With the Fox-Cubs at Dusk 



It was to see a litter of fox-cubs that I visited this 

 fort. 



On an expedition of this nature one must approach 

 as noiselessly as a shadow and be as inconspicuous as 

 possible. Foxes have to live by their wits, and a nursing 

 vixen knows only too well that the presence of a human 

 being in the vicinity of her earth heralds trouble for 

 herself and her family. 



I was beginning to congratulate myself on the clever- 

 ness of my approach when a rabbit, startled from his 

 evening feed, cocked his ears, poised a moment on hind 

 legs, made a quick decision and acted on it instantly. 

 Like a scout of old on outpost duty at the fort, he slipped 

 away to inform the garrison of the presence of an 

 intruder. Soon the slow double tap-tap, tap-tap throb- 

 bed underground, as his hocks beat the floor of his 

 burrow and sent out their message of warning to the 

 entire rabbit population in the vicinity. Now that my 

 presence had been detected it was best to pass on, 

 reach my objective, then lie still and wait. Up through 

 an opening in the undergrowth I crawled, climbing to 

 the top of the highest rampart, moving noiselessly all 

 the while and hoping the foxes had not heard my 

 approach. I argued that the young cubs might be so 

 engrossed in their play that they might not have heard 

 the rabbit's signals, or, hearing them from such a 

 timorous neighbour, might have treated them with 

 contemptuous scorn. Whether they had heard my 

 approach or not I cannot say, but when I slowly raised 

 my head above the rampart not a single cub was in 

 sight. 



79 



