Bannertail: The Story of a Graysquirrel by Ernest Thompson Seton
Back at the home tree at last, nearly seven suns had come and gone sincethe family had seen him.
The first impulse of the little mother was hostility. A stranger isalways a hostile in the woods. But he flicked the white flag on his tailtip, and slowly climbed the tree. The youngsters in alarm had hidden inthe nest at mother's "_Chik, chik_." She came cautiously forward. Hislooks were familiar yet strange. Here now was the time to use caution.He swung up nearly to the door. She stood almost at bay, uttered alittle warning "_Ggrrrfffhh_." He crawled up closer. She spread herlegs, clutched firmly on the bark above him. He wigwagged his silvertail-tip and, slowly drawing nearer, reached out. Their whiskers met;she sniffed, smell-tested him. No question now. A little changed, alittle strange, but this was surely her mate. She wheeled and went intothe nest. He came more slowly after, put in his head, gave a low, soft"_Er_." There was no reply and no hostile move. He crawled right in,his silver plume was laid about them all, and the reunited family slepttill the hour arrived for evening meal.
_THE UNWRITTEN LAW_
CHAPTER XXXI
THE UNWRITTEN LAW
THIS is the law of the All-Mother, the more immovable because unwritten;this is the law of surfeit.
Many foods there are which are wholesome, except that they have in thema measure of poison.
For these the All-Mother has endowed the wild things' bodies with asubtle antidote, which continues self-replenishing so long as thecontaining flask is never wholly emptied. But if it so chance that insome time of fearful stress the flask is emptied, turned upside down,drained dry, it never more will fill. The small alembic that distils itbreaks, as a boiler bursts if it be fired while dry. Thenceforth thetoxin that it overcame has virulence and power; that food, oncewholesome, is a poison now.
A "surfeit" men call this breaking of the flask; all too well is itknown. By this, unnumbered healthful foods--strawberries, ice-cream,jam, delicate meat, eggs, yes, even simple breads can by the devastatingdrain of one rash surfeit be turned into very foods of death. The poisonalways was there, but the secret, neutralizing chemical is gone, theelixir is destroyed, and by the working of the law its deadly power isloosed. As poor second now to this lost and subtle protection, theAll-Mother endows the body with another, one of a lower kind. She makesthat food so repellent to the unwise, punished creature that he nevermore desires it. She fills him with a fierce repulsion, the bodilyrejection that men call "nausea."
This is the law of surfeit. Bannertail had fallen foul of it, and MotherCarey, loving him as she ever loves her strong ones, had meted out thefullest measure of punishment that he, with all his strength, could bearand yet come through alive.
The Red Moon of harvest was at hand. The Graycoat family was grown, andhappy in the fulness of their lives, and Bannertail was hale and filledwith the joy of being alive, leading his family beyond old bounds,teaching them the ways of the farther woods, showing them new foods thatthe season brings. He, wise leader now, who once had been so unwise.Then Mother Carey put him to the proof. She led, he led them fartherthan they had ever gone before, to the remotest edge of the hickorywoods. On a bank half sunlit as they scampered over the leaves and downthe logs, he found a blushing, shining gnome-cap, an earth-born madcap.Yes, the very same, for in this woods they came, though they were rare.One whiff, one identifying sniff of that Satanic exhalation, andBannertail felt a horrid clutching at his throat, his lips were quicklydripping, his belly heaved, he gave a sort of spewing, gasping sound,and shrank back from that shining cap with eyes that bulged in hate, asthough he saw a Snake. There is no way of fully telling his bodilyrevulsion. The thing that once was so alluring, was so loathsome that hecould not stand its fetid odor on the wind. And the young ones werecaught by the unspoken horror of the moment, they took it in; they gotthe hate sense. They tied up that horror in their memories with thatrank and sickly smell. They turned away, Bannertail to drink in therunning brook, to partly forget in a little while, yet never quite toforget. He was saved, the great All-Mother had saved him, which was agood thing, but not in itself a great thing. This was the great thing,that in that moment happened--the loathing of the earth-born fiend wasimplanted in his race, and through them would go on to bless hisgenerations yet to be.
