“Look here, fur balls,” Ereth said to them. “I know you’re impatient to get about. But as Nimble here can tell you, you can’t just bop around like a bunch of giggling glitz glumpers. Tell them what happened.”
Nimble looked around sheepishly. “I was just about to pounce—I think it was a mole I was smelling—when Ereth here kicked a rock. And this thing—”
“A trap,” Ereth corrected.
“A trap sprang up right out of the snow. It’s . . . really nasty. Ereth says it was the same kind of trap that . . . got Mom.”
Tumble and Flip, having listened in silence, turned and stared where Nimble indicated.
“Remember the day of the snowstorm? And those hunters who were around? They put down sixteen of these traps,” Ereth explained. “They could be anyplace, from the bluff right back into the forest and up to that cabin of theirs. No telling where they might be.”
The kits remained silent. Then Tumble said, “I’m hungry. You should be feeding us.”
“Holy horse hockey!” Ereth snapped. “I know you’re hungry. But if you go ambling around you’re liable to get killed.”
“I don’t believe you,” Tumble said. “You just like to boss us around. Mom didn’t boss us. Dad doesn’t.”
“Look here, you leaky lump of wallaby filigree, if you want to get yourself snuffled by a trap, that’s your business!”
“You old . . .” Tumble started to say, but shut his mouth when Ereth glared at him.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” Nimble said to the porcupine. “He’s always grumpy.”
“What . . . what can we do about the traps?” Flip asked.
Ereth turned to stare out over the field. It looked so free of all danger. Yet he knew that lurking beneath the snow was something truly deadly.
Turning back to the three kits he said, “We have to find those traps.”
“My dad could find them, easy,” Tumble said.
“Fine, anthill brain,” Ereth snapped. “Go find your father. He can deal with it. That’ll suit me perfectly. I’ll be gone so fast you won’t even remember I was here.”
Tumble, backing off, muttered, “He’s probably very busy . . .”
“We could throw some more rocks,” Nimble suggested.
“That might work,” Ereth agreed, “but only if we’re lucky. If we’re even just a bit off, it won’t do us any good.” He gazed at the huge expanse of snow again as if it could offer some answers.
“What . . . what about a snowball?” Flip asked timidly.
“That’s stupid,” Tumble said immediately.
But Nimble asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well . . . I was just thinking,” Flip went on cautiously, looking from his brother to his sister and ignoring Ereth, “we could roll a ball in front of us, and, you know, keep it rolling. If it hit a trap it wouldn’t hurt us—just the snowball. And . . . and I think it would leave a path we could walk on.”
The foxes turned to Ereth.
The porcupine considered for a moment. Then he nodded vigorously. “Snap-bug salad! That’s a great idea. Best I’ve heard in a long time.”
Flip grinned with pleasure.
“I think it’s dumb,” Tumble said.
Ereth paid him no mind. “Come on,” he urged. “Roll up a ball right now and push it down the bluff.”
Flip, delighted to have his idea so quickly put into practice, used his paws to shape a ball. Nimble helped. Very soon they had a large, if lopsided, ball of snow.
“That’ll never roll,” Tumble announced.
“Give it a try,” Ereth urged.
Standing by the entryway to the den, Flip prodded the ball with his nose, managing to nudge it enough so that it began to roll down the bluff. As it went it gathered snow and speed. In its wake it left a wide path which exposed the earth. Very quickly it reached the bottom of the bluff.
“See?” Tumble said smugly. “No traps.”
“That’s the whole point, hippo head!” Ereth snapped. “At least we can walk down that way.” This they did in single file, using the path the snowball had made, with the porcupine leading the way. When they came to the bottom, where the ball rested, they stopped. Having gathered snow during its roll, the ball was very much bigger.
“Now,” Ereth commanded, “push the ball back toward the other den. Where I first met you.”
Flip stood up on his hind legs and placed his front paws near the top of the ball. Nimble did the same.
As usual, Tumble held back. “There’s no room for me,” he announced.
“Just push,” Ereth said to Flip and Nimble, as he added his own weight to the effort.
The three proceeded to roll the ball forward. The heavier ball was much harder to push. Even so it inched along. Suddenly, there was a loud snap! The ball exploded. The stunned foxes—as well as Ereth—jumped back.
Ereth, his face white with snow, peered cautiously forward. There, amid the remains of the snowball, was another trap, its teeth clenched ferociously together.
“Thirteen to go,” the porcupine announced. There was relief in his voice, but also worry.
Tumble edged forward, sniffed the trap, then touched it gingerly with a paw. He said nothing.
“What do we do now?” Flip asked.
Ereth sighed. “Make another snowball,” he said.
At that Tumble barged forward and rolled up a new ball. Then he began to push it forward with his nose. “Come on,” he called hotly to his brother and sister. “I need some help. Don’t be so lazy.”
The others joined in. Slowly they moved the ball along the base of the bluff. As it went forward it gathered more snow. It was after they had gone some thirty more feet that another trap sprung.
“Twelve,” Ereth said. He looked around anxiously. “Is the area along the base of this bluff where you and your mother walked a lot?” he wanted to know.
“I guess so,” Nimble said.
“Well that explains one thing,” Ereth said.
“What’s that?”
“It wasn’t an accident they caught your mother. Those trappers—those humans—were trying to snare you foxes.”
“But . . . why would they do that?” Flip asked, his voice full of astonishment.
“Your fur,” Ereth said glumly.
The foxes inspected their coats in puzzlement.
“Okay,” Ereth said. “Let’s put together another ball, and this time
