‘We’ll Never Let Him Go’

 

At six o’clock in the evening, Bean switched off the motor of his tractor and climbed down from the driver’s seat. Bunce did the same. Both men had had enough. They were tired and stiff from driving the tractors all day. They were also hungry. Slowly they walked over to the small fox’s hole in the bottom of the huge crater. Bean’s face was purple with rage. Bunce was cursing the fox with dirty words that cannot be printed. Boggis came waddling up. ‘Dang and blast that filthy stinking fox!’ he said. ‘What the heck do we do now?’

‘I’ll tell you what we don’t do,’ Bean said. ‘We don’t let him go!’

‘We’ll never let him go!’ Bunce declared.

‘Never never never!’ cried Boggis.

‘Did you hear that, Mr Fox!’ yelled Bean, bending low and shouting down the hole. ‘It’s not over yet, Mr Fox! We’re not going home till we’ve strung you up dead as a dingbat!’ Whereupon the three men all shook hands with one another and swore a solemn oath that they would not go back to their farms until the fox was caught.

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‘What’s the next move?’ asked Bunce, the pot-bellied dwarf.

‘We’re sending you down the hole to fetch him up,’ said Bean. ‘Down you go, you miserable midget!’

‘Not me!’ screamed Bunce, running away.

Bean made a sickly smile. When he smiled you saw his scarlet gums. You saw more gums than teeth. ‘Then there’s only one thing to do,’ he said. ‘We starve him out. We camp here day and night watching the hole. He’ll come out in the end. He’ll have to.’

So Boggis and Bunce and Bean sent messages down to their farms asking for tents, sleeping-bags and supper.

8

The Foxes Begin to Starve

 

That evening three tents were put up in the crater on the hill – one for Boggis, one for Bunce and one for Bean. The tents surrounded Mr Fox’s hole. And the three farmers sat outside their tents eating their supper. Boggis had three boiled chickens smothered in dumplings, Bunce had six doughnuts filled with disgusting goose-liver paste, and Bean had two gallons of cider. All three of them kept their guns beside them.

Boggis picked up a steaming chicken and held it close to the fox’s hole. ‘Can you smell this, Mr Fox?’ he shouted. ‘Lovely tender chicken! Why don’t you come up and get it?’

The rich scent of chicken wafted down the tunnel to where the foxes were crouching.

‘Oh, Dad,’ said one of the Small Foxes, ‘couldn’t we just sneak up and snatch it out of his hand?’

‘Don’t you dare!’ said Mrs Fox. ‘That’s just what they want you to do.’

‘But we’re so hungry!’ they cried. ‘How long will it be till we get something to eat?’

Their mother didn’t answer them. Nor did their father. There was no answer to give.

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As darkness fell, Bunce and Bean switched on the powerful headlamps of the two tractors and shone them on to the hole. ‘Now,’ said Bean, ‘we’ll take it in turn to keep watch. One watches while two sleep, and so on all through the night.’

Boggis said, ‘What if the fox digs a hole right through the hill and comes out on the other side? You didn’t think of that one, did you?’

‘Of course I did,’ said Bean, pretending he had.

‘Go on, then, tell us the answer,’ said Boggis.

Bean picked something small and black out of his ear and flicked it away. ‘How many men have you got working on your farm?’ he asked.

‘Thirty-five,’ Boggis said.

‘I’ve got thirty-six,’ Bunce said.

‘And I’ve got thirty-seven,’ Bean said. ‘That makes one hundred and eight men altogether. We must order them to surround the hill. Each man will have a gun and a flashlight. There will be no escape then for Mr Fox.’

So the order went down to the farms, and that night one hundred and eight men formed a tight ring around the bottom of the hill. They were armed with sticks and guns and hatchets and pistols and all sorts of other horrible weapons. This made it quite impossible for a fox or indeed for any other animal to escape from the hill.

The next day, the watching and waiting went on. Boggis and Bunce and Bean sat upon small stools, staring at the fox’s hole. They didn’t talk much. They just sat there with their guns on their laps.

Every so often, Mr Fox would creep a little closer towards the mouth of the tunnel and take a sniff. Then he would creep back again and say, ‘They’re still there.’

‘Are you quite sure?’ Mrs Fox would ask.

‘Positive,’ said Mr Fox. ‘I can smell that man Bean a mile away. He stinks.’

9

Mr Fox Has a Plan

 

For three days and three nights this waiting-game went on.

‘How long can a fox go without food or water?’ Boggis asked on the third day.

‘Not much longer now,’ Bean told him. ‘He’ll make a run for it soon. He’ll have to.’

Bean was right. Down in the tunnel the foxes were slowly but surely starving to death.

‘If only we could have just a tiny sip of water,’ said one of the Small Foxes. ‘Oh, Dad, can’t you do something?’

‘Couldn’t we make a dash for it, Dad? We’d have a little bit of a chance, wouldn’t we?’

‘No chance at all,’ snapped Mrs Fox. ‘I refuse to let you go up there and face those guns. I’d sooner you stay down here and die in peace.’