_SQUIRREL GAMES_
CHAPTER XXXII
SQUIRREL GAMES
GAMES are used among wild animals for the training of the young. King ofthe castle, tag, hide-and-seek, follow-my-leader, catch-as-catch-can,wrestling, coasting, high-dive, and, in rare cases, even ball games areenjoyed. Most of them were in some sort played by the young Squirrels.But these are world-wide, they had one or two that were peculiarly theirown, and of these the most exciting was the dangerous game of "teasingthe Hawk."
Three kinds of big Hawks there are in the Squirrel woods in summertime:the Hen-hawk that commonly sails high in the air, screaming orwhistling, and that at other times swoops low and silent through thewoods, and always is known by his ample wings and bright red tail; thegray Chicken-hawk that rarely soars, but that skims among the trees oreven runs on the ground, whose feathers are gray-brown, and whose voiceis a fierce _crek, crek, creek_; and the Song-hawk or Singer, who is thesize of the Chicken-hawk, but a harmless hunter of mice and frogs, andknown at all seasons by the stirring song that he pours out as he wheelslike a Skylark high in the blue.
The inner guide had warned the boisterous Bannertail to beware of all ofthem. Experience taught him that they will attack, and yet are easilybaffled, if one does but slip into a hole or thicket, or even around thebole of a tree.
Many times that summer did Bannertail avoid the charge of Redtail orChicken-hawk by the simple expedient of going through a fork or a mazeof branches. There was no great danger in it, as long as he kept hishead; and it did not disturb him, or cause his heart a single extrabeat. It became a regular incident in his tree-top life, just as a stockman is accustomed to the daily danger of a savage Bull, but easilyeludes any onset by slipping through a fence. It does not cause him atremor, he is used to it; and men there are who make a sport of it, wholove to tease the Bull, who enjoy his helpless rage as he vainly triesto follow. His mighty strength is offset by their cunning and agility.It is a pretty match, a very ancient game, and never quite loses zest,because the Bull does sometimes win; and then there is one lessBull-teaser on the stock-range.
This was the game that Bannertail evolved. Sure of himself, delightingin his own wonderful agility, he would often go out to meet the foe, ifhe saw the Hen-hawk or the Chicken-hawk approaching. He would flash hissilver tail, and shrill "_Grrrff, grrrff_," by way of challenge.
The Hen-hawk always saw. "Keen-eyed as a hawk" is not without a reason.And, sailing faster than a driving leaf, he would swish through thehickory woods to swoop at the challenging Squirrel. But just as quickwas Bannertail, and round the rough trunk he would whisk, the Hawk,rebounding in the air to save himself from dashing out his brains orbeing impaled, would now be greeted on the other side by the head andflashing tail of the Squirrel, and another with loud, defiant"_Ggrrrffhh, grggrrrffhh_."
Down again would swoop the air bandit, quicker than a flash, huge blackclaws advanced, and Bannertail would wait till the very final instant,rejoicing in his every nerve at tension, and just as those deadlygrappling-irons of the Hawk were almost at his throat, he would duck,the elusive, baffling tail would flash in the Hawk's very face, and theplace the Graycoat had occupied on the trunk was empty. The grapnels ofthe Hawk clutched only bark; and an instant later, just above, theteasing head and the flaunting tail of Bannertail would reappear, withloudly voiced defiance.
The Hawk, like the Bull, is not of gentle humor. He is a fierce andangry creature, out to destroy; his anger grows to fury after suchdefeat, he is driven wild by the mockery of it, and oftentimes he begetssuch a recklessness that he injures himself by accident, as he chargesagainst one of the many sharp snags that seem ever ready for theSquirrel-kind's defense.
