Neither Flip nor Nimble objected.
But Tumble said, “You’re all too slow. I know what to do.” Before anyone could object, he scrambled down to the base of the bluff along the path that had just been cleared. Ereth and the other two foxes watched him go.
“Why is he always crabby?” Ereth demanded.
Nimble exchanged looks with Flip.
“He misses Dad a lot,” Flip blurted out. “I mean we do too. But that’s all Tumble ever talks about. You know, how he wishes Dad would come home.”
A glum Ereth made no response. He merely watched Tumble.
At the base of the bluff the young fox was hastily putting together another ball of snow. Then, using his nose as well as his front paws, he began to shove it erratically across the field in the direction of Dimwood Forest. Clearly frustrated, he did not always stay behind the ball.
Ereth watched in dismay. “That worm wit is going to get himself killed,” he said. With that he turned to the other two foxes. “Stay here,” he commanded. Slipping and sliding, he scurried down the bluff after Tumble.
“Hey, wait!” he called.
Tumble did not even look around, but continued to roll his snowball forward.
Ereth, breathless from the exertion, caught up with the young fox. “Hey, you putrefying packet of parsnip pips, didn’t you hear me?”
Tumble paid no attention. Instead, with his back to the porcupine, he struggled even harder with the ever-growing ball of snow, stubbornly inching it forward.
“Don’t you understand?” Ereth cried after him. “This is dangerous work. Listen to me. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Suddenly Tumble let go of the snowball, turned, and snapped, “Why don’t you leave me alone! You’re such a know-it-all. I’m sick and tired of being ordered around by you. Who are you? Nobody. We never asked you to come around here in the first place. We were perfectly fine until you stuck your nose in. Why don’t you just go away? That’ll make everybody happy.”
“Do you think I want to be here?” Ereth roared back. “Let me tell you something, cheese blister. I’ve got three billion better things to do. I’m only here because your mother asked me.”
“She did not!”
“Suffocating snake slime! Why else would I have come here? She said you were helpless. That you needed me to look after you. That you couldn’t get by on your own.”
“That’s not true!” Tumble shrilled, eyes hot with tears. Furious, he spun about and resumed pushing the snowball across the field, away from Ereth.
Ereth followed right after him.
When Tumble, with a darting glance over his shoulder, saw Ereth was at his heels, he cried, “We’re old enough to be on our own. The only reason you came to us was to get out of the snow, get warm, and eat our food. You’re just too lazy to go back to your own home. You’re nothing but an old, ugly, fat porcupine. And you stink, too!”
Ereth, taken aback by the new onslaught of words, stopped in his tracks. For a moment he was speechless.
“See?” Tumble went on. “You insult whoever you want, but you can’t take it, can you?
“Didn’t you hear me? We don’t need you,” Tumble insisted, going forward again. “My sister and brother feel the same way, only they’re too nice to say it. Well, I’m not nice or polite. I say what I think. Anyway, my father will get here soon and when he does, you can—”
At that precise moment the snowball exploded, hurling snow into Tumble’s face.
The young fox, taken by surprise, stood in place, trembling. Poking up through the snow were the sharp steel jaws of another trap.
“There,” Ereth said angrily. “Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”
Tumble whirled around. “Oh, can’t you ever be quiet!” he said into Ereth’s face. Then he burst into tears.
Ereth blinked. “But what . . . what’s the matter?”
The fox couldn’t speak. He was sobbing too hard.
“Talk!” Ereth barked.
“I . . . want my mom . . .” Tumble whispered. “So badly. I miss her so much . . .”
Ereth paled. “But . . . she’s . . .”
“I know she’s dead!” Tumble cried, switching back to anger, though the tears continued to flow. “Stop telling me things I know. Oh, why don’t you just go away! You’re awful to have around. You’re bossy. You’re sarcastic. And do you know what you are most of all? You’re so old your brain has turned gray. Yeah, that’s what you are. Old!” With that Tumble lifted his nose, opened his mouth wide, and began to howl. “I want my daddy!” he cried again and again.
