moment the foxes just looked at him.
It was Flip who said, “Mr. Doormat are . . . are you going to be our mother from now on?”
“Look here, you simple smear of wallaby wax,” Ereth roared, “the name is Ereth, not Doormat. Secondly, I am not your mother. I can’t be a mother. I don’t want to be a mother. I’m only taking care of you until—” Ereth stopped.
“Until what?” Tumble prompted quickly.
“Until . . . your father gets back. Which better be fast as bees buzzing buttercups. Do you understand?”
The foxes stared at him.
Exasperated, Ereth asked, “Do you have any idea where he is?”
“He happens to be doing his business!” Tumble returned hotly. “He’s got a lot of it.”
“Sorry I asked,” Ereth returned in the same tone. “Just hop it! To the other place.”
The three foxes, energized by Ereth’s yelling, tumbled out of the den. The weary porcupine followed, close enough to hear Tumble whisper to the others, “Wow, he’s a nasty one, isn’t he?”
CHAPTER 11
Marty the Fisher
IN THE FIELD BELOW the bluff sat Marty the Fisher, up to his neck in snow. The skies had cleared. The moon was full. The air was still. Not a sound could be heard. The world glowed with a serene whiteness.
Not that Marty the Fisher cared or even noticed any of that. He was angry at himself for allowing Ereth to get away. His strategy, once he realized that the porcupine was heading toward the far side of the field, was to trap the prickly creature against the wall of earth. He was quite sure this would work. But to Marty’s great puzzlement, Ereth had simply vanished. It was as if he had been swallowed up by the bluff itself.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “he found an old badger’s den. Or a cave. Maybe he’s holing up till morning. Sleeping.
“Should I wait?” he asked himself. “Should I come back tomorrow? Should I forget all about this annoying Ereth? How irritating that he should get away from me!
“No,” Marty decided. “I’ll wait a bit. Until the moon’s shadow goes from over there to over here.”
He was still studying the scene when he saw three young foxes burst out of the bluff, followed momentarily by the porcupine.
“Not good,” Marty said to himself with a frown. “I can deal with the porcupine, but not if those foxes are with him. They look young, but the four of them together will be too much to handle.”
Even so, Marty told himself to be patient. “Porcupines and foxes do not mix,” he reminded himself. “Sooner or later Ereth will be alone again.” From a safe distance Marty watched to see where the quartet was going.
CHAPTER 12
The Other Den
IT WAS NIMBLE WHO led the way to the other den. Tumble and Flip followed on her heels. Last to come was Ereth. He could see right away why the foxes had been named the way they were. Each one of them moved through the snow in short, frolicking jumps. So energetic were they, they sometimes landed on one another’s backs, or collided. Ereth, who could do nothing but plod stolidly after them, kept crying, “Slow down. Wait for me!” He was terribly nervous. What if one of the kits put a foot into a trap? What if he did?
But whenever the weary Ereth caught up to them the kits were off again, leaving the porcupine to mumble disparaging remarks about foxes and the world in general.
Though the second den was only some twenty yards from the one he had first entered, Ereth never would have found it on his own. In fact, when he finally caught up with the kits they were hastily scraping back the snow from between two large boulders. Only when the snow was removed was a small hole revealed—smaller than the one that led into the other den.
“Is this it?” Ereth demanded, panting from exertion.
“It’s what we told you about,” Flip assured him.
“Are there others?” Ereth asked, eyeing the narrow entryway.
“Don’t know,” Tumble said. Without another word, he scurried down the hole. Nimble followed.
“Are . . . are you coming?” Flip asked.
“I’ll try,” Ereth replied.
“I’d like you to,” the young fox said shyly before he darted down the hole.
“Monkey muumuus,” Ereth grumbled, as he braced himself to follow.
No sooner was he inside the tunnel than he felt himself squeezed from all sides. Grunting and groaning, scraping and pushing at the dirt, he found it hard to breathe.
“Are you still coming?” he heard one of the foxes call.
“Of course