Yes, a good old game it is, with the zest of danger strong. Bu
_WHEN BANNERTAIL WAS SCARRED FOR LIFE_
CHAPTER XXXIII
WHEN BANNERTAIL WAS SCARRED FOR LIFE
IT makes indeed merry play, with just enough of excitement when you baitthe Bull, and dodge back to the fence to laugh at his impotent raging.But it makes a very different chapter when a second Bull comes on theother side of the fence. Then the game is over, the Bull-baiter mustfind some far refuge or scramble up the nearest sheltering tree, or paythe price.
Bannertail had an ancient feud with the big Hen-hawk, whose stick nestwas only a mile away, high in a rugged beech. There were a dozenfarmyards that paid unwilling tribute to that Hawk, a hundred littlemeadows with their Mice and Meadowlarks, and one open stretch of marshwith its Muskrats and its Ducks. But the hardwood ridges, too, hecounted on for dues. The Squirrels all were his, if only he could catchthem. Many a game had he and Bannertail, a game of life and death.
They played again that morning in July. It was the same old swooping ofthe whistling pinions, and the grasping of strong yellow feet with hardblack claws, grasping at nothing, where was a Graycoat half a heartbeatback, the same flaunting silver flag, the mocking "_Grrrff, grrrff_,"the teasing and daring of the Hawk to make another swoop. Then did thatbig Hen-hawk what he should have done before. He filled the air with hiswar-cry, the long screaming "_Yek-yek-yeeeek!_" Coursing low and swiftcame another, his mate, the lady bandit, even fiercer than himself.Swift and with little noise she came. And when savage old Yellow-eyesswooped and Bannertail whisked around the tree, he whisked right intothe clutches of the deadlier she-one. He barely escaped by a marvellousside rush around the trunk. Here again was Yellow-eyes, but right in hisface Bannertail dashed his big silvery tail. The Hawk in his hasteclutched at its nothingness, or he would have got the Graycoat. But luckwas with Bannertail, and again he dodged around the trunk. Alas, the sheHawk was there, and struck; her mighty talons grazed his haunch, threerips they made in his glossy, supple coat. In an instant more theRedtail would have trussed him, for there was no cover, only the big,outstanding trunk, with the Hen-hawks above and below. A moment moreand Bannertail's mate, helpless in the distant nest, would have seenhim borne away. But as they closed, he leaped--leaped with all hisstrength, far from them into open air, and faster than they could fly insuch a place, down, down, his silver plume in function just behind him,down a hundred feet to fall and land in a thicket of laurel, wounded andbleeding, but safe. He scrambled into a thicker maze, and gazed with newand tenser feelings at the baffled Hen-hawks, circling, screaming highabove him.
Soon the bandits gave up. Clearly the Graycoat had won, and they flew tolevy their robber-baron tribute on some others that they held to betheir vassals.
A DANGEROUS GAME]
Yes, Bannertail had won, by a narrow lead. He had taken a mighty hazardand had learned new wisdom--Never play the game with death till you haveto, for if you win one hundred times and lose once you have lost yourwhole stake. On his haunch he carried, carries yet, the three longscars, where the fur is a little paler--the brand of the robberbaroness, the slash of the claws that nearly got him.
Have you noted that in the high Alleghenies, where the Graycoats seldomsee hunters of any kind, they scamper while the enemy is far away; butthey peer from upper limbs and call out little challenges? In Jerseywoods, where a wiser race has come, they never challenge a near foe;they make no bravado rushes. They signal if they see an enemy near, thenhide away in perfect stillness till that enemy, be it Hawk in air orHound on earth, is far away, or in some sort ceases to be a menace.
And menfolk hunters, who tell of their feats around the glowing stove inthe winter-time, say there is a new race of Graycoats come. Any gunnercould kill one of the old sort, but it takes a great hunter such asthemselves to get one of the new. This latter-day Graycoat has gottenmuch wisdom into his little brain, and one of the things he knows: "Itnever pays to gamble with destruction."