An appalled Ereth looked back over his shoulder to see if Flip and Nimble were watching and listening. To his great relief they were nowhere in sight. He could only hope they had gone down into the safety of the den and had not witnessed any of this.
Ereth turned back to Tumble. The young fox was just sitting there, his head low, looking miserable.
“Tumble . . .” Ereth began, not knowing what else to say.
“Go away!” the fox screamed, not looking up. “I hate you. I wish you were dead!”
“I’m just . . .” Ereth looked around again to see if anyone else was listening. When he saw no one he said, “I’m just trying to help.”
“We don’t need your help!” Tumble bayed.
Ereth sighed. “Someone had to tell you about your mother.”
“Right. But you just barged in and blurted it out like the stupid animal you are. I mean, it was our mother, not yours!”
Cringing, Ereth struggled to find a reply. “But,” he finally got out, “you needed to know about the traps, didn’t you?”
“I . . . suppose,” Tumble conceded through renewed sobs. “But now that Flip—not you—figured out a way to find them, you’re not necessary.”
“What . . . what about food?” Ereth asked.
“We don’t like vegetables!” Tumble cried. “We like meat! But you don’t hunt. So you’re as useless as . . . as parboiled pumpkin puke!”
Shocked, Ereth’s mouth opened wide but no words came out. The next moment he sputtered, “That’s it. I give up. Do what you want. Drop dead for all I care!” With that, he pushed past Tumble and began to stumble through the snow toward Dimwood Forest.
Tumble did not look around, but continued to stare down at his feet and the exposed trap just a few inches away. Only when he was certain that Ereth had gone by did he lift his head and gaze after the retreating porcupine.
“Goodbye,” Tumble whispered. The tears began to flow again.
“Salamander-sap salad!” Ereth cried as he breasted through the snow in the direction of the forest. Deeply upset, he was breathing heavily, snorting wrath with every trembling step he took. “Try and help idiots and it gets idiotic,” he reminded himself. “Kill yourself for kids, and they’ll kill you first. Ungrateful, spoiled brats! Phooey on all children with a squashed boll weevil on top. Let ’em do what they want. They aren’t my responsibility.”
He paused and looked around to see where he was going. “I’ll go back into the forest the way I came, get myself some decent food, then head right for that log cabin. Gobble up some salt. I mean, why should I care about a bunch of bungling, unappreciative babies . . .” Ereth, swearing all the while, pushed steadily across the field.
From his lookout on the aspen tree branch, Marty the Fisher spied Ereth moving toward the forest. “At last!” he cried, barely able to suppress his excitement. “I knew I was right to wait. And he’s coming in my direction. Well, Ereth, you’re in for one big Marty the Fisher surprise.”
With that, the fisher checked to make sure he was certain of the exact spot where Ereth would enter the forest. Then he scrambled down from his tree and raced for a hiding place. “Now I’ve got him!” he exulted.
CHAPTER 18
Ereth Has Some Other Thoughts
ERETH WAS HALFWAY across the field on his way to the forest when he suddenly came to a stop. “Bouncing balls of beeswax!” he muttered with horror.
“The traps! I’m so furious I’ve forgotten all about them. I’m acting blind and brainless. Any moment now I could be stepping right into one of those things. If I do I’ll maim myself. Kill myself!”
Anxiously, he swung about and took a step back along the trail he’d made through the snow. He had been, he now realized, lucky to come as far as he had without harm. It would be best to return. By walking in the same steps he had just made, he could get safely back.
But no sooner did he take one step back than he spied Tumble. The young fox, head low, was walking slowly toward the den. Just to see him filled Ereth with rage.
“Monkey marbles!” he shouted out loud. “No way I’m going back there.” With that he spun about and faced the trees, only to have his nerves fail him again. “But if I’m caught in a trap . . .