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Mr Fox had not spoken for a long time. He had been sitting quite still, his eyes closed, not even hearing what the others were saying. Mrs Fox knew that he was trying desperately to think of a way out. And now, as she looked at him, she saw him stir himself and get slowly to his feet. He looked back at his wife. There was a little spark of excitement dancing in his eyes.

‘What is it, darling?’ said Mrs Fox quickly.

‘I’ve just had a bit of an idea,’ Mr Fox said carefully.

‘What?’ they cried. ‘Oh, Dad, what is it?’

‘Come on!’ said Mrs Fox. ‘Tell us quickly!’

‘Well…’ said Mr Fox, then he stopped and sighed and sadly shook his head. He sat down again. ‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘It won’t work after all.’

‘Why not, Dad?’

‘Because it means more digging and we aren’t any of us strong enough for that after three days and nights without food.’

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‘Yes we are, Dad!’ cried the Small Foxes, jumping up and running to their father. ‘We can do it! You see if we can’t! So can you!’

Mr Fox looked at the four Small Foxes and he smiled. What fine children I have, he thought. They are starving to death and they haven’t had a drink for three days, but they are still undefeated. I must not let them down.

‘I… I suppose we could give it a try,’ he said.

‘Let’s go, Dad! Tell us what you want us to do!’

Slowly, Mrs Fox got to her feet. She was suffering more than any of them from the lack of food and water. She was very weak. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think I am going to be much help.’

‘You stay right where you are, my darling,’ said Mr Fox. ‘We can handle this by ourselves.’

10

Boggis’s Chicken House Number One

 

‘This time we must go in a very special direction,’ said Mr Fox, pointing sideways and downward.

So he and his four children started to dig once again. The work went much more slowly now. Yet they kept at it with great courage, and little by little the tunnel began to grow.

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‘Dad, I wish you would tell us where we are going,’ said one of the children.

‘I dare not do that,’ said Mr Fox, ‘because this place I am hoping to get to is so marvellous that if I described it to you now you would go crazy with excitement. And then, if we failed to get there (which is very possible), you would die of disappointment. I don’t want to raise your hopes too much, my darlings.’

For a long long time they kept on digging. For how long they did not know, because there were no days and no nights down there in the murky tunnel. But at last Mr Fox gave the order to stop. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘we had better take a peep upstairs now and see where we are. I know where I want to be, but I can’t possibly be sure we’re anywhere near it.’

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Slowly, wearily, the foxes began to slope the tunnel up towards the surface. Up and up it went… until suddenly they came to something hard above their heads and they couldn’t go up any further. Mr Fox reached up to examine this hard thing. ‘It’s wood!’ he whispered. ‘Wooden planks!’

‘What does that mean, Dad?’

‘It means, unless I am very much mistaken, that we are right underneath somebody’s house,’ whispered Mr Fox. ‘Be very quiet now while I take a peek.’

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Carefully, Mr Fox began pushing up one of the floorboards. The board creaked most terribly and they all ducked down, waiting for something awful to happen. Nothing did. So Mr Fox pushed up a second board. And then, very very cautiously, he poked his head up through the gap. He let out a shriek of excitement.

‘I’ve done it!’ he yelled. ‘I’ve done it first time! I’ve done it! I’ve done it!’ He pulled himself up through the gap in the floor and started prancing and dancing with joy. ‘Come on up!’ he sang out. ‘Come up and see where you are, my darlings! What a sight for a hungry fox! Hallelujah! Hooray! Hooray!’

The four Small Foxes scrambled up out of the tunnel and what a fantastic sight it was that now met their eyes! They were in a huge shed and the whole place was teeming with chickens. There were white chickens and brown chickens and black chickens by the thousand!

‘Boggis’s Chicken House Number One!’ cried Mr Fox. ‘It’s exactly what I was aiming at! I hit it slap in the middle! First time! Isn’t that fantastic! And, if I may say so, rather clever!’

The Small Foxes went wild with excitement. They started running around in all directions, chasing the stupid chickens.

‘Wait!’ ordered Mr Fox. ‘Don’t lose your heads! Stand back! Calm down! Let’s do this properly! First of all, everyone have a drink of water!’

They all ran over to the chickens’ drinking-trough and lapped up the lovely cool water. Then Mr Fox chose three of the plumpest hens, and with a clever flick of his jaws he killed them instantly.

‘Back to the tunnel!’ he ordered. ‘Come on! No fooling around! The quicker you move, the quicker you shall have something to eat!’

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One after another, they climbed down through the hole in the floor and soon they were all standing once again in the dark tunnel. Mr Fox reached up and pulled the floorboards back into place. He did this with great care. He did it so that no one could tell they had ever been moved.

‘My son,’ he said, giving the three plump hens to the biggest of his four small children, ‘run back with these to your mother. Tell her to prepare a feast. Tell her the rest of us will be along in a jiffy, as soon as we have made a few other little arrangements.’

