Besides—he told himself—if he did not tell the kits what happened, they might never know. Being stupid youngsters, they were liable to just sit there and wait for her to come back. Doing nothing for themselves, they would starve to death. “That’s the way the young folks are,” Ereth thought, “always waiting for someone to give them a handout—even if the waiting kills them.”
He turned back around and continued in the direction of the fox den.
“Of course,” his thoughts continued, “if they did know what happened—I mean, if they had any brains, which isn’t very likely—they could go out and find their father. That’s what they should do. Let him take care of them.
“Wonder where the father is. Gone for a holiday, probably. Foxes are such idiots. But then, all meat eaters are jerks!”
Ereth groaned. “All that incredible salt sitting there and . . . I could use some sleep.”
Once again he looked back in the direction of the log cabin. For a second he thought he saw what appeared to be a shadow moving high among the branches. It startled him.
“You’re getting jumpy,” he told himself. “No, not jumpy. Gilded carrot quoits,” he swore. “The truth is, I don’t want to do what I promised to do.”
He rubbed his nose and sniffed. “Then again, I suppose it won’t hurt me to drop by and tell those kits what happened. The salt isn’t going to walk away. And maybe I could sleep in their den—long as it doesn’t stink of meat—then get back to the salt in the morning.
“Now where did she say those kits were?” the porcupine wondered out loud as he peered around. “About a mile east from where I found her. In a low bluff. Behind some rocks. A blue rock. Oh, boiled badger boogers!” he growled in exasperation. “I hate this!”
He studied the scene before him. With everything buried in snow, it was hard to distinguish anything—rocks, boulders, bushes—much less determine where he was.
Coming out from the woods Ereth found an open field stretching before him. Blanketed in snow, it lay in perfect stillness. The new snow—untouched, untrod upon—appeared to have been there since time began. Moonlight gave it a radiant glow.
At the far end of the field was a bluff. It rose up sharply, as if half a hill had simply dropped away. Peering at it, Ereth could see the lumpy outline of rocks and boulders beneath the snow.
“Chipmunk tail squeezers,” Ereth said. “I bet that’s where her den is.” It fit the fox’s description and seemed logical. Anyone approaching the den from across the field would be seen from a safe distance. And it wasn’t likely anyone would drop down to the den from the top of the bluff. It was too steep.
“But how am I, in the middle of the night, supposed to find a blue boulder that’s buried in the snow?”
With a snarl that was half anger, half weariness, Ereth moved out across the field. Suddenly he stopped. “Goat gaskins and maggot mange!” he cried. “What am I supposed to say to those kits?” The thought of it made him groan out loud.
“Tell it to them straight,” he told himself. “Right off. They’ll have to face the mucus some time or other. It’s a rough world. No sentimental slip-slop for me.
“I’ll say: ‘Hello! Guess what? Here’s the news. Your mother’s dead. Go find your father. Goodbye.’
“Yes. That’s the way it’s going to be. If they don’t like it, they can eat my quills.”
Grimly determined, Ereth continued to push forward. As he went he kept practicing his speech. “Hello! Guess what? Here’s the news. Your mother—”
It took him a while to reach the base of the bluff. Once there he halted and searched for some clue that might tell him where the fox’s den was. But now that he was close he could see that there were many boulders embedded in the bluff. Every one was jagged and irregular. In the best of weather the den’s entryway would be masked. Now it was further hidden by snow. “Lazy lizard lips,” Ereth complained bitterly. “If those kits are deep inside some den, I’ll never find them!”
More weary than ever, the porcupine waddled along the base of the bluff in search of some meaningful sign.
Suddenly he heard a single yelp. It seemed to come from within the bluff itself. Ereth had no doubt it was one of the kits. He was close. He held his breath in the hope that the sound would be repeated.
Though it took some time—Ereth was shivering by now—it came. This time the yelp was behind him. With a grunt of exasperation the old porcupine wheeled about, trying to determine the exact location of the sound. Once again there was only silence. “Bat bilge,” the porcupine muttered angrily. “Since I’m spending so much time looking for them, the least they could be is helpful!”
He took another step and paused. From almost right over his head he heard an explosion of yelps.
He peered up the bluff to see a particularly jagged group of rocks. He began to move up. Upon reaching the first of the boulders he scratched the snow away to expose the surface. The rock was dark, but in the moonlight it had a blue cast.
Ereth had no doubt he was close to the den. But where was the entry?
He crawled higher. Twice he slipped back and had to struggle to keep himself from tumbling all the way to the bottom. The more he looked, the more exasperated he became. There didn’t seem to be an entry. If there was one—and there had to be—it was so cleverly hidden he would never be able to find it.
Sighing deeply, Ereth wondered what he should do. He was exhausted. Angry. “Wet worm water,” he whispered between chattering teeth. “Why did I ever agree to do this! Why did I ever leave home? Oh,