“I know: I’ll make a snowball, just the way those idiot kits did. If I have to, I’ll push it all the way home.”
Ereth set about to shape a ball, only to quickly realize his legs were too short for the job.
“Great galloping guppy gunk!” he cried with a rage that brought tears to his eyes. “I don’t know which way to go!” Trembling, Ereth stood in the middle of the field facing the forest. More than anything else, he wanted to lose himself in the trees, then find a way back to his own lovely log. How he yearned to return to his gloomy, stinky home, to wallow in his own muck, to have a soothing talk with Poppy. Oh, to be anywhere but where he was!
And yet, he could not make himself go forward. He was too afraid. Better to go back to the safety of the den. No! He didn’t want to do that either. The kits hated him. Didn’t want him. He turned about. Even as he stood there, a breeze swept across the field, carrying snow. To his horror, the tracks he had just made began to disappear. If he didn’t go back immediately he’d have to break a new trail, with the danger of stepping into a trap.
One moment Ereth was in a rage. The next moment he felt soft and weepy. What was happening to him? His helplessness was frightening. “Oh, sloth-swill soup with bird-drop stuffing!” he shouted to the air. “I can’t go anywhere!”
Then all of a sudden an even more terrible thought came to him. What . . . what if . . . even some of the things Tumble had said were true? Could he really be so dreadful? Was he really a bad creature? Had he, in fact, become old without noticing?
The answer came in the form of a cold shiver that went through his whole body. Yes, it was so. Everything the young fox had said was true. He was an awful creature. He was old. He was bossy. No one bothered about his birthday because he wasn’t worth bothering about. What’s more, there was nothing he could do about it. He was too set in his ways to change. He was worthless. He might as well be dead. Ereth shut his eyes against his thoughts.
“Ereth . . . ?”
At first Ereth was not sure he heard his name. But the call came again, slightly more insistent.
“Ereth?”
Someone was calling to him.
Ereth opened his eyes. No one in front of him. Nor to either side. He looked back. It was Flip.
In spite of himself, Ereth scowled.
Flip stood some way off, afraid to come any closer.
“Ereth . . . ?” he called again cautiously. It sounded like a question, as if he were unsure he should even say the name.
Ereth felt his anger returning. “What is it?” he growled.
“Can . . . can I talk to you . . . ?”
“About what, tinkle brain?” the porcupine said, though he immediately regretted having spoken so.
“Ereth . . . Tumble came back to the den.”
“What about it?”
“He . . . he told us what he said to you. He’s very upset.”
Ereth thought of saying, “What about me?” but held his tongue.
“He said that he yelled at you,” Flip went on. “That he said a lot of . . . awful things. That he made you go away.”
Ereth grunted.
“I . . . I just wanted to tell you that what he said isn’t . . . the way Nimble and I . . . feel.”
Ereth, unprepared for the searing pain he felt, stared at the young fox. Turning, he shifted away from Flip and gazed longingly at the forest.
Flip drew a little closer. “Ereth,” he called. “I’m . . . I’m glad you came to us. I like you.”
Ereth sniffed.
“I . . . wish you’d come back . . .” Flip coaxed. “We found two more traps.”
“You did?” Ereth said.
“How many did you say there were?” Flip asked.
After a moment Ereth said, “Tumble just found another one. With the one you found before it adds up to five altogether. Then there was the one your mom . . . found. Those trappers said they had put down sixteen. If we can believe them, that means there’s just nine left.”
“We could find them,” Flip said. “I’m sure we could. But, Ereth, don’t you think it would be better if you stayed with us?”
Ereth continued to face the forest. Perhaps he should live alone, the way he had spent most of his life before he met Poppy. When he was alone no one hurt him. No one ignored him. Being alone was safe.
“I mean, maybe you could just stay until our dad gets back,” Flip said.
“Caterwauling catfish,” Ereth cried. “For all you know he may never come back.”
“Oh, sure he will,” Flip said. “He cares for us a lot. He does. It’s just that he’s very busy. I mean, he has to take care of his business.”