11

A Surprise for Mrs Fox

 

The Small Fox ran back along the tunnel as fast as he could, carrying the three plump hens. He was exploding with joy. ‘Just wait!’ he kept thinking. ‘Just wait till Mummy sees these!’ He had a long way to run but he never stopped once on the way and he came bursting in upon Mrs Fox. ‘Mummy!’ he cried, out of breath. ‘Look, Mummy, look! Wake up and see what I’ve brought you!’

Mrs Fox, who was weaker than ever now from lack of food, opened one eye and looked at the hens. ‘I’m dreaming,’ she murmured and closed the eye again.

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‘You’re not dreaming, Mummy! They’re real chickens! We’re saved! We’re not going to starve!’

Mrs Fox opened both eyes and sat up quickly. ‘But, my dear child!’ she cried. ‘Where on earth…?’

‘Boggis’s Chicken House Number One!’ spluttered the Small Fox. ‘We tunnelled right up under the floor and you’ve never seen so many big fat hens in all your life! And Dad said to prepare a feast! They’ll be back soon!’

The sight of food seemed to give new strength to Mrs Fox. ‘A feast it shall be!’ she said, standing up. ‘Oh, what a fantastic fox your father is! Hurry up, child, and start plucking those chickens!’

Far away down in the tunnel, the fantastic Mr Fox was saying, ‘Now for the next bit, my darlings! This one’ll be as easy as pie! All we have to do is dig another little tunnel from here to there!’

‘To where, Dad?’

‘Don’t ask so many questions. Start digging!’

12

Badger

 

Mr Fox and the three remaining Small Foxes dug fast and straight. They were all too excited now to feel tired or hungry. They knew they were going to have a whacking great feast before long and the fact that it was none other than Boggis’s chickens they were going to eat made them churgle with laughter every time they thought of it. It was lovely to realize that while the fat farmer was sitting up there on the hill waiting for them to starve, he was also giving them their dinner without knowing it. ‘Keep digging,’ said Mr Fox. ‘It’s not much further.’

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All of a sudden a deep voice above their heads said, ‘Who goes there?’ The foxes jumped. They looked up quickly and they saw, peeking through a small hole in the roof of the tunnel, a long black pointed furry face.

‘Badger!’ cried Mr Fox.

‘Foxy!’ cried Badger. ‘My goodness me, I’m glad I’ve found someone at last! I’ve been digging around in circles for three days and nights and I haven’t the foggiest idea where I am!’

Badger made the hole in the ceiling bigger and dropped down beside the foxes. A Small Badger (his son) dropped down after him. ‘Haven’t you heard what’s happening up on the hill?’ Badger said excitedly. ‘It’s chaos! Half the wood has disappeared and there are men with guns all over the countryside! None of us can get out, even at night! We’re all starving to death!’

‘Who is we?’ asked Mr Fox.

‘All us diggers. That’s me and Mole and Rabbit and all our wives and children. Even Weasel, who can usually sneak out of the tightest spots, is right now hiding down my hole with Mrs Weasel and six kids. What on earth are we going to do, Foxy? I think we’re finished!’

Mr Fox looked at his three children and he smiled. The children smiled back at him, sharing his secret. ‘My dear old Badger,’ he said, ‘this mess you’re in is all my fault…’

‘I know it’s your fault!’ said Badger furiously. ‘And the farmers are not going to give up till they’ve got you. Unfortunately, that means us as well. It means everyone on the hill.’ Badger sat down and put a paw around his small son. ‘We’re done for,’ he said softly. ‘My poor wife up there is so weak she can’t dig another yard.’

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‘Nor can mine,’ said Mr Fox. ‘And yet at this very minute she is preparing for me and my children the most delicious feast of plump juicy chickens…’

‘Stop!’ cried Badger. ‘Don’t tease me! I can’t stand it!’

‘It’s true!’ cried the Small Foxes. ‘Dad’s not teasing! We’ve got chickens galore!’

‘And because everything is entirely my fault,’ said Mr Fox, ‘I invite you to share the feast. I invite everyone to share it – you and Mole and Rabbit and Weasel and all your wives and children. There’ll be plenty to go round, I can assure you.’

‘You mean it?’ cried Badger. ‘You really mean it?’

Mr Fox pushed his face close to Badger’s and whispered darkly, ‘Do you know where we’ve just been?’

‘Where?’

‘Right inside Boggis’s Chicken House Number One!’

‘No!’

‘Yes! But that is nothing to where we are going now. You have come just at the right moment, my dear Badger. You can help us dig. And in the meanwhile, your small son can run back to Mrs Badger and all the others and spread the good news.’ Mr Fox turned to the Small Badger and said, ‘Tell them they are invited to a Fox’s Feast. Then bring them all down here and follow this tunnel back until you find my home!’

‘Yes, Mr Fox!’ said the Small Badger. ‘Yes, sir! Right away, sir! Oh, thank you, sir!’ and he scrambled quickly back through the hole in the roof of the tunnel and disappeared.