The new race, they say, began in a certain hickory wood. We know thatwood, and we have seen a little how the wisdom came, and can easilyreason why it spread.
_THE FIGHT WITH THE BLACK DEMON_
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE FIGHT WITH THE BLACK DEMON
NEXT in importance to the Squirrels, after the towering trees with theirlavish bounty, was the brook that carried down scraps of the blue sky toinlay them with green moss, purple logs, and gold-brown stones, thatsang its low, sweet song both day and night, and that furnished to thefamily their daily drink.
"Do not drink at the pond" is a Squirrel maxim, for in it lurks thefearful Snapping Turtle and the grinning Pike. Its banks are muddy, too,and the water warm. It is better to drink from some low log, along thebrook itself.
And do not drink in the blinding sunlight, which makes it hard to see ifdanger is near; then, too, it is that the Blacksnake crawls out to seeksome basking place in the hottest sun.
Yes, this is Squirrel wisdom; the morning drink is at sunrise, theevening at sunset, when the cool shade is on the woods but darkness notbegun.
The Graycoat family held together still, though the Harvest-moon was redin the low eastern sky. Some Squirrel families break up as soon as theyoung are nearly grown. But some there are that are held togetherlonger, very long, by unseen bonds of sympathy with which they have beengifted in a little larger measure than is common. Brownhead was muchaway, living his own life. Still, he came home. Nyek-nyek, gentle,graceful Nyek-nyek, clung to her mother and the old nest, like a veryweanling; and rest assured that in Squirrel-land, as in others, love isbegotten and intensified by love.
The morning drink and the morning meal were the established dailyroutine. Then came a time of exercise and play. But all Squirrels thatare hale and wise take a noonday nap.
Each was stretched on one or other of the sleeping platforms, lyinglazily at ease one noontime. The day was very hot, and the sun swunground so it glared on Nyek-nyek's sleeping-porch. Panting soon with theheat, she decided to drink, swung to the gangway of their huge trunk andstarted down the tree. The little mother, ever alert, watched the youngone go. There was in her heart just a shadow of doubt, of distrust, muchas a human mother might feel if she saw her toddler venture forth aloneinto the night.
Nyek-nyek swung to the ground, coursed in billowy ripples ofsilver-gray along a log, stopped on a stump to look around andreligiously fluff her tail, while mother dreamily watched throughhalf-closed eyes. Then out into the brilliant sunlight she went. Somecreatures are dazed and made lazy by the hot, bright glare, some find init a stimulant, a multiplier of their life force; it sets their senseson a keener edge; it gifts them with new speed, intensifies their everypower.
The Graycoats are of the first kind, and of the second was Coluber, thelong, black, shiny, blue-black Snake that was lying like a limp andmyriad-linked chain flung across a big, low log--a log that sucked thesun heat as it lay, just where the brook expanded to the pond. Never ablink was there in those gray-green eyes, never a quiver in that long,lithe tongue. One not knowing would have said he is dead; one knowinghim well would have said he is filling up his storage-batteries to thefull. Never a wriggle was there in even the nervous tail tip, thatnearly always switches to and fro; yet not a move of the Squirrel sinceshe left her sleeping porch was lost on him.
What was it gave a new pathway to the young Graycoat? Was it MotherCarey who led her with a purpose? Not to the familiar log she went,where the family had always found an ideal footing when they took themorning drink, but down-stream, toward the pond and on to the littlemuddy shore.
The mother Squirrel saw that, and her feeling of doubt grew stronger.She rose up to follow, but gazed a moment to see a sudden horror. Justas the little Nyek-nyek stooped and sank her face deep to her eyes inthe cooling flood, the Blacksnake sprang, sprang from his coil as aBlacksnake springs, when the victim is within the measured length.Sprang with his rows of teeth agape, clinched on her neck, and in atrice the heavy coils, tense with energy, ridged with muscle,flash-lapped aroun