“What about my business?”
“Ereth,” Flip pleaded. “Tumble is very upset. I don’t think he meant what he said.”
Ereth sighed.
“Did you hear me?” Flip asked.
“Maybe . . . it was true,” Ereth whispered.
“Well, even if what he said was . . . a little bit true . . . Please, I still think we need you.”
Ereth turned around and faced him. “You really want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
Ereth sighed. “All right. But only until we find the rest of the traps. Or till your father gets back. Whichever comes first.”
“Oh, wow. That’s so great of you,” Flip said excitedly. “I’ll go tell the others.” With that he turned and bounded back along the trail toward the den. He had not gone ten steps when he stopped and returned to Ereth.
“Now what?” Ereth demanded.
“There’s something else I want you to know.”
“What?” Ereth said, preparing for the worst.
“I really like you,” Flip said. “I mean, you’re really . . . sweet.” With that the young fox hurried on back to the den.
Ereth stared after the young fox. Reaching up, he touched his nose on the spot where Poppy had once kissed it. “Sweet,” he muttered with a grimace. “Sweet is a word for nitwits and gumdrops. . . . Not . . . me.
“It’ll only be for a short time,” he told himself. “A very short time.” With that he began to waddle back along the trail Flip had just made, telling himself that it was, after all, the safest way to get anywhere.
Marty the Fisher watched with bitter disappointment as Ereth headed back toward the bluff.
“He’s gone back to them,” he growled. “That means I’m going to have to find some other way to get him alone.”
He thought for a while. Then he smiled.
“Maybe it’s time I found father fox. Yes, I think I’ll let Bounder know exactly what’s going on. He’ll flush that stupid porcupine out.”
With that thought, Marty whirled about and raced into the forest.
CHAPTER 19
In Search of Food
WHEN ERETH REACHED the den, the three foxes were sitting side by side near the entryway. Suddenly uncomfortable, Ereth gazed at them. Nimble and Flip returned his look. Tumble avoided eye contact altogether.
For a moment no one said anything.
It was Nimble who called, “Hi, Ereth, where you been?”
“Out,” Ereth said. “Walking.”
“Oh.”
“See anything interesting?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Listen here,” Ereth snapped, “you tasteless tubs of toad twaddle, if you think . . .” Hearing himself, Ereth paused, cleared his throat, and began again. “What I mean is that if you willow wallows think I’m going to do all the work, while you loaf and soak up the sun like a bunch of cross-eyed octopuses—No! I didn’t mean that. I . . .”
“What would you like us to do?” Flip said. “Chores? Hunt? Clean up? Whatever you say, Ereth. We’ll be glad to do it.”
“How about making some more snowballs?” Ereth continued testily. “Start rolling them along the base of the bluff, then go across the field in any direction you want. Just stay behind the balls. Do you understand? Behind!
“If there are any trails you and your mother used a lot, make sure you roll the balls those ways. Any questions? Problems? None? Good. Then get going!”
Yapping and braying, the foxes hurried down along the trails they had already made, packed up some new snowballs, and began to roll them in different directions.
When the three foxes returned to the den and Ereth, they were exhausted but elated.
“We found three more traps,” Nimble cried with glee as she bounded up the bluff.
“Fine,” Ereth said. “Good. We’re making progress. It won’t be long before you’ve found them all. We just need to search some more.”
“Ereth . . .” It was Tumble who spoke.
“What?”
“We’re really starving.”
“Mom always brought home lots,” Nimble added plaintively.
“More than we could eat,” Flip agreed.
“More?” Ereth’s ears perked up.
“There were times,” Tumble said, “she brought us rabbits so big we couldn’t even finish everything.”
“What happened to the extra?” Ereth asked. “Did she take them off and eat the rest herself?” He knew that’s what he would have done.
Flip shook his head. “Mom said dinnertime was family time, that it was rude to go off and eat alone. So we always ate together.”